“Hush. I’m studying on it.” Obediently, he quieted and stared in the same direction at the spindly maples that made up their stand of sugar bush.

“It’s a nice fat heifer,” she said. “We kept it so long on its mother’s milk. We’ll get a good price for it.”

“We’d be bound to give the money to her.”

“No.” Her voice was sharper than she meant, ground as it was on three years of unspoken anger. “We always done that and look where it’s got us. No,” she said again, this time softly. “The money don’t go there. She’ll give it away to Uncle Judah, who’ll give it to that preacher who says you don’t need nothing ’cause the world is going to end.” She turned to her brother. “Charlie, you and me can’t think about that. We got to think about keeping this farm for when Papa comes back. We should take that money and bury it someplace, so when we get free we can come back here and have a little seed cash to start over with.”

“Maybe she’ll sell the farm.”

“She can’t. Not so long as Papa’s alive.”

“But maybe …”

“We don’t know that, now do we? We got to believe he’s coming back—or he’s sending for us.”

“I hope he don’t send for us.”

“We’ll persuade him to stay,” she said. She wanted for a minute to put her arm around his thin shoulders, but she held back. She didn’t want him to think that she considered him less than the man he had so bravely sought to be. “We’re a good team, ey, Charlie?”

“Ox or mule?” he asked, grinning.

“A little of both, I reckon.”