is quiet, except for someone snoring two seats back.

I sleep again, a deep sleep without dreaming,

and wake to a familiar smell: we must have

passed a skunk—not the strong smell

when their spray gets on your clothes,

just a soft reminder that I’m nearing home.

Probably … If / Ollie

Probably … If

Ollie

Toss me an onion, Ollie. Pa is trying to cook

while Ma spends all her time taking care of Grace,

who hasn’t kept food down for three days. This morning

Dr. Brower came over to see her. She’ll probably live if she

makes it through one more night, he told us. Every hour, Ma

sends me to the creek—at least I can do something—for fresh,

clear water to bathe Grace in order to bring her fever down. I

hear music. Emma? Sitting on a rock beside the creek as she

mends a jacket. Wrapped up in a blanket, singing. Why? It

takes me a minute to realize Emma’s here because we’ve

locked her out. I shouldn’t get close, but when she calls

to me, Ollie! How is she? I do. She manages a small

smile. Emma, I say, we could lose Grace. The

loss of my arm is nothing, next to this.

Tell Me About Your Trip / Muriel

Tell Me About Your Trip

Muriel

Oh, I’m glad you’re home, Muriel. Emma hugs me hard

and we walk to the buggy. Why has she come

to meet me, instead of Mama or Papa? I’m surprised

Grace didn’t beg to come along. Emma, I ask, how

is Ollie? She gives me a quick glance. Ollie

is getting better. But … She hesitates, then says,

Tell me about your trip. Where can I begin?

Oh, Emma, I feel like a completely different person

than I was when I left! You should see Washington!

You can walk down long streets of great mansions!

But then—just a few blocks away, people live in tiny

rooms without heat, whole families in one room.

Some people wearing fur coats and fancy hats

walk right by children with no coats at all

as if they don’t even see them. Oh, speaking of hats,

look at this one that I found for Mama. I can’t wait

to show it to Grace—she will love these ostrich feathers!

Emma clears her throat, but doesn’t speak. I go on.

I got you and Ollie presents, too, Emma—shall I show you

now, or wait till we get home? Never mind, I’ll wait—

they’re buried at the bottom of my suitcase.

And I bought Grace a book, Anne of Green Gables.

But I don’t want to sound like all I did

was shop for presents. I saw the headquarters of the

National Woman’s Party. I stood on a picket line,

and a tall man hit me with a plank

because I called him a lazy coward, which he was.