Vern sat and leaned backward against a tree. The fire was burning orange, and the smell of hog was in the air. The sound of the baby’s breathing was the prettiest sound Vern had ever heard. “Sleep good, baby,” he whispered. “Your mama love you.” And he started to drift off to sleep too.

Then he felt a smack on his face that nearly broke his nose and made him swallow his tongue.

He opened his eyes to see Paul standing over him with a rolled-up newspaper and a smile on his face.

“That thing was as big as a Buick,” said Paul.

Fifteen
The Borrower

Marigold snuck into the empty kitchen with gentle steps. She tried to move softly enough that the floorboards didn’t creak. She saw the icebox across the room. She walked toward it on the fronts of her bare feet so she wouldn’t make any noise.

Never before had she been so bold, but then, it took bravery to survive now. She was ready to eat real food instead of stolen grain from nearby barns.

It was Sunday night. She’d been planning her big move for days. That night, after the family left the white farmhouse wearing their Sunday best, she waltzed right onto the back porch. The kitchen door was unlocked.

She opened the icebox and saw a collection of rich food that almost made her cry when she put it in her mouth. She ate so fast she almost forgot to taste it. She ate cold chicken and potatoes, hoop cheese, and rag bologna and drank thick milk from a jug. And she felt ashamed. This was not borrowing. Once the food hit her mouth, it was thievery. Plain and simple. After her last bite, she left a note apologizing for what she’d done. It took her twenty minutes and two drafts just to get it right.

Dear Sir or Ma’am,

Thank you for letting me eat some of your food. It was really good. Specialy the potato salat. I dont like to take other folkses food, but I got to eat since I ain’t eat in four days. Hope your church was good.

Love,

Marigold

Before she’d penned the last word, she heard footsteps. They were easy steps, shuffling against wood floorboards. She froze. She couldn’t seem to get her legs to move. The vibrations were heavy on the stairs; the sound moved across the ceiling. She almost vomited all over the floor.

The steps were getting closer. She thought of running, but running surely would have given her away. Soon the feet were outside the door.

When the door opened, Marigold couldn’t seem to make her body leave its position. At the door was an old woman staring across a dark room. In the darkness Marigold could only see a tuft of white hair atop the outline of an old woman’s body.

The figure said, “Emily? That you?”

Marigold swallowed.