Undercover Girl – 24

Chapter Twenty-Four – A New Life

Now in her second winter in Gossen, Trudy had begun to get restless over the constant supervision by the marshals and into the separation from Amy, her life as a social worker and her mother. She had begun to wonder if her mother might have given up on her; the prospect of that was particularly disturbing, a mixture of guilt and regret.

Even the routine of her life was wearing upon her, and the boredom of her evenings in the farmhouse with the two marshals – and their occasional replacements whenever Harry or Maria took their leave periods – was wearing upon her. There were just so many nights of “Scrabble” or rummy that the three could do before it became mindless or episodes of “NCIS” or “The Voice” they could endure.

In mid-winter, it became pitch dark by 5 p.m. every afternoon when Harry and Trudy reached home from their employment. That was the case on a Tuesday night in mid-January; Trudy had just boosted herself into Harry’s black SUV when the marshal’s cellphone rang.

“Maria’s calling,” he announced, glancing at the phone, before picking up the call.

“Guess she wants us to pick something up,” Trudy said.

She was surprised when Harry responded loudly, “You’re what? Under surveillance?”

Harry said nothing, listening closely, his expression growing more somber. “Take care of yourself,” he finally responded. “I’ll call Sheriff Michaelson and get back-up out there. I’ll get Trudy to the place in the corn county.”

He hung up and turned to Trudy, speaking in a strong, firm manner she had not heard before. “We’ve been found out,” he said. “You scrunch down on the seat, so it’ll look like I’m driving without a passenger.”

As shock of fear shot through Trudy and she hunkered down as ordered. “They found us out?” she asked.

“Yep, there’s several men surrounding the place, trying to hide, but Maria has spotted two in the woods out back and there’s possibly more. We’re not going back there, Trudy.”

“What? But all my stuff?” she replied.

“Hopefully, we’ll eventually get it to you, but you’re a marked woman, my dear and we’re headed to a backup spot about 80 miles away. Now, I got to call the sheriff,” he said.

Trudy heard Harry alert the sheriff to the situation, suggesting he and a couple of deputies get to the farmhouse and remove Maria and a few personal items for each of them, including the usual toiletries and a change of clothes.

“Will Maria be safe?” Trudy asked.

“I think so. I’m not certain those guys would be interested in gunning down a federal marshal and still not get you. You’re the prize, my dear.”

The refuge turned out to be an Airbnb along the Fox River northwest of Chicago. It was a river cottage with three small bedrooms, one for Miranda, another to Harry Feld and the third for a third federal marshal, a large, husky woman who was only identified as Peggy.

“Where’s Maria?’ Trudy asked.

“Obviously, she can’t join us for fear that they’d follow her to find you,” Harry explained.

“I’ll miss her. I’ve grown to like her.”

Harry smiled. “Yes, we developed into quite a compatible family.”

“I know, and I’ve been grateful to both of you for making this time of my life easier to endure,” Trudy said.

“Well, Trudy, you know we’ve both grown quite fond of you,” he said, smiling. “You’ve been a pleasure.”

Trudy blushed. Then a sudden realization hit her. It was obvious that her witness protection plan was about to change; she was gone from Gossen and her job there.

*****
“Warsaw?” Trudy asked, shocked.

“No, Wausau. Wausau, Wisconsin,” the woman from the U.S. Marshal’s office replied

“We’ve got a good job for you there, Miss Selery.”

“Oh, my God. It’s cold up there,” Trudy explained, shocked.

The woman in the marshal’s office in Chicago carried a badge that read “Ms. Pontricious” and she was a tall, slender stern woman who constantly seemed to squint through her granny classes as if she couldn’t see well.

“It’s best for you, Miss Selery. The community is thriving, and you’ll be working in the finance department of the local United Way. You’ve proven to be good at accounting and they’re arranging for you to pick up an accounting degree down the road at the University of Wisconsin - Stevens Point.”

Two days earlier, without warning and without a chance to pack up her belongings, Trudy had been rushed from Gossen and taken to another “safe house” in a small town near Chicago with the explanation that Trudy’s cover may have been blown in Gossen. “We need to keep you safe,” Ms. Pontricious said; the agent apparently came from the regional marshal’s office to arrange a more permanent transfer, apparently in the north central Wisconsin city of Wausau. She had already spent more than a year under the federal witness protection program, most of it in Gossen, where she had been mostly isolated, except for her work hours at the social service agency.

Trudy knew of Wausau, of course, having been born and raised about one hundred fifty miles south in southwestern Wisconsin. She had been there once on a trip with her high school choral group for a state competition. Also, she really recalled was how cold she was during that March trip to Wausau; while her own hometown also had cold winters, Wausau seemed to be even more frigid. Yet, the idea of building a new life with a career in finance intrigued her, having found that in seeking to make books balance and in sourcing expenditures opened many untold mysteries. She knew of the University of Wisconsin – Stevens Point campus, where the U.S. Marshal service would pay for her education, and it was well-regarded. It seemed like a good opportunity, since the likelihood of returning to her old job in child welfare work seemed out of the question.

“Do you think it’ll ever be possible for me to go back to my old job and city?” Trudy asked.

“Hard to say, Miss Selery. The feds are still trying to crack the big guys in this gang, and your testimony has been critical,” Ms. Pontricious replied.

“But I don’t know that much, just what I saw,” Trudy protested.

“You know more than you think.”

Several times in her conversations with Harry Feld she had wondered the same thing. It hadn’t made sense to her that she was a valuable witness. Feld explained that the FBI and the Justice Department had let the word out that Trudy’s testimony was more damaging than it may actually be so that they could use ist as a bargaining chip to wangle confessions from some of those they had arrested already.

“So, I’m bait?” Trudy challenged Ms. Pontricious.

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“Playing with my life like that. It just isn’t fair.”

Trudy stood up and to leave, angered at her enforced captivity, but the strong, husky marshal grabbed her arm, yanking her back. “Sit down and listen,” she ordered.

“Regardless what you think your life is in constant danger,” she continued. “This is a big operation, nationwide and your little venture into Madison Heights uncorked the bottle and we’re going to break this evil empire up.”

Trudy covered her face with her hands and began to sob into it.

“I’m sorry,” she said after a moment, lifting her face up out of her hands. Ms. Pontricious handed her a tissue to dry her eyes.

“Nothing to be sorry for, dear,” the marshal said, her tone softening. “You’ve been through a difficult time.”

“Still I hate to cry so much.”

The two sat silently for a few moments while Trudy composed herself. Finally, Ms. Pontricious spoke:

“Trudy, we want to make your life as safe and peaceful as possible, and the marshal service will be assisting you in building up a future for you. You know we’ll assist you in getting that accounting degree, if you wish.”

“Thank you.”

“Now we’d like you to know if you’d like your mother to join you? We can arrange that, Trudy.”

Trudy was shocked again. “My mother? I don’t know,” she said, not stating her real fear about her mother joining her. As far as Trudy knew, her mother still wasn’t aware that she had lost a son and gained a daughter. How could she ever tell her mother about that? After all, two years of deceptions?

*****
A month later, Trudy was moved into one side of a double house in Wausau. It was fully furnished, partly based on some of Trudy’s preferences. The other half of the duplex was occupied by a middle-aged police officer, his wife and one teenaged son; they were the owners of the building and Trudy suspected that the selection of a landlord by the marshal service was not exactly a coincidence. It certainly didn’t hurt to have a police officer as a next-door neighbor.

No longer were U.S. marshals guarding her constantly and while Trudy had grown fond of her two regular guards, particularly Harry Feld, she was happy to have her freedom once again.

The rules of her status were strict, however. She was to identify always as Trudy Selery, a 25-year-old woman who was awaiting the return of her longtime boyfriend who was in the Army, serving a tour in Afghanistan. She was eagerly awaiting his return, she told anyone who asked. The marshal service had constructed a whole new history for Trudy Selery, including her high school graduation, early work history and pictures of her at a beauty contest when she was eighteen. She was never to connect with anyone from her previous life, until such time as it was deemed safe, if ever. Unlike her stay previously in Gossen, no one in her new job in Wausau would be told of either her transgender status or that she was under federal protection.

Sgt. Peter Lindstrom, her landlord, was a garrulous, husky police officer, who apparently was well-liked in the community; his wife, who worked as a school secretary, was a plain-looking, somewhat portly woman who almost immediately began to mother her next-door neighbor. Their son was unlike most teenagers Trudy had encountered in her social work; he was tall, muscular, wore a crew cut and was polite. He always seemed to have a blonde teenage girl on his elbow.

The sergeant’s family took an immediate liking to the pretty young woman who moved into the unit next to them; Paula Lindstrom greeted Trudy with an invitation to dinner with the family on her third night in Wausau. It was an invitation that Trudy accepted rather hesitantly. She wasn’t sure she should get too friendly with neighbors for fear of having to reveal her past. The Lindstroms proved to be congenial hosts and the dinner was not only tasty, but the conversation was comfortable, cheerful and warm. It seemed to offer a promising beginning in her new city.

Trudy concluded that it was no mere coincidence that the marshals had located her in a duplex with a police sergeant’s family, and while she was comforted by the feeling of greater safety she was bothered by the fact that the government was going to keep her under surveillance. She was to continue to be overseen by the marshal’s office by a new agent named Chad Redmon, who stopped by about every other week to assure Trudy was not being compromised. He was far younger than Agent Feld had been, and not as open and friendly. Though he was strikingly tall, trim and handsome, Trudy felt no warmth from the man. It was OK with her.

*****
Mary Ann Whiting in Riverview, Wisconsin, quit her job at the community bank, said good-bye to co-workers, friends and neighbors and told everyone she was leaving to live with her son. She explained that her Marcus was involved in “secret government work” and that she could not divulge her new location. Few questioned her story, since the Whitings – mother and son – had lived private lives, with few intimate friends. Many in the small city had remarked that Marcus had been a sort of “weird boy” in high school and it was no wonder he was working in “secret” somewhere. Many gossips in the small city figured the boy might be engaged in something criminal, or shady or sexual. “He always was kind of girly so he’s probably one of those drag queens in Chicago,” chirped Maggie Johnson, who had been a classmate at Riverview High School.

Mary Ann had been told by the U.S. Marshals she could be re-united with her son if she changed her identity and left her old life behind. She was nearing fifty years old, had few close friends and welcomed the changes to come in her life, even if it meant giving up her good job at the bank. “Your son would love to have you join him,” Marshal Redmon who met with her said, “but he will be changed a lot. You may not know him at first.”

“Does he really want me to live with him?” she asked.

“Very much so. He loves you and he is lonely,” she was assured.

The marshals realized, of course, that Mrs. Whiting’s son was now a lovely young woman, but pursuant to Trudy’s desires, they carried on the fiction that her son was still Marcus. Trudy had told the marshals that she wanted to inform her mother firsthand that her son was now a woman. Trudy had felt guilty over lying to her mother for several years about the change and felt her only course of action was to submit directly to the mercy of her mother.

*****
Trudy slept fitfully on the night before her mother was due to arrive in Wausau. She tossed and turned, running over in her mind how best to disclose to her mother that she now had a daughter. She changed her decision numerous times over how she should approach her mother, even considering fudging the truth a bit by saying the change from male to female was done at the behest of the U.S. Marshal service to disguise her identity and then realizing that would have been a lie.

No, the bald truth would be the best: I am a woman and always had been, even though I had some male organs. Her mother, she realized, needed to understand that.

The plan was for Marshal Redmon, who had driven to Riverview to pick up Mrs. Whiting, to deliver her directly to Trudy’s duplex for the meeting. Trudy mulled over what to wear for the meeting: a modest dress? Slacks? Shorts and a tee, since it was to be a warm summer day? She settled for peach-colored capris, a teal sleeveless blouse with a V-neck, a simple gold cross on a slender gold chain, modest gold earrings and short-heeled sandals. She had painted her fingernails and toenails a matching natural pink. She let her hair flow naturally, fixing it with a bang.

“How do I look, Agent Redmon?” she asked.

“Lovely as usual, Trudy. I think your mother will be pleased with her new daughter.”

Trudy had slowly warmed to Redmon who had grown friendly as their time together lengthened. The marshal seemed to understand the difficulty that a person going through gender transition faced and became quite helpful.

*****
It was a hot, sunny morning and Trudy sat in a recliner looking out the front window of her duplex, when Marshal Redmon’s car stopped at the curb. Her heart began to race as she saw her mother get out of the car and was led up the front walk by the marshal. She was dressed in a yellow print dress and wore sunglasses. Her hair, long like Trudy’s flowed in the breeze.

Trudy began to cry. Her mother would now be known as Annabelle Selery in her new life. Her mother’s changed identity could not truly change the woman. He could see she was still slender and beautiful as she strode purposefully up the walk. She always a no-nonsense woman, and it was displayed in how she walked.

Vainly holding back tears, Trudy rose to greet her mother at the door.

“Mother,” she explained as her mother entered, holding her arms out.

Puzzled, her mother brushed Trudy aside and said, “Where’s Marcus?”

“I’m here, mother,” she said still holding her arms wide as tears rained down her face.

“But . . . you’re a . . .”

“Woman. I’m Trudy now, mother.”

“Where’s my son? Where’s Marcus,” Mary Ann yelled, turning to Marshal Redmon.

The marshal took Mary Ann Whiting by the elbow and led her to a sofa.

“Now, Mrs. Selery,” Redmon said, using the name that Trudy’s mother would be using while her daughter was in witness protection. “I know you’re shocked, but I told you that your son would be changed.”

“But this is no son of mine,” Annabelle Selery said.

“Mother let me explain,” Trudy said, having stopped crying and realizing that she had to tell her mother the whole story.

“I’m not sure you can,” Annabelle said. “But try me out.”

“I’ll leave you to sort this out,” Redmon said, arising from the sofa. “Annabelle, please listen to Trudy. She’s truly a remarkable young woman and you should be proud of her.”

Thirty minutes later, Trudy summoned Marshal Redmon from the kitchen, where he had been having coffee. He walked into the living room to see mother and daughter on the sofa, holding hands.

“Mom and I would like to go out together and have some lunch and do a little shopping after she gets settled in her room. Can you help bring in her bags, Chad?”

Redmon smiled and turned to Trudy’s mother. “Isn’t she remarkable, just as I told you, Annabelle?”

“And so beautiful, too!” Annabelle Selery said.

“Like mother, like daughter,” he said, as he opened the door and headed to the car to get Mrs. Selery’s luggage.

*****
Graduation Night: Community High School of the Arts

Amy Dacosta and Latesha White could not hold back tears as Jasmine Turner (previously known as Jefferson Turner) approached the podium in the high school’s auditorium; she had been introduced by the school’s principal to give the school’s valedictorian address, a result of graduating with the highest honors in the school.

The slender girl proudly wore her purple graduation robes as she stood before the assembled audience of fellow graduates, their families and friends. Her voice rang loud and clear as she thanked her classmates, teachers and school staff for supporting her.

“I have many people to thank for saving me from a life of drugs, humiliation and likely an early death. Mostly, however, I need to thank Miranda, a social worker who saw in me a human being worth saving. Sadly, she is not with us tonight because she gave up her life for me and girls like me. She is hidden away somewhere in this nation under a different name living in daily fear for her life. None of us who love her know where she is and we may never be able to thank her in person for her sacrifice.

“I think her sacrifice demonstrated to all of us that the world is full of people who care about others, who are willing to work and struggle to make life better for all of us. I had very little faith in others before Miranda – she was the social worker – located me. Sad to say, I was not always as cooperative as I should have been and gave her a hard time, but she persisted – and even nagged at me – until I acted more sensibly.

“There are many more Mirandas in this world and we all need to find hope in that.”

When she finished her address to a standing ovation, the lovely girl rushed backstage to a dressing room where she squeezed into a leotard, readying herself to participate with the high school dance group in short presentation that would follow. She had become the lead principal dancer in the group and had won a fully paid scholarship to study dance. Yet, she turned it down for a partial scholarship to study social work. She wanted a career in child welfare.

The graduation party held for Jasmine was squeezed into the banquet room at Robinson’s Restaurant, a popular soul food place. Gathered around the honored graduate were several of her classmates, teachers and even the school principal. Amy Dacosta was accompanied by Mollie Johnson and Latesha White who kept close to her fiancé, Assistant DA Emery Harrington.

Jasmine kissed her well-wishers on their cheeks as they greeted her, but she gave a particularly long hug to Hedwig Jelacic, now Detective Sergeant Jelacic.

Standing nearby, always attentive to the pretty young lady was LaGrande Jackson Marquis, a slender, wiry young man with neat dreadlocks. He had graduated a year earlier having become an accomplished jazz saxophone performer, already performing in gigs throughout the area. It was obvious LaGrande was deeply in love with Jasmine.

At one point, Jasmine stood on a chair where she was held up by LaGrande. She loudly asked everyone to be quiet and in her sweet, lovely voice said:

“Here’s a toast to Miranda Whiting, wherever she is.”

The group – their glasses filled with sparkling grape juice – stood as one and toasted the absent Miranda; she was miles away, unaware of the salute.

Amy stood next to Latesha and began to cry audibly; she grasped onto the other woman’s arm for support. Latesha reached into her purse, found a handkerchief and slipped it to her friend. “Will you ever see her, again, do you think, Amy?”

Amy stilled her tears and nodded negatively. “I miss her so much. I can only hope.”

*****
(News from The Daily Journal, June 21)

Posh Suburb Linked to Sex Trafficking Ring

MADISON HEIGHTS – This wealthy suburb’s mayor, several councilmen and two-thirds of its police force have been indicted for corruption involving a multi-state human trafficking scheme, the U.S. Attorney announced Tuesday.

The trafficking of girls as young as 14 had been directed out of the mansion of the prominent Paul Browning, Sr., family of Madison Heights, led primarily by Paul Browning, Jr., according to the 67-page indictment. The activities at the secluded Browning mansion were able to continue as the Madison Heights authorities, including most of its police department, looked on.

Mayor Clement J. Hopswitch has categorically denied any knowledge of unlawful activity, as does City Attorney Martin Simmons. The indicted police officers had no comment for the press.

U. S. Attorney Hannah Hansen contends the evidence is solid against the city officials and most of the police department and has asked the governor to assert his authority under the constitution to bring in the National Guard to assume policing the suburb until a permanent solution can be developed.

“It’s shameful that this trafficking operation went on for nearly ten years and victimized more than 400 young women while the authorities of this wealthy suburb stood by and watched. It’s a terrible betrayal of the public trust,” she said.

One unidentified young woman was credited with providing the key evidence, according to Hansen.

“She’s the real hero in ending this tragic situation and for the time being she will remain unidentified for her own protection,” Hansen said.

Hansen said the young woman persevered to investigate the trafficking ring, several times endangering her own life. “She displayed bravery just as if she were a Medal of Honor hero for battlefield courage.”

*****
In a few months, Trudy Selery had proven herself to be an invaluable addition to the staff of the United Way office in Wausau. More and more, James Krauthaus, the agency director, depended upon her in day-to-day operations, where Trudy demonstrated not only skilled financial assistance but had an uncanny understanding of the social services aspect of the work. Though she kept much of her life private, Trudy proved to be a congenial co-worker and was well-liked.

“I can’t figure you out, Trudy,” Krauthaus said one night while the two were working late in his office juggling allocations they make to various social service groups in the community.

“Why is that, Jim?”

“You’re obviously a whiz with figures, and just what we needed here, but you seem to have a feel for the social service side of things, like you care about the clients. It’s a rare feature among accounting people.”

“That’s a nice thing to say, but I think other financial types also care, except they don’t show it.”

“No, you’re special, Trudy,” he said, smiling.

Trudy began to blush, so she turned her back to the man, not wanting him to see. She had become attracted to Krauthaus, a short, husky man with wide, hard arms and broad shoulders, a physique no doubt gained from his childhood as a son of a logger. For several years, he had labored in the forests of Wisconsin, cutting pulp, before starting college later than most. Only a recent graduate of the social work program of the nearby university college branch, Krauthaus was offered and took this job for the small community agency. He was hardly the stereotypical social worker, with a full head of black hair and bright brown eyes.

The young agency director early on showed interest in Trudy, but thus far had not made any advances, nor even hinted at a possible romance. Trudy was hardly interested in creating any liaisons, particularly with men, since she still had not had sexual reassignment surgery, content to coax her femininity through hormones and cosmetics.

“I think we better finish this up, Jim. You can see the snow’s falling pretty heavy now,” she said, nodding her head toward the window, where heavy white flakes blew nearly horizontally through the darkness.

About an hour later, Trudy donned her light beige parka, wrapped a scarf around her head peasant-style, and joined Jim as the two went out to their cars, now crowned with six inches of new snow. Jim produced a broom from the back of his Ford 150 pickup and quickly brushed off the worst of the snow while Trudy cleaned off the windows with a scraper, fighting off the bitterly biting wind. The two worked quickly and cooperatively; after all, brushing off each other’s cars was routine in Central Wisconsin where each January day was greeted with either below zero and clear blue skies or readings in the twenties with clouds and snow.

Their brushing completed, Jim turned to Trudy, grabbing her parka-covered arm and said, “You know, Trudy, I really like you and you looked so cute wearing that scarf.” His words came haltingly, as if he were fearful he might be out-of-line for the comment.

She was uncertain how to reply, but finally mumbled, “I like you, too, Jim,” her voice soft and hesitant.

Obviously sensing her unease, Krauthaus backed away, and turned to his own car. “Good night Trudy. Drive carefully on your way home.”

“You too, Jim,” she said, getting into her car.

*****
Trudy was quiet when she arrived home, following a slippery drive to her duplex. She was pleased that an attached garage was included in her duplex rental and she entered through the kitchen to see her mother sitting at the kitchen table. Two place settings were on the table.

“Mom, I told you not to wait for me,” Trudy said, shaking the snow off her parka.

“You’re getting snow all over the kitchen. I told you to take off your snowy coat out in the garage,” Annabelle said sternly.

“Yes, mother,” Trudy said, quickly returning to the garage. Here she was, already in her late twenties and holding down a responsible job; yet, her mother was treating her like she was ten years old. In reflection, Trudy knew her mother was correct and there was no excuse for her to shake the snow off her coat in the kitchen.

Annabelle Selery had not yet grown comfortable with her new daughter, occasionally lapsing into calling her Marcus or using the wrong pronoun. Though Trudy never complained over the lapses, Annabelle still felt bad. She deeply loved her child and knew that whether Marcus or Trudy, the child was a strong, good, worthy person.

During their supper (it was Annabelle’s special lasagna), Trudy had remained quiet, meeting each of Annabelle’s questions with a mumbled “yeah” or “maybe” or “no.”

“Something’s wrong darling,” Annabelle finally asked.

“Nothing, mom. We’re just busy at work and I’m tired.”

“I know you too well, darling. Tell your mother.”

Trudy broke down, put down her fork and began crying. “I’m confused mother,” she said through her sobs.

“Now, now, have a good cry and then tell you mother.”

“Mom,” Trudy began after a moment. “Jim’s coming on to me at work and I don’t know what to do.”

“What’s so bad about that? You’re an attractive young woman and he’s about your age and single. And, you’ve said you like him.”

“I do mom. That’s just the issue. I’m not ready for a man.”

Annabelle smiled and got up and walked around the table to hug Trudy. “Honey, you’ll soon be getting the plumbing a young woman needs.”

“I know, mom, but I’m scared.”

Trudy didn’t tell her mother the other reason she was hesitant. She was still in love with Amy Dacosta; she still yearned to feel her warm body next to her. She knew she might never see Amy again, but in absence her love for the woman seemed to grow stronger.

“It’s up to you, Trudy,” her mother advised. “If you’re not eager to have sex, or even a date with Jim, you don’t have to. Just keep yourself professional at work and if he gets fresh just firmly tell him while you like him and enjoy him as a boss but that you’re not interested in a relationship. That’s a woman’s right.”

“I hate to hurt his feelings, mom.”

“Don’t worry. If he’s half as good-looking as you say he is, he’ll do fine,” Annabelle said.

“Thanks, mom.”

“Now finish your meal. I made it ‘cause I know it’s your favorite.”

Trudy smiled and picked up her fork.

“Mom, you’re spoiling me and making me fat. I’ve gained nearly ten pounds with your cooking.”

“Ha! You needed to pick up weight, dear, and besides up in this north country we can use a little extra fat on us to stay warm.”

“Oh, mom. That’s a myth. I’m not a black bear who goes into hibernation in winter.”

“Eat up, dear. I baked my apple pie for dessert.”

“Mommmmmmm . . .”

*****
In the next several months, Trudy was interviewed three times by U.S. Justice Department attorneys. They drove up to Wausau from Chicago, about a six-hour trip, each time to go over the details of her investigation and to ask about Jefferson Turner’s experiences as well. She had repeated the story so many times these visits were becoming boring.

“When can I be released from this witness protection?” she asked in April.

“Perhaps soon, but you’ll always be in danger, even after we get these guys behind bars,” the attorney explained. “I’m afraid you’ll have to keep your current identity for some time.”

“It’s for your own safety,” consoled his partner, a youngish female attorney. “We’re nailing down a nationwide syndicate and they’ve been known to wreak revenge.”

“I suppose I may have to be Trudy Selery forever,” she commented. “Oh well, I seem to be finding a home here.”

Even though Trudy no longer had day-to-day marshals guarding her, she felt quite safe in her new environment. Upon the arrival of Trudy’s mother, the marshals had been relieved of their duties. Life in Wausau was slower-paced, but the community was large enough to offer various amenities, a few theater groups and a community symphony; there were quality food markets and plenty of good restaurants. And, she found a good friend, Hazel Moore, a widow in her late fifties. The two met at a meeting of area social service agencies and hit it off immediately. The two met at least once a week for dinner, joined in attending some of the cultural events and attending a few movies. Sometimes, Annabelle joined them.

Hazel convinced Trudy to join an exercise group, part of the school district’s adult education programs, and Trudy began gaining interest in strengthening her terribly underdeveloped body that was quickly growing flabbier, thanks to her mother’s cooking.

She even accepted an invitation from Jim to attend a local hockey game, where she proved to be a quick learner of a sport she never understood and became an avid fan, squealing in delight at good plays and loudly complaining about bad referee calls. Her closet soon became filled with jerseys and shirts bearing the hockey team’s logo, nestled next to the green-and-gold outfits of the Green Bay Packers, an obsession in the area.

Her friendship with Jim continued to be chaste and the dates mainly centered on sporting events. He had begun a serious relationship with a former classmate of his who lived down the road in Stevens Point and several times Trudy joined the two of them at the sporting events. She refused offers of the two of them to “arrange” a meeting for Trudy with an eligible young man.

Trudy’s true love remained for Amy Dacosta, a love she feared would never be fulfilled. She cried at night occasionally.

*****
Trudy’s life in Wausau took some surprising turns. In her previous life, she never had much fondness for outdoor life, but that changed as she became more physically active, largely inspired by her friendship with Jim Krauthaus. What was more surprising to her was that her growing interest in the outdoors occurred in north central Wisconsin, where the winters were harsh, snowy and seemed to last eight months of the year, followed by summers that brought out mosquitoes, black flies and gnats.

Yet, she had become a jogger, always careful to run with a partner due to her constant awareness that she may be under surveillance. While the Feds felt she was still successfully hidden away, they continued to warn her to be alert and wary.

“Never take a run, or even a short walk, without a companion, especially a strong person,” stressed Marshal Redmon.

Usually she ran with her neighbor, Deputy Lindstrom, or with her co-worker, Jim. One warm Wednesday in June, she and Jim left work to run at a county park just outside of Wausau where the trail encircled a small lake. It was a lovely setting, made more so by the presence of several loons, whose melodious calls echoed across the water.

In northern Wisconsin summers, the sun sets about nine-thirty at night, affording outdoor enthusiasts several hours of playtime after leaving work. Jim and Trudy took advantage that Wednesday night to drive out to the park and begin their run. Having completed nearly five miles, they ended at a picnic bench on the east shore of the lake to watch the sun drop down to the horizon, turning the blue sky into a series of reds, purples, yellows and colors too exotic to describe.

Neither spoke for a while, content to look across at the magical scene, and pleased that the mosquitoes hadn’t yet begun their nightly assault. They sweated profusely from their run, yet the night had remained warm. Soon, however, they expected to feel a chill and the bugs would descend upon them.

Two loons swam on the lake, diving periodically and popping up several dozens of yards away. That night, one of the loons periodically wailed out plaintive call. (To hear the call, go to: https://www.loon.org/voice-loon.php)

“That loon is calling for his lover,” Jim explained.

“You’re kidding me,” Trudy said, suspicious that Jim might be making it up, just to entice her into a romantic moment. While Jim had kept his professional distance from Trudy, she felt he truly was interested in more.

“No, it’s a fact. Look it up if you don’t believe. That’s the ‘wail call,’ sounds a bit like a wolf call.”

The two sat for a while, saying nothing, and Trudy thought how marvelous it would be to be sitting on that same bench with Amy, wrapped up in each other’s arms, their sweating bodies pressing together.

“Perhaps this is a sign,” Trudy said, her words mouthing her silent thoughts.

“A sign of what?” Jim replied.

“Oh, I was just thinking about something. It’s nothing.”

“It must have been more than nothing, Trudy. You were smiling when you said it.”

“It’s personal, Jim.”

Krauthaus nodded and dropped the subject. The two continued to sit in silence until Jim slapped away a mosquito that had settled on his arm.

“Time to go,” he said.

“Yes, time to go. Wasn’t this a beautiful night?” she asked as they walked to Jim’s car.

Trudy felt it was a night that afforded her hope for a great future, maybe even with Amy. Even if she never realized that dream, Trudy knew she had found a blessed life, a life where she found her real self. . . a life in which she met wonderful people in unlikely settings. . . a life where she was reunited with her mother. . . a life where she was rejuvenated by the wonders of nature.

“You’re a lovely woman, Trudy,” Jim said, opening the car door for her.

“Thank you, Jim,” she said getting into the car.

And, she mused, she was also a woman full of hope.

##

(The author has hope that readers enjoyed meeting Trudy and following her remarkable young life. The author feels that Trudy is like most of us who face life never achieving everything we desire; yet, we hope to find contentment, joy and hope. Reader comments of all types welcomed. Here’s wishing all BC readers joy and happiness and offering hope for a world full of Justice and Peace in the Year 2020!)
(The author thanks Eric for his editorial story suggestions and proofreading. Any errors found in this story were due to the author's later changes.)