ABSTRACT
What could be salvaged from the blackness of those forlorn years? A small, wooden figure of a half-naked, dying man hung in every room of that unhappy household. Would he ever resurrect? Once, her drunken father hollered she had ruined his life. Eight at the time, Jane cried out to the crucifix clinging to the slick wood paneling of her bedroom wall, “Jesus, help me!”
