She thought it might be partly because Mama was no longer with them. Sometimes Mama had taken her side in an argument, and together they had been able to talk Papa around. Now Hanna had to stand up to Papa alone. Irritable, snappish, dour, resentful—all his bad traits had worsened after Mama died. Hanna often found it easier not to argue with him, just to do what she wanted and hope he didn’t find out.

This time she planned to be back long before he was, so he would never even know she’d been gone.

She went out the back door so she could walk behind the stores and houses instead of down Main Street. The grocery was the last building before the depot. She paused for a moment in its shadow.

Then, keeping wide of the depot, Hanna walked to its far side, where she couldn’t be seen from the street. Lantern light shone from the windows. She took a quick glance around, then hurried closer, bent over double, and crept to the east end of the building. The sun was almost gone now, and most of the depot stood in shadow.

She crouched with her back against the wall. Sure enough, she heard a low rumble of voices inside. She could not make out words, but it seemed that the meeting had not yet begun. The creak of the door’s hinges meant that people were still arriving. Once the meeting started, they would be speaking one at a time, and she’d be able to hear more clearly. She’d have to pay close attention so she could leave before the meeting ended and get home before Papa did.

Suddenly, Hanna saw movement on her right. Someone was approaching the depot stealthily, just as she had. Heart thumping, Hanna stayed very still. If I don’t move, maybe they won’t see me, whoever they are . . .

To her complete dismay, the person headed straight in her direction. Then she heard a loud whisper.

“I knew you’d be here.”

Even in the gloom, she could see his smile.

It was Sam.

“What are you doing?” she whispered back as a wave of panic rolled over her. Why is he here? Now I’m twice as likely to get caught.

He crouched next to her. “Same as you,” he said. “I want to hear what they say.”

“Are your folks here?”

“Just my pa.” A pause. “My ma, she—she keeps to herself mostly. Did you really have oranges every day?”

Taken aback by the abrupt change of subject, she stared at him for a moment and found herself answering the question. “Yes. No. Not every day, but almost. Did you think I was lying?”

“No, course not.”

“Then why did you ask me again?”

“Just so’s I could hear you say it one more time.” He shook his head, then grinned. “An orange every day—wouldn’t that be something?”