Wildwood by Drusilla Campbell Page A

dogs and the donkey came from the Humane Society. People just leave cats at the end of the driveway.”
    “You’re such a soft touch.”
    “What am I supposed to do? Walk away and let them die? Ramon comes morning and afternoon to help. They’re no trouble.”
    Beaten, starved, neglected: the streetwise orphans always kept their distance at first. But gradually, inevitably, they trusted Hannah and learned to come when she leaned on the paddock fence and called. They trembled when she stroked their coats but did not run.
    In Levi’s and sweatshirt, ancient boots pulled on over a discarded pair of Dan’s wool socks, Hannah fed the dogs and measured out oats and forked fresh hay down from the loft. The work was basic and hard, and she felt strong doing it. Liz sat on the gate of an empty stall and gabbed at her, but Hannah only listened with half attention. Liz wasn’t saying anything that mattered, not yet. Sooner or later she would have to get down to it but for now . . . well, Hannah admitted, she was just as glad not to go there. Instead of worrying about Liz and her mystery, she preferred to imagine how Angel would love the barn and the animals. When she was four Hannah would teach her to ride. She’d make her a brown velveteen weskit and a matching jacket . . .
    Liz had stopped talking.
    “What’s the matter?” Hannah asked.
    “What’s going on with you?”
    “Look who’s asking.”
    “I know a lot about depression, Hannah.”
    Hannah waved the word away. “Who said I was depressed?” Hannah hung the pitchfork on a hook. “You’re gone for years and now all of a sudden you’re back and full of secrets and you know everything.” She regretted her tone but did not apologize.
    “There’s things we should talk about.”
    “What kind of things?”
    “Bluegang.”
    The answer startled Hannah. “Oh. That.” She sighed and crouched down to pat a mangy beagleish sort of mutt. Pus accumulated in yellow gobbets at the corners of its eyes. She’d have to call the vet, get some drops.
    She stood up and waved her arm in the direction of the creek. “It’s right down there, over the hill. If you’re so interested, go look at it.” She headed out of the barn. “Tomorrow night you can talk all you want to Gail Bacci about Bluegang. It’s one of her favorite subjects. That and how much money she’s making.”
    “Please, Hannah. Don’t make this hard. I have to talk about it. That’s why I’ve come back.”
    Hannah stopped. “What about the doctor?”
    “That’s . . . something else. I told you not to worry about me. I’m not sick.”
    “I don’t believe you.”
    “I have nightmares . . .”
    “The doctor’s a shrink?”
    “I keep seeing that boy.”
    Hannah felt her jaw tighten and a brooding ache burrowed in beside her right ear. “We made a deal we wouldn’t talk.”
    “We were children, we wanted it to go away like it never happened. We were scared. But now—. I can’t make it go away anymore. And it’s crazy not to talk about it. Something like that happens and we have to talk about it.”
    “Leave it.” Hannah pressed her index finger hard into the pain behind her ear and told herself to relax and it would diminish.
    “It’s not over for me,” Liz said. “The last year I’ve been obsessing.”
    “You?”
    “And I can’t sleep.”
    Hannah laughed. “Who can?”
    “I did something terrible that day, Hannah.”
    You?
    “I should have insisted that we tell someone right then. I almost did but I thought how my parents were so busy and how upset they’d be with me.”
    Hannah’s voice broke as it rose in volume. “Did you hear what I said?”
    “I knew what was right to do but when Jeanne started talking—”
    “I said leave it. I don’t want to talk about this.” Hannah gestured Liz through the paddock gate and slammed and latched it shut behind them. “And I won’t. Period.”
     
     
    Jeanne wove Teddy’s Waterman pen between her fingers. On the desk before