Ashes of Another Life Read Free Page B

always do.”
    Tension oozed from the phone. The counselor’s voice sounded choked, nearly exasperated. “But how? How can our justice system allow her to return to such an awful place?”
    Casey thought about it. She understood what Martinez meant by “awful,” but it was a matter of subjectivity in the end. There were citizens of Sweet Springs whose family roots dated back to the very first town meeting, and they would argue that our society is “awful” and has become morally corrupt, not theirs, not their quiet little slice of heaven. But absolute power corrupts absolutely. And that’s what was happening in Sweet Springs.
    “They’re her family ,” Casey explained, trying not to let her own irritation with the situation show. “If the court is going to remove Tara Jane from their custody, they need evidence of abuse.”
    “Evidence?”
    “Evidence. Testimony.” Casey sucked in a sharp breath, let it go. “I’ve been dealing with this for years. My advice? She’s got to open up and tell her story. The ugly parts. It’s the only thing that can save her. Can she do it? Is she ready to talk?”
    Another long pause, then Ms. Martinez’s voice came over the line sounding soft and defeated. “She was making progress… becoming more comfortable around those she’s been taught are “outsiders.” Absentmindedly, the woman sighed into the receiver. “But lately she’s withdrawing into herself. She’s not taking her medication, and without it, I fear regression… or worse.”
    “Have you talked with the foster parents? Do they understand the importance of encouraging her prescriptions?”
    Martinez sighed again. “I plan to stop by and talk with them tonight.”
    “Good idea.”
    “Tell me. Have there been others like Tara Jane? Who have escaped Sweet Springs?”
    “A few,” Casey said.
    Martinez let out a heavy breath.
    If she’s not careful, she’s going to pass out from all this sighing.
    “I’m afraid to ask,” the woman said in her faint Latino accent. “These others… Were they sent home?”
    Now it was Casey’s turn to sigh. Hell, maybe it was contagious. “The ones who were not willing to come clean about the abuse, who wouldn’t testify against their abusers, yes, they’re back in Sweet Springs.”
    For a moment, there was only the sound of breathing and light static on the line, and then the counselor said, “I’ll do everything I can to help.”
    “It’s been a pleasure, Ms. Martinez. Please, keep me posted.”
    “I will, and thank you for your time.”
    Casey hung up, eyes fixed on the photo. It was good to know someone else cared as much about Tara Jane as she did. This was a heavy load to bear alone.
    Her jaw tightened. She began to grind her teeth but stopped.
    I’m developing too many nervous habits.
    There are young lives at stake, and I’m expected to remain calm? Professional? Freedom of religion: the double-edged sword.
    She’d been to Sweet Springs only twice in her life. The first time, she was the passenger of a respected elder in the community, discussing the case of a young runaway found sleeping on the streets. She should have known the child was running from something, but it had humbled Casey to see the quaint homes and the well-tended gardens. Boys chopped wood and girls watered crops and plucked chickens. The women sewed dresses and baked bread. The people worked for everything they had. Nothing came easy, and everything was earned.
    In those early days of her career in social services, Casey Wendell assumed that’s what the young girl had been running from—an old-fashioned way of life, a physically demanding existence with Easy Street lying just beyond the gates. She knew, now, how wrong her assumption had been.
    On her second visit to Sweet Springs, she arrived in her own vehicle. She had noticed a pastry shop on her ride through town with the church elder and decided to sample some home-baked goods. The residents froze at first, watching with