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But the second decree had started the fight. The President had instituted a labor draft to provide this aid. Every male Indian in the highlands would be rounded up tomorrow and taken to the Piedmont to save the coffee. Anyone caught ducking the draft would be whipped and forced to work anyway like the others, but in shackles.
    â€œHow can we possibly keep this running now,” Mother said, not like a question. Seated at the table, Evie studied her work, trying to come up with something more than horns on the President that would make them both laugh.
    â€œOh,” Father mused, “there are ways.”
    Turning to the second page, Evie found a picture of the Catholic church, which had collapsed hours after they’d been sitting under its protection. What had happened to the orphan girls? Only the steps remained, perfectly intact, leading up to a pile of grainy black-and-white rubble.
    â€œThere is no way to run a farm without workers, Robert.”
    It had never occurred to Evie that a building could collapse, let alone a church. All this time, she had felt protected somehow, living in their little chapel on the mountain. Now she stared up with fear at the lumpy walls, the pitched ceiling.
    â€œWe could sell some things, maybe. It says any Indians indebted to a farmer are exempt. It says here, any Indian five hundred pesos or more in debt. We could loan them money to keep them here.”
    Evie began to color in the church ruins with a dark blue pencil. She would have used white, but experience had taught her that she needed bold, dark colors when filling in the newspaper. Anything less would just smear the ink and make everything gray.
    â€œWhat do we have to sell, Robert?” Mother’s tone caused Evie to pause, unable to color well and listen at the same time. “Of course, something of mine.”
    â€œWell, Mattie,” Father joked, feeling her out with his playful blue eyes, “you have such nice things.”
    â€œHow convenient for you.” Mother regained her composure just as quickly as she’d lost it, though her cheeks remained two scorched circles.
    â€œI would if I had anything, if I came from rich folks—”
    â€œI have an idea!” Mother clapped. “How about Evie?”
    Evie looked up from not drawing.
    â€œShe’s half yours. We could hire out Evie! Hey, why not? She’d bring in a good price.” Mother’s gaze glittered with possibility. “The coffee plantations would take her, for sure. Or one of the new banana farms. You like bananas, Evie.”
    Father chuckled with horrifying lightness. “Now, that’s an idea.”
    Evie dropped her pencil and choked on the sob in her throat. It had been a long time since she’d wanted to work on a banana plantation, didn’t they know that? She had learned what it was actually like from Judas, who had worked on the coast for years. Whippings, rotten beans to eat, yellow fever. And the coffee plantations were no better, according to Ixna. Evie stood up from her chair, shaking, with tears in her eyes.
    Mother drew her in, embracing her roughly with a little, harried laugh. “We’re just joking, sweetie. We’re not going to sell you to anyone. How could you think that? You’re old enough to know when your father and I are teasing.”
    â€œThat’s a nice picture, Evie,” Father commented, turning the newspaper back to the front page. The President of Guatemala with horns and gold peso eyes. “You understand the situation here more than anyone I know.”
    â€”
    They sent Evie to the kitchen, so they could argue in earnest. There, she tried to feed Magellan. He was not doing well. Evie had yet to convince himto eat anything. She had tried worms and flies, berries, beetles, and bread. Everything she pushed into the slats of the chicken crate rotted or crawled away.
    How do you force food on someone? He must be starving.
    No one cares about bread