“Hey there, Andy,” I say, arriving a few steps ahead of his mother. “It’s Lee. Want to come back to the wagon and get something to eat?”

His wailing stills. I offer my arms, and all at once he releases Hampton and tumbles right into them. His tiny hands go around my neck, and he rests his cheek on my shoulder. “I’m thirsty, Lee,” he whispers.

“He’s not hurt,” Hampton says. “Just scared is all.”

“What were you doing with him?” Mrs. Joyner cries.

“For God’s sake, he was bringing him back to you,” I say.

She stiffens, but then the fight melts out of her. She reaches with a finger and brushes a bit of blond hair from Andy’s head.

“I suppose I should thank you,” Mrs. Joyner says to Hampton.

“You’re welcome, ma’am,” he says. “I better get back to the herd, or Mr. Bledsoe will be displeased.”

“I should tell him of your good deed,” Mrs. Joyner says.

“That’s not necessary, ma’am.”

The commotion is over as fast as it started. Hampton returns to the sheep, the crowd disperses, and Andy, Mrs. Joyner, and I walk back to our wagon.

“I can carry him,” she says.

“If you don’t mind me saying, you look tuckered out.”

She gives a little harrumph of assent, but she reaches over and strokes his forehead again.

Andy has grabbed the chain around my neck, pulling Mama’s locket out from under my shirt. He opens it and closes it, opens and closes. He has the softest brown eyes, not like his mother’s at all. My baby brother would have brown eyes if he’d lived, for sure and certain.

I get an idea.

Before I can think twice about it, I give Andy over to his mother and reach under my collar to unclasp my locket. I drape it around Andy’s neck and hook it closed. It feels strange not having it tingling against my skin. Like emptiness. Like wind where there should be water.

“This locket has given me strength and courage,” I tell him. “You can wear it now, if you want.”

“All right.” His chubby fingers deftly open it. “What’s this?”

“A lock of hair.”

Mrs. Joyner perks up. “A sweetheart?”

“From my baby brother,” I explain quickly. “He’s gone now.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Mrs. Joyner says.

“So am I.”

“It’s soft,” Andy says.

It’s not, glued in like it is, but I’m glad he likes it. “This is a treasure to me, Andy,” I say. “Do you understand what a treasure is?”

He nods, his eyes big.