ON THEIR SECOND DAY in LaForge, they moved from the hotel into the rented house. The first thing they did was hang curtains so no one would be able to see inside. Then Papa went off to the lumberyard, leaving Hanna to unpack.

Only a few minutes after he left, she heard the thump of what sounded like dozens of feet on the board sidewalk. She hurried to the window and twitched the curtain back just enough to see.

Five young boys were running and calling out to one another. They turned the corner and went down Second Street. Behind them, three little girls followed more sedately. Those children, all headed in the same direction first thing in the morning? They had to be going to school.

Hanna had never been to school. She had learned her letters and numbers from Mama, and then she’d had lessons with Miss Lorna. When she and Papa left Los Angeles, Miss Lorna had given her a whole set of readers, a grammar, a speller, and an arithmetic. Hanna had worked her way through all of them diligently. But she’d had no one to teach her. And Mama had always wanted her to go to school.

“My smart girl. Finish school and get your diploma. Studying trains your mind, makes it stronger.”

Hanna stomped into the kitchen. She cleaned up the breakfast dishes and put a kettle of water on the stove to heat. Once the water was hot, she dumped it into the tin dishpan so she could clean the floor. She swept and scrubbed, feeling more determined by the moment.

Papa came in for the noon meal, took one look at her face, and said, “Whatever it is, you wait until after we’ve eaten. I’ll not have you spoiling my appetite.”

They chewed their beans and biscuit in silence. As they ate, she felt the heat of her agitation cooling into something steadier and more solid. A tree stump. No, a rock. A big boulder that takes a yoke of oxen to move.

Her thoughts were running away a little. She got up to fetch the teakettle and poured two cups. Papa stirred in a spoon of sugar and took a sip.

“Good biscuit,” he said.

“Thank you.” Pause. “There’s school here.”

He gulped his tea. “You don’t say.”

“Papa.”

“What do you need to go to school for? You can read and write and figure, you’ll never need more than that.”

“I want to graduate.”

“Nothing but a piece of paper. I didn’t graduate, hasn’t hurt me any.”

“It wouldn’t take long. I’ve finished the Sixth Reader. One term, maybe two, that’s all.”

“Hanna, we can’t have any attention called to us,” he snapped. “Your going to school could maybe cause a ruckus. That’s the last thing we need.”

A moment’s silence.

“Mr. Harris,” she said.

“Harris? What’s he got to do with anything?”