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stay. It’s getting dark. We need to get on home.”
    â€œHome sweet home,” I croaked. This cockeyed, slapped-together nine-foot by twelve-foot claim shack…my
home.
    â€œAch, Schnee,”
Karl muttered as he swung open the door. “Snow.”
    â€œOh, dear.” Perilee stamped snow off her shoes. “No one plugged the keyhole.”
    Even in the gloom, I could see an icy slash of white that the wind had forced through the keyhole and across the cabin floor. It was as if Nature herself had drawn a line to keep me out. I fought back the urge to throw myself on Perilee’s mercy and beg to go home with them.
    Mattie slipped her tiny hand in mine. “You can sweep that up, boil it, and make coffee,” she said.
    Perilee smiled proudly. “Out of the mouths of babes.”
    â€œI sure can.” I cleared the tears out of my throat. “Thank goodness I packed a broom.”
    â€œThat’s the spirit.” Perilee patted my arm. “I know it don’t look like much. Claim shacks never do. After you get proved up, you can work on a proper house.”
    â€œDo you…” Would it be bad manners to ask Perilee if she lived in such a shack? “I mean, have you? Proved up?”
    â€œSugar, I’m an old-timer!” Perilee laughed. “I have a cozy house now. But everyone started out like this. Or worse.” She shifted Fern to her other hip. “My folks had a soddy—you know, a house built from bricks of sod. It was warm in the winter and cool in the summer, but oh, the bugs! And dirt. Dirt everywhere.” She took a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped at Fern’s drippy nose. “Trust me, this is a castle compared to a sod house.”
    Chase burst in through the door, a blast of cold air on his heels. “Here, Miz Brooks. I fetched you some water. For washing and such tonight.” He set the bucket on the stove.
    â€œWhy, thank you, Chase.” I was surprised by his kind act.
    â€œYour well’s right out there.” He pointed. “You’ll need to fetch more in the morning.”
    â€œ
Das ist das
last.” Karl brought in the last of my boxes.
    â€œRight,” said Perilee. She turned to me. “We’ve got to go, hon.”
    Mr. Whiskers complained from his carrying case. He didn’t seem any too pleased with our accommodations, either.
    â€œI’d leave him inside for a few days,” advised Perilee.
    â€œHe’s a pretty tough old puss,” I said. “He can handle the cold.”
    â€œNo, dear.” Perilee patted my arm. “Because of the mice.”
    I shuddered. “In the house?”
    â€œChester was none too neat. And the house has been vacant awhile, and—”
    I held up my hand. “No more ands.”
    Perilee hooted with laughter. “Sugar, you are a stitch.” She handed me a lamp and my small box of books. Karl passed over a covered dish, wrapped in a towel, and one of the strudels.
    â€œGet the fire lit,” said Perilee. “And you can heat this up for your supper.”
    â€œYou’ve done too much!” I protested, but Perilee covered her ears. “At least, let me repay you.” I reached for one of the bags of coffee beans. “Please. In trade.”
    Her hands hovered in the air for a moment. Then she took the coffee. “I’d say the family resemblance goes beyond looks.” She reached out to wrap me in another hug. This time I didn’t back away.
    With a jingle of the harness, they were off. I watched until they were a speck on the horizon.
    â€œYee-oww.” Mr. Whiskers sounded pretty insulted at this step down in his living arrangements. The shack—oh, it was a shack, no poetry of home and hearth allowed—was a flimsy cage, keeping me in and very little else out. The essentials appeared to be present: stove, coffeepot, bread pans, skillet, and such, plus a few rough and splintery shelves for