Spring sunshine streams through the bedroom window and Solma dozes in a wooden chair, her fingers loosely entwined with Olive’s as Olive lays in bed. Solma smiles as she comes to, and gives Olive’s hand a squeeze. Olive, still asleep, frowns and snuggles deeper under the blanket, her red hair splayed across the pillow.
When Solma had made it to the house the previous day, she’d found Roseann cleaning and wrapping Olive’s leg. A livid bruise ran the length of her calf, which was swollen around a deep cut. Bell told her it was from slipping down the mountainside almost a week ago. Solma felt a growing queasiness as she looked at the wound, she hadn’t realized how badly Olive had been hurt. Olive saw the look on her face and grabbed her hand.
“S’alright, Sol,” she’d said, while Roseann dug
