Silence and a meaningful look passed between us before she left me in the loft. I leaned over the side railing and watched her retreating form below.

“Miss Wise,” I called again, but this time she continued walking away. “You deserve to be happy. Not angry. I’m gonna be praying for you!”

She lifted her arm in a haughty wave and replied over her shoulder, “You do that.” And I be dog if she didn’t smile at me before exiting the barn.

That, in itself, was an answered prayer.

Chapter 4: LIFE AIN'T FAIR,
BUT SUCH IS LIFE

January 1983

“It ain’t fair.” Peg’s face scrunched tighter than a shriveled-up prune as he seeded the flats with more force than necessary.

“What are you griping about now?” I grabbed the flat and shoved topsoil over the top like smoothing icing on a cake. Well, it’s the closest to icing anything I’d ever come to doing. Nails black and hands stained, no one would want me touching a cake anyhow. “At least it’s warm in here and we have stools to sit on instead of having to stand.” Pa had given us the seed-sprouting duty this year while he worked on rebuilding the tobacco barn.

“Us stuck working all the time while Boss gets to play. Ain’t fair.” Peg gathered some of the teeny-tiny seeds from the paper bag and began on another flat. Even though he was making us both miserable, he’d worked steady through all the whining.

“Hopefully Jinx will sell Pa on the idea of sowing seeds instead of like this.” I held up the flat that I’d just filled halfway with soil and plopped it in front of Peg. “That practice bed seems promising. It looks like a mini greenhouse.”

“Boss knows how to do this. Don’t take a genius to shove stupid seeds into dirt. He should be here.” Peg grumbled a few sentiments under his breath, pushing the flat in front of me on the long wood table.

“I’m just glad Pa let him participate in the special needs program. Shoot, take your leg off and whine in front of him and I’m sure he’d let you participate too.” I poked that sore spot, because Peg might have been the biggest complainer I’d ever met, but he never used his disability to get out of something or into something.

Before he could lay into me for even suggesting it —and the sharp look he gave me sure did indicate he was about to —the deep purr of an engine prowling up our driveway interrupted him. Peg slipped off his stool and hobbled to the greenhouse door.

“It’s the mayor’s son.” Peg let out a harsh snort. “I’m surprised Rich Boy would let dirt touch his fancy wheels. Why’s he always in the middle of charity junk for?”