Leah smiled at her sleeping daughter, dressed in a light kimono for the warm day. “I’m sure she’ll be a good traveler.”

On the lawn at the Coffee Children’s Home, Miss King passed out red, white, and blue sashes to the children. Wagons and carts bore hand-lettered signs reading “Coffee Children’s Home for Victory!”

“Mrs. Paxton!” Miss King looked even more flustered than usual, but in a happy way. “The children are so excited about this scrap drive.”

“I’m excited too.” Leah braced herself as two of the girls hugged her, one on each side, and Leah hugged them back.

Miss King leaned closer. “They can’t join the Scouts or the Junior Red Cross, because we can’t pay their dues. They’re itching to do something for the war effort.”

“Of course, they are,” Mama said. “I’m glad my Leah thought of a way for them to help.”

Miss King divided the children into pairs, with an adult or older child minding each group, including Mama and Rita Sue.

Leah was assigned to ten-year-old Mikey and six-year-old Hattie. The little girl had arrived at the orphanage recently when her foster father was drafted and her foster mother took a factory job. Since the child was one-quarter black, Miss King said it would be difficult to place her in a home, which broke Leah’s heart.

Hattie climbed into the wagon, but her large dark eyes followed Mama Paxton. “That lady has dark skin.”

“Yes, she does.” Leah nodded for Mikey to start pulling the wagon down Dechard Street. “Her family comes from Mexico, where it’s sunny and warm.”

Hattie pulled one of her little black braids and squinted at Leah. “Your skin’s kinda dark too.”

Leah inspected her bare arm in the sunshine. At last she’d lost enough weight to wear her yellow floral dress again. “My family came from Greece, where it’s also sunny and warm.”

“I’m dark.”

“Oh, I think that’s because some of your family came from Africa, where it’s sunny and warm. Now, Mikey has lovely pink skin—”

“Pink! That’s a girly color.” Mikey glowered at her.

“A manly shade of peach.” She gave him a reassuring smile. “But when he spends too much time in the sun, he turns redder than the stripe on your sash. You and I don’t, Hattie.”

“Here’s our street.” Mikey turned onto Franklin and up to a white bungalow.

“All right, children. You know what to say.” Leah motioned them up the walkway, while she stayed behind with the baby.

Mikey rang the doorbell, and a young woman in a green floral housedress and a blue gingham apron answered the door. Two small children peeked out from behind her.

“Good morning, ma’am.” Mikey tipped his cap to her. “We’re from the Coffee Children’s Home. We’re collecting scrap. Got any tin or paper we can turn in for you?”