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ringing the dinner bell.
    â€œPiper, I expect you to eat more than that,” Betty fussed, filling Piper’s plate with another helping of fried chicken. “Conrad, there’s a fresh pair of socks on your bed. You’ve been growing again; I swear your feet is a whole size bigger than last week, so I figured you needed more.”
    â€œThank you, Mrs. McCloud.”
    Betty was always doing small special things for Conrad. Ever since he’d come to live with them something had told her that the boy needed a little extra mothering. For all of Conrad’s smarts, he seemed a little lost to Betty, and she took it upon herself to make him feel cared for, even if it was just making sure he had warm socks and a clean shirt to wear.
    â€œAnd no feeding that—” Betty searched for just the right word to describe Fido, who sat begging at Conrad’s feet. “That—pet or whatever it is at this here table.”
    â€œYes, Mrs. McCloud.”
    Unseen by Betty, Piper slid a small piece of driftwood about the size of a banana in front of her father. “Saw that when I was out flying,” Piper said quietly. “Knew right away that it was made just for you, and I picked it up.”
    Joe McCloud was as quiet as his wife was chatty. A small sigh, a nod of his head, or shrug of his shoulder was all it took to get Joe’s point across. He was the favorite person to go to when someone needed to talk things out. As Joe fixed a fence or ploughed a field or mended a feed trough it was a common sight to see him trailed by one kid or another talking a mile a minute about something that was on their mind. It was a rare day when they walked away from Joe not feeling one hundred percent better, too.
    His gentle hands, weathered by the sun of the summer and the snows of the winter, turned over the piece of wood and nodded. If he wasn’t a farmer and he didn’t call his whittling a hobby, some fancy city person might actually say that Joe’s wood carvings were art.
    Joe tucked the piece of wood appreciatively into his pocket and Piper touched his hand with her small pale one.
    After two slices of Betty’s fresh apple pie, the McCloud clan, both by birth and adoption, gathered around their newly acquired television. It was the night of the national election and Betty was eager to learn the results. As usual, she was as chatty as she was round and had opinions about all the candidates and wasn’t afraid to share them.
    â€œNow, that there Senator Harrington would make a fine president. That’s who got my vote.” Betty nodded approvingly as Senator Harrington’s face flashed across the television screen. “He talks nothing but the truth, and I like that. Folks have gotta be able to trust their president, and I say Senator Harrington is as honest as the day is long.”
    As much as she hated to admit it, even Piper could see why her mother felt kindly toward Harrington. There was something about the way Harrington talked that made you want to listen to him—and believe in him. He was almost hypnotic.
    Suddenly Betty squinted and leaned forward to study the screen with a renewed intensity. “I declare, I din’t notice this ’fore but this brand-new TV is so sharp it makes me see that Senator Harrington looks a heap like our Conrad. Don’t he, Mr. McCloud?”
    Joe McCloud nodded quietly, looking between the television and Conrad.
    Piper squirmed uncomfortably. What would her parents think if they knew that Conrad really was the son of Senator Harrington? Betty and Joe had never asked where Conrad came from. To them he was simply a youngen who needed a place to stay and a family to keep him safe, both of which they were glad to provide.
    â€œSenator Harrington’s a big phony,” Piper said quickly and with passion. “Sure, he’s got blond hair like Conrad, but lots of folks do. And I wouldn’t trust him farther than I could