Little Mercies by Heather Gudenkauf

talonlike branches and low whispers from the swaying trees and shook her head no.
    “It’s okay. I’ll come in,” Jenny answered, pulling her backpack from her shoulders and holding it in front of her like a shield.
    Maudene slid a key into the lock and nudged the door open with her shoulder. “Dolly,” she called. “I have someone special for you to meet.” Dolly, from her post by the front window, eyed Jenny sleepily and Jenny responded with her own wary gaze. “Come here, girl,” Maudene cooed, and Dolly stiffly obeyed. Jenny tensed and instinctively stepped behind Maudene as the large dog approached. “Hold your hand out like this.” Maudene held out her arm, palm down, toward Dolly’s nose and Jenny reluctantly did the same, her hand shaking slightly. “She’s a German shorthaired pointer. Best dog ever,” Maudene said as Dolly sniffed the air around Jenny’s fingers and, as if sensing her trepidation, ducked and raised her head beneath Jenny’s hand. Jenny flinched and pulled her hand back as if burned. Dolly, wounded by the rebuff, skulked from the room. “Are you hungry or thirsty?” Maudene asked. “Can I get you something to eat?”
    “No,” Jenny said, cradling her stomach, still sore from earlier.
    Jenny knew she should thank Maudene for being so nice to her. It wasn’t that Jenny wasn’t thankful for the offer; it was just that there were so many things to look at in Maudene’s home that she got distracted. Jenny had never seen so much wood in one room. The walls were paneled halfway up the wall in coffee-colored wood. There were built-in shelves filled with books and knickknacks; there was a fireplace and columns that led to another room all made out of the same dark rich wood. Even the ceiling was lined with thick beams. Jenny had never seen anything like it.
    The telephone rang and Jenny watched as Maudene looked at it in surprise. “Aren’t you going to get that?” Jenny asked.
    “No one ever calls me at this time of the day,” Maudene responded as she glanced at the wooden clock hanging on the wall. “Probably just a telemarketer.”
    “Does that have a cuckoo in it?” Jenny asked, nodding toward the clock.
    “A cuckoo?” Maudene asked distractedly, looking at the telephone that had finally fallen silent.
    “Is that a cuckoo clock? Does a little bird come out every hour?”
    “No, dancers,” Maudene said, turning back to Jenny. “It was a wedding present from my parents. It’s over forty years old.”
    “It’s pretty,” Jenny said, scrutinizing more closely the intricately carved clock in the shape of a peaked house. “When do they dance?”
    “Every hour. Come on, I’ll show you where you can put your things and where the bathroom is. And when you’re ready we can talk about what you want to do next.” Maudene led Jenny up the wooden steps that were intersected with a narrow, worn strip of carpet and once again the telephone began to trill.
    “Maybe you better get that,” Jenny, who found in her short life that phone calls most often meant bad news or a new friend-girl for her father on the other end, said nervously.
    “It can wait,” Maudene assured her as they continued up the steps. “You can put your things in the room that used to belong to my daughter.” Maudene opened the door and flipped a light switch, revealing an oddly shaped room painted pale pink. The ceiling was low, the walls were angled haphazardly and the headboards of two twin beds were situated into a narrow nook beneath a small bank of windows covered in white, lacy curtains. Jenny realized they were at the tippy-top of the house. “It’s so pretty,” Jenny breathed, running her hand over the pink coverlets that lay across the beds.
    “I like it, too,” Maudene said with a smile. “Would you like to rest for a little bit?”
    “I’m kind of tired,” Jenny said, unable to stifle a yawn.
    “Well, you are welcome to take a nap.”
    Jenny slowly spun in a circle, taking in the