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swung back and forth, waiting for the verdict.
    Jacob Butler’s eyes darted and she knew he struggled accepting her help, even though she couched the idea into a plea for additional hands.
    “Fine. I probably won’t be as long if I don’t have the children to watch. Thank you,” he said.
    “I ain’t doing no chores,” Mary said.
    “Any chores, Mary. I am not doing any chores,” Olive said as she stood.
    “That’s what I said. I ain’t doing no chores.”
    Olive turned around quickly and the younger children’s mouths opened at the look on her face. “Let’s be perfectly clear, Mary. Everyone will help. That includes you.”
    Mary’s face was awash with defiance but Olive knew instinctively she must hold her ground. Mary needed love obviously, but guidance she was desperate for. The tension in the air was thick and Olive turned to the man heading out the door.
    “Wait, Mr. Butler. John didn’t finish his ham at the restaurant yesterday. Take it with you for your dinner.”
    * * *
    Jacob’s breath caught in his throat, as she handed him the bread with the ham between. How long had it been since someone, anyone, had thought of him? How long had it been since a woman handed him much needed food to break his hunger in the middle of the day. A year, Jacob thought. He hadn’t realized how sorely he missed the small give and take between man and wife that made grinding out his existence bearable.
    But this was not his petite, dark haired Margaret with a light laugh and strong hands. No, this woman didn’t have the heart shaped lips she had. Nor the full breasts he buried his face in when they made love. Jacob had loved Margaret since he was twelve years old and she him. He grabbed the wrapped food sternly, blaming this meddling woman for making him feel. Feel anything. That part of my life and heart is gone. I buried it with Margaret, he thought. Easier to deny the need than to face it. Easier to blame this old maid for the tightening in his chest than face the wrenching hole that Margaret’s death had left.
    * * *
    Olive watched the play of emotions that blew through Jacob Butler’s eyes and wondered what he was thinking. She watched him kiss the children and nod to Mary and walk out the door, those massive shoulders lower than usual.
    “What do we have to do?” Luke asked.
    “Well, children, we are going to begin with cleaning up this house. Mary, get the dirty dishes out of the sink. The rest of you can bring the breakfast dishes over,” Olive said.
    Mary scowled and Olive ignored her. Olive carried the hot water from the stove and dumped it in the pan. She rolled up the sleeves of the brown dress and handed Mary a dry rag. Mary looked down at the rag in confusion.
    “What do you want me to do with this? There’s already a rag in the sink,” Mary said.
    “I’ll wash, you dry, Mary,” Olive said.
    “I know how to scrub dishes.”
    “I’m sure you do,” Olive said and looked down at the girl.
    “I can earn John and my keep,” Mary said as she grabbed the sopping rag.
    “Mary,” Olive said puzzled, “what is this about? I wash. You dry. It’s not that complicated.”
    Mary took a step back and Olive saw tears form in the girl’s eyes.
    “My ma told me I had to earn my keep. I know I hafta. I could make it on my own but there’s John. I hafta earn my keep ta feed John. I know. Now gimme the rag.”
    Olive’s voice caught on a hitch of emotion and she hated the look of helplessness and fear on her niece’s face. Olive walked to the table, sat down and held her head. How would she ever explain to this girl that her love is unconditional? How would she erase a lifetime of anger? At that moment Olive hated her brother. Not for the squalor or the gambling or the disrepair of his home but for the pain he allowed his wife to inflict on his own child. Why, James, why did you allow it?
    “Mary, come here and sit down.” Olive watched as she turned from the sink and she saw suspicion rise on