"She likes you comin'," I said. Then, "And I likes you comin', too. We couldn't live here, if it wouldn't for you, Aunt Drucie."

"Aye, that's something about the whole lot of ye," Aunt Drucie said, curling up on the daybed and tucking her legs up in under her. "Ye can't stand being around people any more than I can meself, do you, Kit, you and your poor mother?"

I shook my head, sipping the syrup.

"They thinks I gets lonely, they do," she went on, "livin' on top of Fox Point by meself, but I wouldn't live in Haire's Hollow for a year's grub. Everybody nosin' into your thoughts. I keeps me own counsel, me and Lizzy both, exceptin' with each other. And there we had a right to poke, in case one of us started gettin' addled. For sure nobody else'd know it, for they thinks we were part-addled anyway, for wantin' to live up in the hills amongst the crows."

I nodded as Aunt Drucie went into a yawn, and shifted the rocker so's I could see out the window, down over the gully.

"What do you say, Kit?"

"For sure they thinks we are," I said.

"Aye, for sure they thinks we are. Nothin' wrong with livin' with the crows, what do you say, Kit?"

"Nothin' wrong with crows, Aunt Drucie," I said, rocking and watching, rocking and watching.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

BROKEN BIRDS.

IT WAS LATE EVENING WHEN JOSIE CAME HOME. Thankfully, Aunt Drucie had gone home for the day, and I was still sitting in the rocking chair, watching and waiting. She was drunk, so drunk that she couldn't take two steps without falling down. I met her at the door and, putting my arm round her shoulders, helped her to her room. I was surprised to see that we were about the same height now, and that beneath her clothes, she was all skin and bones, much like how the little robin felt through its feathers and down. I helped her take off her clothes and after she fell across the bed, I pushed open her window to let in some fresh air. She whimpered, snuggling her face into her pillow and reminding me of a baby groping for its mother's tit. Remembering Sid's words that she was just a big kid, I laid a quietening hand on her shoulder before leaving her room. The next morning drew hot and muggy. Josie was so sick that she just lay across her bed, sticking her head out the window to puke, then resting her cheek tiredly on the windowsill to catch the faint breeze.

The smell of vomit sweltered through the house and, along with it, blue arse fish flies that came in through her window and buzzed around the kitchen like bullets. Scared of what Aunt Drucie would think, and even more scared that May Eveleigh or one of the other women might show up, I lugged the shovel out back to where her room window was and, digging up some black ground from alongside the rotting picket fence, slung it over her vomit. Squatting in the sparse shade of an old spruce, I closed my eyes and waited as she stuck her head out and started retching again. After she had done, I dug the spade deeper and shovelled another layer of dirt over the steaming puke.

It was Doctor Hodgins who showed up, just a few minutes after Aunt Drucie.

"She got stomach upset," I said. "I had the same, but I'm better, now. Want some tea, Doctor? Aunt Drucie?"

"Glass of water will be fine, Kit. I'll go have a look at Josie," Doctor Hodgins said.

"Heh, I'll have a cup of tea, maid, after I checks on Josie," Aunt Drucie said, creeping down the hall behind Doctor Hodgins. They were both back in a minute, Aunt Drucie tutting and shaking her head and Doctor Hodgins with a look akin to pity as his eyes met mine.

"She got it bad," Aunt Drucie said. "The summer flu! Herm Gale was in bed for a week, comin' out of him from both ends, and one as watery as the other."

"Keep giving her water, Drucie," Doctor Hodgins said. "Kit, come with me."

Putting his arm around my shoulder, he walked me up to the road besides where his car was parked.

"She's as hung over as Mope after a two-week binge," he said abruptly, coming to a stop and leaning back against the car door. "When did she start drinking? Or," he tweaked my chin with a sympathetic sigh, "should I ask, when did she start running off, again?"

"It's her first time," I said.

"First time getting drunk? Or first time running off?"

I thought for a minute.

"She ran off once before. Two months ago. Don't sound like it's much of a problem."

Doctor Hodgins groaned, wiping at the sweat on his brow with the back of his hand.

"It doesn't have to be much for the good reverend to get involved," he said. "What about Sid? Has he seen anything?"

I shook my head.

"Good. He's a good lad. I wouldn't fear him too much."

"Doctor Hodgins, I'm almost fifteen. Soon, I won't be needin' anyone to live with me."

"There's truth to that." He looked at me a little sadly, then gently patted my shoulder. "You know, Kittens, there's more to growing up than crossing off years. Friends, fun. Have you ever had fun, Kit? A best friend?"

Not liking the seriousness in his tone and the troubled look playing over his face, I gave a big smile and started talking like Margaret Eveleigh whenever she was walking and talking with her best friends.

"I talks with Melissa and everybody in school all the time. And I plays with Josie now."

His crinkly grey eyes smiled and he folded his arms.

"Breathe easy, Kit. I'm not hauling you out of your precious gully."

"It's not a gully, it's my home," I said with a startling sharpness.

His eyes sobered.

"You're right, it is your home," he said finally. "And you've a right to it. But there are other things you've a right toa"things you ought to be giving more thought to."

"I think about her," I said, glancing towards the house.

His eyes followed my glance and rested there for some time before coming back to me.

"For sure it would seem that she's been left to you. But perhaps she wasn't. Perhaps she's been left to all of us. Think, Kit, is it sacrifice that keeps you here? Or fear?"

The noonday sun was getting hotter.

"It's a tough question, Kittens. What say we leave it for your fifteenth birthday?" His eyes were back to smiling again, and laying both hands on either side of my cheeks, he kissed me on the forehead, then said a little gruffly, "You're a good girl. Keep me in touch with what Josie's up to. That's important, Kit. It's the only way I can help you. Do you understand me? I need to know." A breeze stirred the nearby aspen and I felt the trembling of each solitary leaf right down to the quick. I nodded again, scarcely able to meet his eyes for fear that he would see how much I needed to talk to him right then, about how the reverend had made me smell like rotting dogberries, and how Josie was screwing Shine. But something held me back, something to do with his look of pity, and his sudden concern for what he felt was missing in my life, as well as what God had already provided.

"I'm going down Chouse Brook, fishing with Old Joe for a day," he said, climbing into his car. "I'll be back to check on you tomorrow evening."

"Old Joe turnin' you into a fisherman, is he?" I asked, trying to make light.

"It's his yarns I like more than the fishing," Doctor Hodgins said, giving me a wink before he shut his door. "But, we won't tell him that, will we?"

I grinned and waved as he started up his car and turned it around to head back into Haire's Hollow. I watched him as he drove out of sight, then sauntered down to the grassy spot behind the house, thinking about what he had said about living somewhere else. But, it was an impossible thought. I couldn't think of a day without the gully and its running brook, and the burning red worlds amongst the rocks at Crooked Feeder. Nor could Pirate live anywhere else, I thought, with his need to never be touched, and his want of the meadow and the woods. And what of Nana"and her ongoing sounds? Could she ever find me someplace else? And what of Sid?

Sid. If he ever came back again. And even if he never, there was Josie. Since the minute I had put my arms around her shoulders last evening and helped her stagger to her room, I thought of her as the wounded bird Pirate had brought home as an offering that day. And this time I had to keep it from flying to its death.

The sun moved around, flushing me out of the shade, and I went inside. Aunt Drucie was napping on the daybed, her head propped up close to the window to catch the scattered breeze. Peeking into Josie's room, I saw that she was lying awake on her pillow, her hair damp from the heat and sticking to her face. I made her a cup of ice tea and took it to her, along with a slice of buttered bread. Sitting on the edge of her bed, I watched as she supped back the tea and carefully chewed the bread, dropping crumbs all over the bedclothes and smearing butter on her chin. She watched me as she ate and, when finally she was finished, passed me back the cup. We stared at each other. I tried to think of what to say, and stared absently out the window.

"It's Shine that makes you sick," I said abruptly, thinking back on how Doctor Hodgins had gotten her to wash her hair.

She stared at me, her eyes flat green.

"He's bad," I said fervently. "That's why Nan shot him with the gun, because he's bad. Because he makes you sick."

I laid my hand on her shoulder as she closed her eyes and turned away from me.

"You have to stay away from him. You have to run from him, so's he won't make you sick agin. Will you do that? Will you stay away from Shine?"

She turned to stare at me again and I tried to think of something more to say. My foot hit on something beneath her bed, and looking down, I saw the corner of her box sticking out, the box that she had run with from May Eveleigh.

"I'll be right back," I said quickly. Rising from her bedside, I ran into my room and pulled out the box of coloured glass from beneath my bed. Bringing it back, I laid it on the bed besides her. She watched as I lifted off the cover and, taking out the biggest piece, the yellow, held it over my eyes. I smiled as the sky outside her window turned golden, then passed the piece to her. She stared at it for a second, then mustered up the energy to take it and hold it before her eyes. Turning to see out the window, she gave a satisfied bark. I took out a piece of blue.

"This is my favourite," I said.

She took it and held it to an eye, smiling at the sky outside.

"You can have it if you want."

She nodded, smiling a little more, still squinting through the blue glass. I reached down to lift up her box. It was my thought that she might want to put her piece of glass inside, like I had with my pieces and the little robin's feathers. It was a thought that never got said. The second my fingers touched the box, she brought the broad of her hand slamming across my face, knocking me sideways off the bed, yelping in pain.

I staggered to my feet, partly stunned, and yelled as she grabbed my box of glass and shucked it out the window, scattering the pieces of glass and the little robin's feathers all over the freshly covered puke beneath her window.

"What'd you do that for?" I half cried, clamouring to my feet and glaring down at her. Without waiting for an answer, I slammed out of her room and down the hall, tears of pain and spite flooding both eyes.

"What's the matter, Kit?" asked Aunt Drucie, sputtering awake as I stomped across the kitchen.

"Go back to sleep," I said, wrenching open the door and shoving out through. Marching around the house to where Josie's room window was, I grabbed hold of the shovel and plunged it deep into the thick, dark soil and started pitching it over the glass and feathers, cursing like the sailor as I went. Dig, pitch; dig, pitch; dig, pitch. When the last piece of glass was covered, I marched back to my room, dirtied, hot and sweaty. Flinging myself across the bed, I gritted my teeth and willed back the smothering hot tears that were threatening to pour down my face.

That evening after Aunt Drucie left, I slouched down on the daybed, glaring at Josie as she crept around the kitchen making a cup of tea, her face pale, and her hand shaking a little as she spooned sugar into her cup.

"That's enough sugar," I snapped, thinking of walking into Haire's Hollow to find Sid.

"Not enough sugar," she argued, her voice too weak to sound up a bark.

Footsteps sounded on the stoop. Sid? I bolted upright as the door swung open, my stomach taking flight, then whipped my hand to my mouth in shock. It was Shine, his heavy frame blocking out the evening light and flooding the room with the stench of stilled liquor. The crackie dog scrambled in through the door around his feet and ran sniffing around the kitchen as Shine took a step towards Josie, a bottle of liquor in one hand and a gunny sack in the other.

"You go," said Josie to Shine, shaking her head and taking her cup of tea to the table.

"That your girl?" Shine snarked, looking my way with a rotted-toothed grin.

"That's Kit. That's not your girl," Josie said, sounding a little louder. "You go. Go."

"You like dogs?" Shine asked me as the crackie sniffed at the floor around my feet. Sinking heavily into Nan's rocking chair, he patted his knee and beckoned me over. "Come here, you girl. Come here."

Josie, busy sipping her tea, never looked up.

At that second Pirate sprang out hissing from beneath the daybed, his claws splayed as they swiped at the crackie's nose. Howling in fright, the crackie scampered across the room. Taking advantage of the commotion, I was off the daybed and down the hallway in a second's flash. Something stopped me as I was about to go into my room, and instead I ducked into Nan's closet. I picked the highest shelf up and crawled beneath the blankets. My heart pounded and I shivered to think that the sound of its beating could be heard throughout the house and traced back to where I was hiding.

I strained to listen. Josie was barking at him, like he was bothering her. But it must've been like swatting at flies, because every time I heard her bark, I heard him bark back like a dog, and then laugha"a gargling, stomach-turning laugh that sounded more like snarling than laughing.

Closing my eyes, I turned to the wall and concentrated on breathing and trying to shut out her barks as she fought with him, and his snarls as he fought her back. Then she laughed. Then yelled again. After a while I got tired of trying to figure out whether she was laughing or yelling, and whether or not I should try to sneak into my room and jump out the window and run into Haire's Hollow for Doctor Hodgins. I concentrated instead on the smell of Nan's mothballs still clinging to the blankets and I thought how nice it was to smell the mothballs after all this time, almost like smelling Nan herself, as if she were hiding beneath the blankets with me. And when I finally went to sleep, there was the sound of two hearts beating in the closet that night.

The next morning I woke to the sound of Shine's footstep creaking down the hall, pausing by each room and inching open the doors as he come. I drew a long, deep breath and held it. It was sweltering up near the ceiling, and bundled beneath the blankets and sheets. And the mothballs that had smelled so sweetly of Nan the night before were sharp and sickly by now. The floor creaked near the closet door and I held my breath and prayed to Nan for the strength to be still.

He creaked away. I listened harder as he crept and groaned, figuring that with all the grunting he was doing, he must've been bending over to check for me under the beds. Not finding what he was looking for, he walked heavily back into the kitchen. He rustled around some, then opened the door. The crackie's feet scampered across the floor, then the door shut and there was silence. I strained to listen harder. The springs on the daybed squeaked. Then the sound of Josie's footsteps as she trudged to the bin and dipped a glass into the water bucket. I listened as she came down the hall to her room, shut her door, and then her bedsprings squeaking as she fell across it. Then all was quiet. A bit longer and the blankets began to feel like a weight pressing in on me. Quietly, I climbed down from the shelf and sneaked through the house, looking out the windows. I couldn't see Shine. Satisfied that he was gone, I tore down the hall to Josie's room and barged in through her door.

"You see why you ain't never allowed to go near Shine again?" I yelled. "He's bad. And he makes you bad."

She whipped her head up off her pillow and blinked at me in startled surprise. Then springing to her feet, she lunged at me like a surly cat, scratching at my face and bawling out.

"Get out! You get out! Farmed! Farmed."

I stumbled backwards beneath her weight and fell on my behind. Kicking me savagely in the leg, she slammed her room door and fell heavily across her bed. I scrabbled back onto my feet and whammed my fist repeatedly against her door.

"You don't ever go near him again. You hear me? He's bad! Bad!"

"You's bad! Get away! Get away!" she muffled through her pillow.

"Are you listenin' to me?" I yelled.

Silence. Giving her door one last thump, I went back to the kitchen and, jamming a chair beneath the doorknob, started cleaning Shine's cigarette ashes and spit off the floor, taking time to check out the window every two minutes in case Shine come back. The cleaning done, I unjammed the door and went outside and sat on the grassy spot to keep watch. It was still early, yet a blue haze covered the far-side hills, making for another hot, sultry day. At least she never got drunk last night, I thought, leaning back against the side of the house, using my sweater for a pillow. I closed my eyes tiredly, having hardly slept a wink the night before, and in what felt like minutes, sat up with a start, rubbing at my face. Sid was squat besides me, tickling my nose with a blade of grass.

"I'm giving you another chance, sleepyhead," he said mockingly.

I hung my head sheepishly, then started speaking in a flurry of blurts.

"Shine was here. Last night, with his dog. I hid in the closet and this mornin' he come lookin' for me."

"Jesus a "

"He didn't find me."

"Christ!" He slumped besides me with relief, then was on his knees, his hands on mine. "You're not safe here, Kit. We have to get you out of here."

I shook my head, covering my face with my hands.

"God, I'm sorry, Kit." He wrapped his arms around me, cradling me, his face against mine. "I should never have left you the way I did. I was such an ass."

"No, I shouldn't have said what I said," I whimpered.

He pulled my hands away from my face and whispered softly, his nose a hair's width from mine.