Hazel had planted herself fast as a weed by Fergus’s side and told Mercy to take her car for the night. Though Mercy tried to refuse, she was secretly grateful for the favor, since her body longed for sleep the way a hungry man’s stomach demanded food. She didn’t think Hazel had heard the news yet that it was Zeke who’d caused the crash. Otherwise Hazel surely wouldn’t have loaned her the car. She wouldn’t have put her powdery arms around Mercy and squeezed good-bye, whispering her thanks. She wouldn’t have given Mercy the key to her house and begged her to look in on the sheep in the morning. Those sheep were family to Hazel, and good people didn’t put their families in the path of trouble if they didn’t have to, Mercy was all too aware. In the forest Arlene had blended in as naturally as bluebells in spring, but in a town folks would get one look at her and the rope of grizzled hair tossed over her shoulder and they’d set their lips and pick up their feet. This used to make her laugh.
