Old Wounds by Vicki Lane

been scary, but Mum had talked to him very quietly and in the morning Rosemary hadn’t been sure if she had dreamed it or not.
    Laurie really has a thing for men. Her mother’s voice was smiling. I’m afraid I see trouble down the road. How are you going to feel when she goes out on her first date?
    Oh, I don’t believe she’ll date. Pa’s chuckle made Rosemary feel warm inside, like always. Maybe when she’s twenty-one—and if I go along. Thank god, Rosie has more sense right now than any three teenage boys. We won’t have to worry about her.
    There was a rustle in the darkness as one of her parents turned over. Sam, did you hear Miss Birdie when they left, inviting us to come to church sometimes? That little church down the branch?
    Liz, you take the girls there and you know what it’ll be. They preach hellfire and damnation and it’ll scare the pants off the kids.
    Her mother sighed. I know…. It’s just…Well, it would be a nice way to join in the community. But you’re right. There’re other ways.
    Hellfire and damnation. Rosemary whispered the words, tasting their sounds. They felt dangerous—strong and hot in her mouth. Hell…fire…dam…nation.
    Her father’s voice was a sleepy murmur now. Miss Birdie asked if Wade and I could patch the roof on their cabin and I told her we would. Don’t worry, Liz—we’ll get to know these folks on our own terms.
    There was silence and Rosemary began to make a story. Shining Deer stretched out on her bed of sweet-smelling pine boughs, watching the moon climb the blue-black sky. The Indian princess was waiting for Ranger, her pet wolf, to return from the hunt. Far in the distance she could hear owls calling and
—
    Sam. Mum’s low voice broke into the story. I had a letter from my mother.
    Pa didn’t answer but Mum went on. She and Gloria want to come visit…to see this place we’ve bought…and the house we’re building.
    There was a loud sigh and her father said a bad word.

6.
    CALVEN
    Saturday, October 8
    The dark figure pulled back, out of the depths of the refrigerator. Luminous eyes stared up at Elizabeth out of a dirt-smeared face. For a frozen moment the two stood silent. Then, with an unearthly screech, the intruder lowered its shaggy head and tried to butt its way past Elizabeth. A bulging plastic bag was clutched in one filthy hand and a carton of milk in the other.
    “Hey, now wait just a minute. I think we need to talk.” Recovered from her momentary alarm, Elizabeth caught one bony arm in a firm grasp. “Who are you and what are you doing in my refrigerator?”
    “Lemme go! I ain’t—”
    “Mum?” Bright light flooded the room. Rosemary stood in the doorway, blinking owlishly. “Mum, what—Who’s that kid? And why is he…she…so dirty?”
    The child, for a child it was, gave one fierce, hopeless tug, but Elizabeth held firm. The little arm was so thin that her fingers met around it, making her feel unpleasantly like a bully. The wide eyes gazed at her in appeal, then narrowed. “I ain’t no girl. My name’s Calven. Please, ma’am, I just needed me somethin’ to eat. I done run off from Bib.”
    “Mum?” Rosemary looked very young, standing there in her faded plaid flannel night shirt, shining dark hair tumbled about her face. But she spoke sternly. “Mum, do you want me to call the sheriff?” Behind her, Ursa and Molly poked inquiring heads into the kitchen.
    The boy’s arm jerked again, but Elizabeth again held firm. “No, Rosie. At least not now. Let’s find out what Calven has to say for himself.” Gently she propelled the boy to the cushioned bench in the corner of the room, taking care that she and Rosemary were between the boy and the door.
    “Rosemary, why don’t you fix Calven a sandwich and a glass of milk? He can have something to eat before he tells us what he’s doing here.” She eased the carton of milk from the boy’s grimy clutch and handed it to her daughter. Rosemary raised her eyebrows in a