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but flavorless. Mattie’s whimpers weakened Maelle’s resolve, but memories of her mother’s admonitions about demon rum kept her planted on the boardwalk.
    After a long while, Watts emerged. “Here.” Leaning forward, he dropped a dry biscuit into each of their hands. As he straightened, Maelle glimpsed a slim tin canister in his shirt pocket. Her thank-you died on her lips with the sight of that little flask. “Now, let’s go.”
    Once more, Watts climbed onto the wagon’s seat, and Maelle and Mattie chased the wagon down the street to a dry goods store. Without speaking, Watts gestured for them to precede him into the store.
    Something good greeted Maelle’s nose as she stepped into the store—a malty, yeasty, tangy smell that made saliva pool in her mouth. Maelle sniffed deeply, as did Mattie. A grin of delight split her brother’s face when he spotted rows of candy jars. He dashed forward and, resting his fingertips on the wooden counter edge, raised up on tiptoe for a closer look at the jeweled gumdrops, striped peppermint sticks, and long ropes of licorice.
    Watts stomped over and gave Mattie a cuff on the back of the head that sent his hat askew. “Get away from there.”
    Maelle clamped her jaw against the protest that formed on her tongue. How dare that man hit Mattie? Holding his head, Mattie stayed close to Maelle as they followed Watts to the shelves of trousers and shirts.
    Maelle wondered what Watts would say if she suddenly blurted out she was a girl and not a boy. He’d put her back on the train and disappear with Mattie, she was sure. She tightened her grip on Mattie’s hand and kept silent.
    Watts held items against Maelle’s front and eventually built a short pile of two pairs of britches—one brown, one tan—and three shirts in different plaids. He plopped the stack into Maelle’s arms. “Come over here.” He led the children to a shelf that held folded pairs of long johns, and he added two pairs to her arms after shaking them out for inspection.
    “Well, that’s that, then.” He turned toward the counter.
    Maelle sent a startled glance at his retreating back. Trotting up beside him, she said, “Aren’t ya gettin’ somethin’ for me brother?”
    Watts barely glanced at her. “He can wear hand-me-downs.” Grabbing the clothes from her arms, he thumped them onto the counter and told the merchant, “Figure my tab.”
    The dry goods door opened and a family entered. The wife and two little girls remained close to the door, but the man removed his battered straw hat and came to the counter. “Excuse me, sir,” the man said, his gaze on the merchant. “The missus and I came into town to meet up with that train carrying orphans. We went to the church, like the printed flier said, but nobody’s there.”
    Maelle’s heart rose into her throat. She looked at the woman beside the door. Plain-faced and simply dressed, she cupped the shoulders of the two little girls who leaned against her skirts. Her hands, although work worn, seemed gentle in the way they stroked the children’s shoulders. She was a good ma—Maelle could sense it.
    She jerked her attention to the man. His clothes, too, were those of a working man, more like what Da had worn. Oh, why hadn’t this couple been at the church earlier? Maybe she and Mattie would have been taken by them!
    “Far as I know, mister,” the merchant said, “all them orphans have been claimed. Train pulled out just a bit ago, and that city lady who brung ’em was on it.”
    The man turned to his wife. “We’re too late, Martha.”
    Tears winked in the woman’s eyes, her chin quivering. “How we was hopin’ . . .”
    Moving to his wife, the man patted her shoulder. “Now, don’t fret. There’ll be other trains. We’ll leave earlier next time. We’ll get us a boy, don’t worry.”
    Watts frowned at the couple. “You there. You said you were wanting a boy?”
    The man faced Watts. “That’s right, mister. We drove all the way