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was brushing her hair. She did that a lot. And put on lipstick, then wiped it off.
    â€œWhat do you want, Annabelle?” She looked at me in her mirror.
    â€œWell.” I held my hands behind my back. “I wondered if I could borrow your sweater frog again,” I said, though I knew it was still up in my room. “The one with the glittery stones on it.” One stone was missing, which was probably why Aunt Lily had lent it to me in the first place. It was old and a little bent, too. Not worth anything.
    â€œMy sweater frog?” With a fingertip, she stirred the dish of notions she kept on her dresser. “But you already have it, Annabelle. I haven’t seen it since I lent it to you, have I?”
    The little question she tacked onto the end gave me some hope.
    â€œHaven’t you?” I said, which wasn’t a lie. How could a question be a lie?
    â€œNo. I don’t believe I have. And I don’t remember you returning it.” Aunt Lily turned on her stool and looked at me from across the room. “But if I don’t have it, I can’t very well lend it to you again, can I? Go see if it’s still up in your room somewhere.” She turned back to the mirror, a pair of tweezers in her hand.
    As I turned to leave, she said, “All your sweaters have buttons on them, Annabelle. No reason on earth to bother with a frog.”
    I shrugged. All of her sweaters had buttons, too. “It’s just pretty,” I said.
    â€œPretty. Nothing less important in the eyes of God, Annabelle, than pretty.”

    It was a good supper we had that night: chops fried in bacon fat, potatoes baked soft, and slaw my mother made with cream and sweet onions.
    After supper, when we were clearing everything away, my mother wrapped two rolls, a chop, and an apple in a scrap of oilcloth and tied it up by its corners. “Take this up the lane,” she said. “If you don’t see Toby, leave it in his box. But make sure you close the lid tight or the dogs will get into it.”
    There were times when my mother told Toby he was “entirely too thin” or that he needed “some color” and she’d send me with something extra for him to eat. She didn’t dare send my brothers, who would use the excuse to horse around out in the dark until there was no time left for homework, barely enough for a bath.
    â€œSquirrel is not enough for a grown man,” she said as she handed me the bundle.
    â€œThere’s plenty of culls in the orchard,” I said, “and potatoes and beets not too far from his shack. I don’t know why he’s so thin.”
    My mother just looked at me. “Do you think he would take something without our say-so?” She shook her head. “Well, he would not.”
    I considered her answer. “Then why don’t we say so?”
    â€œNever mind that,” she said, turning again to the sink. “Just get going and back again before it’s too dark to see where you’re putting your feet.”
    â€œAnd why doesn’t he just ask?” I said, though my mother’s back usually meant she’d said all she had to say.
    â€œSame as I said before,” she said without turning. “Now go on before all the light’s gone.”

CHAPTER FIVE
    Toby appeared in layers as I walked up the steep lane: first his hatted head, then more and more of him down to his boots as I reached the flat ground at the top of the lane. He was a scarecrow, but for the guns on his back and his arms hanging loose at his sides.
    If he saw me coming, he made no sign of it. Toby never came to meet a person.
    â€œHey, Toby,” I said. “Mother sent me with a little supper.” I didn’t know I would say it until I did: “We had too much for just us.”
    Toby’s face in the shadow of his hat brim was as quiet and mild as an old dog’s.
    I noticed the camera hanging from his neck. “Do you have any