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He waited now, his face upturned to the slanting sun, listening There was a squirrel running up a tree, a distinct sound, one he’d learned very quickly to identify The squirrel sca it wave up and down, its leaves rustling with the weight andat all, just silence

He knew the sun wouldn’t be shining on hi the light Soon it would be as dark as Susan’s hair in the forest No, he wouldn’t think about Susan Actually it had been a very long tio home, back to his cabin where he’d laid wood for a fire that ood at building fires both in the fireplace and in the woodstove He’d slice up soht two days before at Cleetable soup He stepped back into the thick pine forest

But what had he heard?

It was darker now than it had been just two ht on a pine branch He stopped to untangle himself He had to lay down the ax

It was then he saw the flash of light yellow off to his right For a ht yellow It didn’t move and neither did he

He quickly picked up his ax He walked toward that light yellow patch, pausing every few seconds, his eyes straining to

He saw fro on her sto her face

He fell on his knees beside her, afraid for an instant to touch her Then he lightly put his hand to her shoulder He shook her lightly She didn’t move The pulse in her throat was slow but steady Thank God she was unconscious, not dead He felt each of her ar was broken But she could be injured internally If she was, there was nothing he could do about it He carefully turned her over

There were two long scratches on her cheek, the blood dried and sainst the pulse in her neck Still slow, still steady

He picked her up as carefully as he could, and grabbed his ax He curved her in against him to protect her from the low pine branches and underbrush She was small, probably not older than five or six He realized then she wasn’t wearing a jacket, only the thin yellow T-shirt and dirty yellow jeans There hite sneakers on her feet, one of the laces unfastened and dangling No socks, no gloves, no jacket, no cap What was she doing out here alone? What had happened to her?

He stopped He could have sworn that he heard the sound of a heavy foot snapping through leaves and ss He pulled her closer and quickened his step, the sound of that crunching step hovering just behind hih the door of his cabin He laid the little girl on the sofa and covered her with an afghan, an old red-and-blue-checked wool square that was probably older than he was, and very warhout the cabin

He turned to look at the front door He frowned at it, then walked to the door, locked it, and turned the dead bolt His hand paused as he lifted the chain Better to be certain He secured it Then he lit the fire in the fireplace Within ten e roohtly patted her cheeks, and sat back, waiting

His day certainly wasn’t ending as it had begun "Who are you?" he said to the child Her face was turned away froht

He fetched a bowl of tepid water that had been sitting on the woodstove all afternoon, a clean pair of white gym socks, and a bar of soap He washed her face, as carefully as he could with a gy scratches

He brought one of his soft white undershirts that aran to strip her He had to examine her as best he could He was shocked, then furious, at what he saw

She was covered with bruises and welts, some of thes Oh, God He closed his eyes aher as well as he could, but he didn’t see any signs of wounds or cuts, just abrasions and deep bruises He turned her onto her sto thin welts scored her child’s flesh, from her shoulders to her ankles, welts that didn’t overlap, as if ed hand, but that had been carefully placed by someone anted to mark every inch of the child, to obtain a certain result, a certain effect She was thin and as white as the clean undershirt he pulled over her head The undershirt came to her ankles He smoothed the covers back over her, and spread out her hair about her head on the pilloith his fingers, gentle as he could be, easing out the worst of the tangles It was just as well that she wasn’t ahile he’d taken care of her He sat back, staring at the silent child