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on the tackboard by the door. There’s a hole burned clear through the front and out the back.
    â€œFist goes to great lengths to work with me in trying to create a peace between the homesteaders and the Cheese. As I am the Sheriff Reverend of Origin Township, so is he a keeper of peace among his own people. It was difficult for us to forge this union; difficult to build the trust necessary to work together. We have kept the alliance a secret, butwith his people becoming more restless and my knowing that at any time something could happen to change this tentative agreement . . . I felt it time to introduce you. Rae, if the Cheese ever come after you or Temple, you are only to shout Fist’s name and you will be left alone. At least that was our original bargain. Now, I do not know.” He takes another sip of spirits and mutters, “Gods help us all.”
    My mouth is dry as scrub. Does he not see I was trying to protect him? I didn’t know. I didn’t—
    â€œFist has—had—become something of a . . . friend.” Papa rubs his hand over his face and sighs. “While our gods do not allow us to walk over the threshold of Old Settlement structures, Fist’s people believe in no such gods. He is not just helping me keep the peace, he is helping me discern whether Old Settlement has any usefulness to the township.”
    At this, Aunt Billie gasps. Papa cannot meet her eyes. I, too, am shocked to hear that not only has Papa made friends with a Cheese, he has allowed that Cheese to go against the gods and trespass on sacred ground.
    Boone’s father used to argue endlessly that Old Settlement was not sacred ground; that we knew of no actual deaths that had occurred there, and that it was abandoned and not eternal sleeping grounds. But Papa said until he had proof that the people left the settlement of their own accord and did not somehow perish there, he would not forsake the gods by stepping foot on their sacred ground, nor would he allow anyone else to do so, either. Boone’sfather thought this was ridiculous, but he was only a scholar and Papa is the Sheriff Reverend.
    Papa holds my gaze, though he cannot hold Aunt Billie’s. “I was intent to introduce you to Fist, and show you three that not all the Cheese are to be feared. I was intent to show you that a leader must sometimes make difficult decisions for the good of the township, for the protection of its people. But now—”
    â€œWhy teach us this today?” I whisper as I swipe away the chewed thumbnail that has found its way to my lip. Is Papa ill? Will Temple and I be orphaned, only to live with Aunt Billie, who would not smile even if she was dipped in a cold bath? Not that Papa ever smiles, either, but . . . I feel dizzy and sick at the thought.
    Papa shakes his head. “Fist was gravely offended today,” he says almost to himself. “The Cheese will seek retribution.”
    â€œWhy today?” I ask again. Aunt Billie hands me a biscuit and a drink.
    Papa slams his hand on the table. “You gum child!” he shouts. “Don’t you see? Fist is a leader of his people. He makes the rules. Fist has aligned with me so that we can work toward mending fences. But now . . .”
    I want to yell, to interrupt, to say, “You’re mending fences with the people who killed Mama? Who stole Benny? Who took Rory? The Cheese who gave chase the other evening was just playing? Only scaring me for the fun of it? How lovely.” But I say nothing. My hand goes to my pocket, squeezes thelittle statue. I contemplate throwing it against the wall.
    There’s a BANG-BANG-BANG on the front door, the metal vibrating with each strike. We all jump. Papa grabs one of his handbows and lurches at the door, flipping the peephole open. He flips it shut just as quick and swings the door open. The stink of a one-man wafts in, and the stink of something else does,