sticks.
“Share with the others.” He handed them to Ollie before stalking to his car and puttering away.
Frustration tempted me to stomp and scream. But I refrained. Even so, I had no intention of staying in this place for months on end. I refused to get stuck on yet another farm. I was nineteen years old now. Wasn’t I entitled to make my own decisions? To live the life I desired?
I peered down the road that led to the train station. My dreams hovered close, like a dust cloud approaching from the horizon. If Arthur couldn’t come to me, I’d go to him. Prater’s Junction was far closer to him than Downington, no matter the circumstances.
My attention returned to Ollie. She stared in my direction, her head cocked, her eyes narrowed.
“Did you sleep?” I asked.
She didn’t answer.
“Are the others awake?”
“Not yet.” Ollie licked her candy. “Miss Ada and Mama wouldn’t have made me lie down with the little kids.”
“Is that so?” I gathered the beans and potatoes into my apron skirt again.
Ollie sucked her sweet for a little while before she answered. “Yes.”
The defiance in her tone irritated me. I opened my mouth to answer back, but forced the words to stay locked behind my lips.
Nine. She’s only nine, I reminded myself. I sat down beside her. She scooted to the farthest edge of the step. I wondered how much she’d heard of my conversation with the sheriff.
Little feet pattered the porch behind us. James had even managed to drag Janie down with him. I didn’t want to know how. Ollie handed them each a peppermint stick. Grins erupted as quickly as a rainbow after a storm.
As I carried the vegetables inside and scrubbed them free of dirt, I thought about Mama. I should have known something was wrong. Mama would have answered a telegram right away. And what about Arthur? He must have received that first letter I sent, the one I mailed on the train ride to Texas. Wouldn’t he, too, have answered immediately if he was able?
After a glance at the children still on the porch, I ran to the mailbox outside the front gate. I hadn’t heard anyone arrive or leave, except Sheriff Jeffries, but I’d been in the cellar for a little while.
My letter to Arthur had disappeared. In its place were the Dallas Morning News and a farming magazine. I peered into the empty box for more. Nothing.
“Can I take those inside?” James asked with outstretched hands.
I gave him the newspaper and magazine. He bounded up the stairs and into the house, the screen door slapping shut behind him.
A hand yanked at my skirt. “I’m hungry, Bekah.” Dan’s sticky face stared up at me.
I sighed and led him inside. Until God sent me elsewhere, I would do my best by these children.
O n Wednesday, I began to think I might lose my mind with worry. There’d been no mail in our box. Not even the newspaper. Nor did anyone venture into our isolation. Were we the only ones left alive in this place?
We finished breakfast and morning chores. I knew I ought to clean the house, but instead I paced while the children played hide-and-seek in the yard. We could use a few things from the store. Oatmeal, for instance. But where would I get the money to purchase anything?
My search of the kitchen hadn’t turned up any cash. Would my aunt have kept some in the bedroom? I tore through the desk, the dresser. Still nothing. Then I spied a handbag on a hook behind the door. Whether Aunt Adabelle’s or Clara Gresham’s, it didn’t much matter.
But my rummaging turned up only a wadded handkerchief. Might as well throw that in the wash. I shook it out. A folded bill fluttered to the floor. I stooped to pick it up, smoothing it out straight.
Five dollars!
Thank you, Lord. I held it to my chest for one brief second before lifting the window and sticking my head into the open air.
“Let’s go to town,” I called.
James and Dan hollered and whooped.
When Ollie and I met in the kitchen, she looked askance. “You hitchin’
“Share with the others.” He handed them to Ollie before stalking to his car and puttering away.
Frustration tempted me to stomp and scream. But I refrained. Even so, I had no intention of staying in this place for months on end. I refused to get stuck on yet another farm. I was nineteen years old now. Wasn’t I entitled to make my own decisions? To live the life I desired?
I peered down the road that led to the train station. My dreams hovered close, like a dust cloud approaching from the horizon. If Arthur couldn’t come to me, I’d go to him. Prater’s Junction was far closer to him than Downington, no matter the circumstances.
My attention returned to Ollie. She stared in my direction, her head cocked, her eyes narrowed.
“Did you sleep?” I asked.
She didn’t answer.
“Are the others awake?”
“Not yet.” Ollie licked her candy. “Miss Ada and Mama wouldn’t have made me lie down with the little kids.”
“Is that so?” I gathered the beans and potatoes into my apron skirt again.
Ollie sucked her sweet for a little while before she answered. “Yes.”
The defiance in her tone irritated me. I opened my mouth to answer back, but forced the words to stay locked behind my lips.
Nine. She’s only nine, I reminded myself. I sat down beside her. She scooted to the farthest edge of the step. I wondered how much she’d heard of my conversation with the sheriff.
Little feet pattered the porch behind us. James had even managed to drag Janie down with him. I didn’t want to know how. Ollie handed them each a peppermint stick. Grins erupted as quickly as a rainbow after a storm.
As I carried the vegetables inside and scrubbed them free of dirt, I thought about Mama. I should have known something was wrong. Mama would have answered a telegram right away. And what about Arthur? He must have received that first letter I sent, the one I mailed on the train ride to Texas. Wouldn’t he, too, have answered immediately if he was able?
After a glance at the children still on the porch, I ran to the mailbox outside the front gate. I hadn’t heard anyone arrive or leave, except Sheriff Jeffries, but I’d been in the cellar for a little while.
My letter to Arthur had disappeared. In its place were the Dallas Morning News and a farming magazine. I peered into the empty box for more. Nothing.
“Can I take those inside?” James asked with outstretched hands.
I gave him the newspaper and magazine. He bounded up the stairs and into the house, the screen door slapping shut behind him.
A hand yanked at my skirt. “I’m hungry, Bekah.” Dan’s sticky face stared up at me.
I sighed and led him inside. Until God sent me elsewhere, I would do my best by these children.
O n Wednesday, I began to think I might lose my mind with worry. There’d been no mail in our box. Not even the newspaper. Nor did anyone venture into our isolation. Were we the only ones left alive in this place?
We finished breakfast and morning chores. I knew I ought to clean the house, but instead I paced while the children played hide-and-seek in the yard. We could use a few things from the store. Oatmeal, for instance. But where would I get the money to purchase anything?
My search of the kitchen hadn’t turned up any cash. Would my aunt have kept some in the bedroom? I tore through the desk, the dresser. Still nothing. Then I spied a handbag on a hook behind the door. Whether Aunt Adabelle’s or Clara Gresham’s, it didn’t much matter.
But my rummaging turned up only a wadded handkerchief. Might as well throw that in the wash. I shook it out. A folded bill fluttered to the floor. I stooped to pick it up, smoothing it out straight.
Five dollars!
Thank you, Lord. I held it to my chest for one brief second before lifting the window and sticking my head into the open air.
“Let’s go to town,” I called.
James and Dan hollered and whooped.
When Ollie and I met in the kitchen, she looked askance. “You hitchin’
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