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loudly before lifting another great forkful of macaroni to her open mouth.
    Surprisingly, Bertie kept his peace and told Sadie he’d be ready in about half an hour.
    “I guess, if it’s all right with you, Dorothy?” Sadie asked.
    “Yeah. May as well help him out if his back can’t take it. We’re havin’ beef stew and rice for dinner this evening, so there’s not so much to do. Go on and help him out, the poor, old man.”
    “You know, if you wouldn’t be settin’ there eating all that macaroni and cheese, you wouldn’t be as…”
    “Say it, Bertie! Go ahead and say it!”
    Dorothy’s eyes were snapping and twinkling at the same time. Bertie smiled, and Sadie suddenly became ravenous for the cheesy concoction Dorothy was enjoying.
    “You want a dish of macaroni? Some sweet tea?” Sadie asked Bertie.
    Sadie smiled to herself, thinking how English she could sound when imitating the lovely people that she worked with.
    She heated more macaroni, punching the buttons of the microwave. At home, she would put her food in a saucepan, add extra milk, and set it on the gas burner of the stove. Then she would wait at least 15 minutes until it was heated through. She cringed at how Reuben burned food every time. He consistently plopped a saucepan on the gas stove, flipped the dial to high, and walked away. Sticking his nose in a magazine, he forgot about the stove until the house filled with the stench of burning food. Then he always blamed the girls for not making him something to eat. Using a microwave in an English person’s kitchen was pretty handy.
    Bertie settled into a kitchen chair, greatly enjoying his glass of tea and tucking into the dish of macaroni and cheese with as much enthusiasm as a much younger person.
    Watching him, Dorothy started on a tirade of the different metabolism rates in people’s bodies. Bertie said he didn’t know, he never went to school for that. What he did know was this—if you ate too much, you got fat.
    “Huh-uh. No. It ain’t true. Look at you hoggin’ that down. If I ate the way you do, I’d weigh 300 pounds!” Dorothy said testily.
    “Is that all you weigh?” Bertie returned, then made a laughing retreat out the door and back to work, leaving Dorothy fussing and fuming and checking the refrigerator for some leftover coleslaw.
    Sadie found the flats of purple and pink petunias, the hose with the gardener’s wand, and a trowel. Bertie wanted the flowers planted beside the brick walkways and on the side of the slope leading to the fishpond, but none in the shade by the trees.
    “Petunias don’t do well in the shade, you know,” he explained. “If you need anything, give me a holler. I’ll be mowing by the garage.”
    Sadie set to work, getting on her knees to dig, plant, and water. She loved the feel of the soil and reveled in the warm sunshine, the beauty of her surroundings, and the drone of bees as they flew busily from different sources of nectar.
    Cows bawled, calves answered, horses roamed the paddocks and pastures, dogs barked, and pickup trucks came and went. But Sadie heard very little of these sounds that made up daily life on the ranch. Instead, her thoughts turned to Mark Peight.
    Now why would he call Richard Caldwell? Yes, she knew he was looking for work, but… Did he know her parents forbid her to see him? No. How could he? She hadn’t told anyone. Even her sisters didn’t know. So, he wasn’t coming to the ranch as a way to see her.
    And now these children. A responsibility for someone. Had the police been here yet?
    She was turning away from the dumpster after depositing the used plastic pots, when she spied Louis and Marcellus running toward her. What a difference the soap and shampoo had made! They were beautiful children. They almost seemed adjusted to the ranch, and they’d been here less than a day. Perhaps this was due to Dorothy’s assurance that they would definitely be staying, that they had nothing to be afraid of, and that their