The Hedges

           ItwasNovember29,threedaysafterThanksgiving.Thelastweekhadbeenagoodone,theThanksgivingdinnerthebestthey’deverhadasafamily.WendyhadcookedDickHallorann’sturkeytoaturnandtheyhadalleatentoburstingwithoutevencomingclosetodemolishingthejollybird.Jackhadgroanedthattheywouldbeeatingturkeyfortherestofthewinter-creamedturkey,turkeysandwiches,turkeyandnoodles,turkeysurprise.

           No,Wendytoldhimwithalittlesmile.OnlyuntilChristmas.Thenwehavethecapon.

           JackandDannygroanedtogether.

           ThebruisesonDanny’sneckhadfaded,andtheirfearsseemedtohavefadedwiththem.OnThanksgivingafternoonWendyhadbeenpullingDannyaroundonhissledwhileJackworkedontheplay,whichwasnowalmostdone.

           "Areyoustillafraid,doe?"shehadasked,notknowingbowtoputthequestionlessbaldly.

           "Yes,"heansweredsimply."ButnowIstayinthesafeplaces."

           "Yourdaddysaysthatsoonerorlatertheforestrangerswillwonderwhywe’renotcheckinginontheCBradio.They’llcometoseeifanythingiswrong.Wemightgodownthen.YouandI.Andletyourdaddyfinishthewinter.Hehasgoodreasonsforwantingto.Inaway,doe…Iknowthisishardforyoutounderstand…ourbacksareagainstthewall."

           "Yes,"hehadanswerednoncommittally.

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