crops grew thick and green, edged by a row of tall sunflowers, their gold-rimmed brown faces nodding in the afternoon sun. Chickens clucked and pecked outside a chicken coop. A speckled black-and-white rooster picked that very moment to ruffle his feathers, tilt back his red crown, and crow. Roo-roo-a-roooooooo!
“Hello to you, too!” Kit replied.
As they pulled up to the large farmhouse, a plump woman with two white braids dashed onto the front porch. Her apron fluttered over a lavender sundress. She pressed her palms to her cheeks, as if to hold down a runaway smile. “Millie!” she called, her arms wide and ready. “God sent you on wings!”
Aunt Millie jumped out of the passenger door and met her friend in a hug. “Oh, Pearl! You haven’t changed a bit!”
“And you must be Kit and Charlie. I’m Miss Pearl,” she said, adding, “Charlie, you’ll stay for dinner.”
“Is that an order, ma’am?” Charlie grinned.
“Sure is,” Miss Pearl said, hands on her hips.
“I’ll never turn down a home-cooked meal.” Charlie gave Kit a wink, then grabbed the luggage and headed onto the porch steps.
“Now, I must tell y’all,” Miss Pearl said, her voice dropping to a whisper as she opened the front door. “Gran-mammy—my husband Jesse’s mother—took to bed some days ago. We’ve set her up downstairs in the sewing room, where it’s easier to care for her.”
They stepped in. A banister staircase loomed in the entry. From the right came the tick-ticking of a clock and a bright shaft of afternoon sunlight. “The living room,” Miss Pearl said. Through the open door, Kit spotted a stone hearth, and a spinning wheel beside it. On either side of a velvet sofa, side tables held a violin and dulcimer, waiting to be played. Then Miss Pearl turned and motioned to the smaller, darker room to Kit’s left, where soft, rhythmic snoring rose from beneath a mounded pink quilt.
Miss Pearl whispered, “I hope y’all won’t mind sharing Gran-mammy’s double bed upstairs.”
“Not at all,” Aunt Millie said. “And she can have her bed back the moment she starts feeling better.”
Miss Pearl folded her hands together and brought them under her chin. “Yes, let’s hope. Bless your heart.”
…
Later, Kit sat with Aunt Millie and Miss Pearl on the front porch. Miss Pearl told them that, of her seven children, only two now remained at home. “JJ’s out working with the menfolk—you’ll meet him at supper. That there’s our Dorothy Ann,” she said, waving toward a figure in the pasture who was riding a mule bareback near a flock of white sheep. “She just turned sixteen. I swear, if she had her way, she’d have been born a lamb. She loves those sheep.”
Dorothy Ann waved back, dark curls draping her shoulders.
Before long, a horse-drawn wagon pulled into the driveway. “That’ll be the men. Now we can eat,” Miss Pearl said with relief.
Everyone gathered in the dining room, which was wallpapered with tiny blue flowers on a white background. Kit’s stomach rumbled with hunger. The table brimmed with smoked ham, creamed peas, corn biscuits, and sliced cucumbers and tomatoes.
Kit sat across from Dorothy Ann, who glanced up with a shy smile. Next to Dorothy Ann sat her brother JJ, a good-looking seventeen-year-old whose auburn hair dipped toward one eye.
Mr. Thatcher, Miss Pearl’s husband, a short, wiry man, finished a prayer of thanks, and everyone began passing plates. Charlie handed a plate of ham steaks to JJ, who stabbed a slice with the serving fork.
When a man with rusty-looking teeth and thinning gray hair stepped in from the kitchen, Miss Pearl introduced him. “This is our guest, Mr. Henry.”
“Pleased to meet you. Sorry I’m late, ma’am,” he said to Miss Pearl as he took the empty chair.
“And where do you live, Mr. Henry?” Aunt Millie asked.
“Lost my place a year ago,” he said, meeting her eyes. “Home’s at the next place yonder that’ll have me. In return for food and lodging, I make baskets—the finest white oak baskets around—and repair broken seats on cane chairs. I stay with folks for a bit, then move on before I turn moldy.”
Kit studied Mr. Henry. Back in Cincinnati, she’d met boys and men who’d lost their jobs and homes during the Depression. She’d also brought food to some of the women and children living in the makeshift hobo camps below the railroad bridge. But unlike the hobos, who hopped on trains and traveled from town to town in search of work, Mr. Henry seemed content to stay in the area and take what work he could find.
“We’re honored to have you.” Mr. Thatcher nodded at Mr. Henry. “Got to count our blessings. We haven’t felt the boot of the Depression like some folks. Here, with our orchard, cows, pigs, chickens, and plenty of canned goods—thanks to Pearl—we’re never hungry.”
“Our farm’s a little pocket of heaven,” Miss Pearl added, tears suddenly filling her eyes. “Or it was, until the letter came.” She pressed her napkin to her lips.
“Letter?” Aunt Millie asked.
Kit’s ears perked up. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Charlie’s gaze drop to his plate. He let out a soft breath.
“The letter. Arrived a week and a half ago.” Miss Pearl held her shoulders back, but her voice wavered. “We’ve known since we sold the farm last year that we’d have to leave one day. But the letter from the park service was our final notice. It said we had twenty-one days to leave our property. This time it’s an order.”
“And go where?” Kit blurted.
Aunt Millie gave Kit’s hand a squeeze, as if to say leave this to the adults.
Mr. Thatcher pushed back from the table. “I’m lookin’ for a place here in Hart County, outside park boundaries. If I can find one. They’ve paid us fairly enough for our property, but money’s no good if it can’t replace what we’re losing.” Then he stepped out the kitchen door and was gone.
“My Jesse hasn’t been taking it well,” Miss Pearl said. “He’s taken to walking nights when he should be sleeping. This farm has been in his family for generations. It’s all he’s ever known.”
JJ spoke up. “Pappy’s been knocking on every door beyond the park. It’s not easy finding something close by when so many families are in the same bind.”
“Oh, Pearl,” Aunt Millie said, rising from the table and placing her hands on her friend’s shoulders. “We came at the very worst time. We’ll turn around and leave first thing in the morning. I’m just as sorry as an empty stringer of fish!”
“Millie,” Miss Pearl said, standing and facing Aunt Millie, “I’ve known about the farm since before we invited you. I didn’t tell you because I thought you wouldn’t come down.”
Kit couldn’t hold herself back. “We leave here on the twenty-eighth of August. So that means you have to leave your farm the very next day?”
Miss Pearl nodded.
Aunt
