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returned to the back porch. The sound of water being splashed came from the washstand where Pop washed away the grime but not the stench of welding. The towel always smelled slightly burnt after he dried his face and hands. Mama set a steaming dish of potatoes on the table and took her place behind her chair. James shot Mama a glance. The empty space where Magdalena should have been shouted her absence. Missing a meal would draw Pop’s angry inquisition. Being late always guaranteed his strap. Mama looked taut beneath the flush of hurry. Pop’s tall form could be felt in the doorway, then be seen as he made his way to the table.
    James stared down at his plate. He knew by heart how Pop looked and what he would do. Pop’s chair skidded backwards, its legs scraping across the floor. He dropped into it with a heave, and scooted it forward. The rest of them sat, their chairs silent as they settled into their places.
    Dishes of food streamed Pop’s way. He didn’t even have to ask. Mama said he’d asked once, years ago, when they first married. She just passed them now, and she’d taught James, and his brothers and sisters, to do the same.
    “Posts and wire in the shed?” Pop asked around a mouthful of pork.
    “Yes, sir,” Harold responded. “Fence is down and everything put away, just like you wanted.”
    Pop nodded. “Where’s Magdalena?” Pop’s attention was off Harold and Alex. His gaze went from Magdalena’s empty space to Mama.
    Mama didn’t hesitate. She answered as suddenly as he’d asked. “Trying out for a job.”
    Pop stopped chewing. “Restaurant?”
    Mama shook her head, quick and sharp, as if the idea of Magdalena working in a restaurant was ludicrous. No one said a thing as Pop stared Mama down. “She wouldn’t do that,” Mama said, the muscles in her jaw tight.
    Pop watched Mama a moment longer, then stabbed a chunk of meat on his fork and wagged it at her. “What else would a girl be doing this time of night?”
    Mama took a bite and chewed. James watched her lower jaw grind, side to side, and up and down. She shook her head as if that was answer enough for Pop’s question. I don’t know what our daughter is doing, but it’s okay. James wished Magdalena had stayed home and just done what Pop wanted.
    Pop turned his gaze on James. James drew in a shallow breath and met his father’s eyes. The fork pointed his way, and Pop’s look sharpened. “What’s in your sister’s blood ain’t fit to be discussed at this table.” He shot a glance at Mama, then back at James. “I’ll deal with her when she gets home.” Pop’s eyes carried the fiery spark of welding, pinpointed and hot, as he zeroed in on James. He didn’t want to look in Pop’s eyes, just like he wasn’t supposed to look at the bright light of welding. “And you...” Pop’s voice took on a darker tone. “You got some of your sister’s blood in you, but that ain’t your problem. It’s what you ain’t got that is. Forget about that game you were talking about earlier. Baseball’s not in your blood.”

Chapter 4
    Lana 1929
    The roar and rumble of Cletus’ truck created a cocoon, a shell of noise around a wordless vacuum. Lana welcomed the silence the first hour they drove toward Cletus’ home. She’d stared out the side window, the scenery a teary blur as she forced her heart to catch up to them. She was married now. It was senseless to linger over a childhood that was gone. Grandma’d told her what she had to do, and she’d do it, even without her father there helping her make the transition. She stole a glance to her left, across the seat, at her new husband. Cletus’ large hands gripped the steering wheel, his gaze fixed on the road ahead.
    Lana needed to see Cletus’ face again, see more than the sallow blue eyes that had said hello and hurry at the same time. She’d been too surprised when she opened the door, too uncertain as Cletus’ long legs turned and led her to his truck. Lana glanced again out