Little Peggy saw the heartfires downstairs, and found the one with the strongest fear and pain. “It’s their mama,” said little Peggy. “She’s got a baby coming.”

“Well, if that ain’t the luck of it. Lose one, and here already is a baby to replace death with life.” Oldpappy shambled on out to go downstairs and help.

Little Peggy, though, she just stood there, looking at what she saw in the distance. That lost heartfire wasn’t lost at all, and that was sure. She could see it burning away far off, despite how the darkness of the river tried to cover it.  He wasn’t dead, just carried off, and maybe somebody could help him. She ran out then, passed Oldpappy all in a rush, clattered down the stairs.

Mama caught her by the arm as she was running into the great room. “There’s a birthing,” Mama said, “and we need you.”

“But Mama, the one that went downriver, he’s still alive!”

“Peggy, we got no time for—“

Two boys with the same face pushed their way into the conversation. “The one downriver!” cried one.

“Still alive!” cried the other.

“How do you know!”

“He can’t be!”

They spoke so all on top of each other that Mama had to hush them up just to hear them. “It was Vigor, our big brother, he got swept away—“

“Well he’s alive,” said little Peggy, “but the river’s got him.”

The twins looked to Mama for confirmation. “She know what she’s talking about, Goody Guester?”

Mama nodded, and the boys raced for the door, shouting, “He’s alive! He’s still alive!”

“Are you sure?” asked Mama fiercely. “It’s a cruel thing, to put hope in their hearts like that, if it ain’t so.”

Mama’s flashing eyes made little Peggy afraid, and she couldn’t think what to say.

By then, though, Oldpappy had come up from behind. “Now Peg,” he said, “how would she know one was taken by the river, lessun she saw?”

“I know,” said Mama. “But this woman’s been holding off birth too long, and I got a care for the baby, so come on now, little Peggy, I need you to tell me what you see.”

She led little Peggy into the bedroom off the kitchen, the place where Papa and Mama slept whenever there were visitors. The woman lay on the bed, holding tight to the hand of a tall girl with deep and solemn eyes. Little Peggy didn’t know their faces, but she recognized their fires, especially the mother’s pain and fear.

“Someone was shouting,” whispered the mother.

“Hush now,” said Mama.

“About him still alive.”

The solemn girl raised her eyebrows, looked at Mama. “Is that so, Goody Guester?”

“My daughter is a torch. That’s why I brung her here in this room. To see the baby.”

“Did she see my boy? Is he alive?”