The Wild Child

Harriet sighed in exasperation and with fatigue that burned her eyes. She had carried Hogel for nine painful months while they traveled to Utah over mountains, through dangerous territory, and across a scorching desert. She had given birth to their first child in the house Jacob had made with his own hands. It had taken thirty-six hours for him to enter the world, and when he cried for the first time, he squalled at a horrible pitch that turned Harriet’s stomach. Yet all of that was nothing compared to the whirling dervish of destructive energy that ran about the house, touching things to knock them over, scraping his knuckles and knees and leaving blood stains over everything, and untamable red curls above blue eyes that darted around like prisoners in a jail break. Harriet rushed to grab Hogel, who wriggled out of her grasp, his sleeve wet with the mucus from his nose. She grimaced and caught him again. Breathless, she said in a sotto full of ungodly anger, “Hogel! Enough! Time for the cage!”