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it didn’t make me happy. I thought about Papa at home by himself, building a barn in the hot sun.
    “Where was your dune, Sarah?” asked Caleb.
    “Down there,” said Sarah, pointing to an
inlet.
    “I remember when Papa made us a dune,” said Caleb softly. He looked up at Sarah. “A dune made of hay. Do you remember?”
    “Yes,” said Sarah. “I remember, Caleb.”
    Sarah looked over at me as the aunts talked and laughed. She reached out to touch my arm.
    “It’s all right, Anna,” she said softly. “It’s all right.”
    But it wasn’t.
     
    The next week letters came from Papa. Sarah, Caleb, William, and I rowed out in the bay in William’s rowboat, and Caleb read his letter.
    “‘Dear Caleb, Moonbeam is getting bigger every day. I have started building the barn. Still no rain, but yesterday Seal had four kittens!’”
    “Four!” said William. Sarah smiled.
    “‘Three are gray like Seal,’” Caleb read. “‘One is orange. Nick and Lottie miss you. Every day they sit looking down the road, waiting for you to come home. I love you. Give Sarah a kiss from me. Love, Papa.’”
    William rowed to shore, and we pulled the boat up.
    “Papa misses us, too,” I said to Sarah. “When he writes about Nick and Lottie waiting for us. Remember you once said that Papa’s letters were full of things between the lines?”
    “Yes,” said Sarah.
    I leaned over and kissed her.
    “That’s Papa’s kiss,” I said.
    William leaned over to kiss Sarah, too.
    “And that’s mine,” he said.
     
    Dear Anna,
    It is quiet here without you. I miss your voices and Sarah’s songs. Sometimes, if I close my eyes, I think I can hear them.
    Love,
    Papa
     
    The aunts played music. Aunt Harriet played a flute that squeaked sometimes. Aunt Lou played the piano in bare feet, and Brutus watched her pedal. Aunt Mattie danced with a long scarf and a serious look that made Caleb laugh.
    Sarah took naps in the afternoons and slept late in the mornings.
    Chub drove Sarah away and back again one afternoon. Aunt Lou said she had gone to the doctor.
    “Are you sick, Sarah?” I asked her that night.
    She smiled at me, a small smile at first, then a big smile.
    “No, Anna. I’m not sick.”
    She was in bed, her long hair down.
    “Read me your Papa’s letter again,” she said.
    When I did, she smiled more.
    “Sarah?”
    We looked up. Caleb stood in the door. He was in his pajamas, his hair all messed from sleep.
    “Caleb, what’s the matter?” asked Sarah.
    “A dream I had,” he said softly. “A dream about Papa.”
    “That’s a good dream,” said Sarah.
    She lifted the covers and Caleb got in bed with her.
    “I dreamed that Papa looked and looked and couldn’t find us,” said Caleb.
    “Oh, Caleb,” said Sarah, putting her arm around him. “Your Papa knows where we are. He does.”
    Caleb picked up the family picture that Sarah kept on her bed stand.
    “I used to dream about rain, remember?” he said.
    Sarah nodded.
    “Now I dream about Papa.”
    There was silence in the room, and then Caleb looked at Sarah.
    “Is this our new home, Sarah?” he asked softly.
    Sarah didn’t answer. She put her arms around him and looked at me over his head. She began to sing very softly.
     
    “Hush little baby, don’t say a word.
    Papa’s gonna buy you a mockingbird.
    And if that mockingbird don’t sing,
    Papa’s gonna buy you a diamond ring.”
     
    I thought of Joshua, the photographer, who had told us about his grandfather leaving the prairie.
    “Did he come back?” Caleb had asked him.
    No, he never came back .
    And that night I dreamed Caleb’s dream: Papa looking for us. He could hear Sarah’s song and our voices, and he searched the fields and the house and the barn. But we weren’t there.

12
    W e woke to a new sound. A sound I hadn’t heard for months. I ran to the window. Rain.
    “Anna!”
    I turned, and Caleb and I grinned at each other. We dressed quickly and ran downstairs to the porch. Rain came