She slams the pot lid into place and turns to brandish her wooden spoon at me. “Leah Elizabeth Westfall, I will not have that word in my house.”

“It’s not a bad word.”

“If anyone hears it, even in passing, they’ll get the wrong idea. I know we live in modern times, but no one suffers a . . . that word. There’s no forgiveness for it. No explaining that will help. I know it full well.”

Mama does this sometimes. She alludes to something that happened to her when she was a girl, something awful. But I know better than to press for details, because it won’t get me anything but more chores or an early trip to bed.

“And I’ll not remind the entire town that we send our fifteen-year-old daughter out hunting on the Lord’s Day,” she continues, still waving that spoon. “Our choices are our choices, and our business is our business, but no good will come from throwing it in people’s faces.”

“I’ll take it back,” Daddy says. “I’ll tell him I was the one out hunting.”

“Reuben, you can hardly walk,” Mama says. “No one will believe it.”

“I’ll wait a few days. Let this cough settle. Then I’ll go. Maybe I’ll do it right before heading to Charlotte.”

This is what Daddy tells us every day. That when his cough “settles,” he’ll take to the road with our bag of gold. He’ll have it assayed at the mint in Charlotte, North Carolina, where no one knows us and no one will ask questions.

“Sure, Daddy.” I don’t dare catch Mama’s eye and give space for the worry growing in both our hearts.

I rise from the table and walk with heavy steps to Daddy’s rocking chair. I pull the nugget from my pocket and place it in his outstretched palm. The gold sense lessens as soon as it leaves my hand, and for the briefest moment I am bereft, like I’ve lost a friend.

“Well, I’ll be,” he says breathlessly, turning it over to catch the morning light streaming through our windows. “Isn’t it a beauty?”

“Sure is,” I agree. It’s so much more than beautiful, though. It’s food and shelter and warmth and life.

His bushy eyebrows knit together as he looks at me, straight on. “This nugget is nothing, Lee. Even your magic is nothing. You’re a good girl and the best daughter. And that? That’s something.”

I can’t even look at him. “Yes, Daddy.”

I return to the table to finish cleaning my rifle. It’s a good time for quiet thinking, so I think hard and long. If Mama won’t let us sell our gold dust, and Daddy refuses to let me keep that nugget, then I need to figure out another way to make ends meet.