“She needs her mama, and she’s probably on her way back to this tent right now. Now put that baby down before her folks get here and carve us up with axes for manhandling their young’un.”

“I can be her mama.”

“Put her down, Vern.”

“I can love her.”

Paul removed his hat and fanned his face. He had heard of families leaving their children behind. These hard times made people do awful things.

“I can do all the things a mama do,” Vern went on. “See? She a sweet girl.”

“You’ve lost your mind,” said Paul. “We got work to do, and here you are—”

“Sweet, sweet, sweet girl, yes, she is . . .”

“You oughta hear yourself. You sound like a blamed fool.”

“Boogaboogaboooo . . .”

“You belong in a nuthouse, you know that?”

“. . . Googaboogaboogaboogaboo . . .”

“Put that child down before someone catches us.”

“You wanna hold her, Paul?”

Paul pushed the brim of his hat upward. He thought about this for a moment. “No, Vern, I don’t wanna hold her. I got work to do, and so do you.”

Vern extended the baby toward Paul.

Paul took the child in his arms. Her eyelids cracked open. She focused her lazy eyes on him. Violet eyes. Paul had never seen violet eyes before. They were the color of a night sky, just before the sun rises and cuts through the blackness of it all.

“See?” said Vern. “Told you, she a real sweet girl. Now give ’er back.”

Paul stepped away from Vern with the child against his chest. “Go get your own dadgum baby.”

Six
The Runner

The sheriff released Marigold from the jailhouse at noon. In two minutes she was darting toward the woods, passing storefronts, pedestrians, and lampposts. The town was a pretty one, but she didn’t pause long enough to take it in. She ran past the brick facades, shops, and clapboard homes on the side streets. Her heart hurt so bad it threatened to give out. She cussed herself. She cried. She cussed herself some more.

How could I leave Maggie? she thought. I am a stupid, stupid girl.

In her mind she could see Maggie’s purple eyes and copper hair. She felt ashamed before her own conscience.

Her body was growing weak from hunger. The night before she’d refused to eat or drink in the jailhouse. It was a form of protest. She’d hoped the sheriff would feel sorry for her and let her go free, or at least be impressed by her magnificent courage. Instead, he ate her supper right in front of her and said, “Suit yourself, you ungrateful little brat.”

Stupid girl.