The boy looked at the candy in his hands. He stared at it long and hard. “Hey,” Pete said. “I know what you can name your baby.”

The boy showed the candy bar to Paul. “Baby Ruth.”

Twenty-Two
Railcars of Ill Repute

Marigold sat on the ragged porch behind Cowikee’s railcar. The pines behind the place grew so high they almost blocked the sunlight. The sounds of birds were everywhere. A short fence ran through the woods in a crooked line, headed toward the horizon. On the fence, Marigold saw the carcass of a snake hanging from a post. There was a single nail driven through its head, its remains were bleached from the sun, and the ribs showed. Flies swarmed the snake. Marigold could hear the vibrations from them.

Helen stepped onto the porch. “Are you hungry again?” asked Helen. “I got some stew cooking. Got plenty of carrots in it. Carrots will give you strength.”

“No thanks,” said Marigold. “I’m still full from breakfast.”

Helen had been practically force-feeding Marigold since she’d taken her in. And in that short time, Helen had managed to help Marigold gain some weight. Marigold’s old dress was beginning to fit like it had before she lost her baby fat.

Helen had introduced her to the other girls who lived at Cowikee’s. They were all so much like each other they were practically sisters. These women wore makeup and nice dresses, and they walked differently from other girls Marigold had known. But above all, they were kind to Marigold. They treated Marigold like she belonged to them. It was the first time since Marigold’s family had expelled her from home that she’d felt the warmth of family.

At night, the girls often sat beside Marigold. And they weren’t afraid to touch her or embrace her or dote on her or call her “pretty.” And it had been a long time since anyone had touched Marigold or called her that.

“You sure you don’t want any stew?” Helen asked. “How about I just bring you a little cup to sip on?”

“No thanks, I’m stuffed.”

“You need to keep eating, sweetie. You’re still skin and bones.”

There were five girls at Cowikee’s altogether. And from the best Marigold could tell, they all seemed to understand the world around them better than Marigold did. Helen was older than the others. Her long, lean figure and dark hair made her look like she’d walked out of a picture show.

But Rachel was Marigold’s favorite. She was blonde, with gaunt features and a sharp nose. In the weeks Marigold had been there, she noticed that the male customers all fawned over Rachel because she was the youngest.