Page from a Tennessee Journal (AmazonEncore Edition)

shared with Doug. Lottie had already climbed down from their platform bed to sit herself on one of the two backless crates at the table.
    “Never you mind, Cleveland, I put the fire on. Lottie, I put some butter beans on the back of the stove for supper. I want you to watch them.” Annalaura set the chipped cup with the bacon drippings on the table. Little Henry jumped from his perch and raced his middle brother, Doug, for the same crate chair. Doug won, and Henry set up a howl.
    “Come sit with me, Henry, and hush up that noise. Cleveland and Doug, we’ve got a hard day ahead of us.”
    “Momma, cain’t we have somethin’ else besides biscuits and bacon fat for breakfast?” Lottie dropped her head on the table for an instant. Brightening, the five-year old’s cocoa-brown face broke into a wide grin. “Let’s have eggs. I’ll go fetch them.” The little girl thundered to the ladder.
    Annalaura shook her head.
    “Doug will help you put them on to boil, but they ain’t fo’ breakfast. They gonna be our noonday dinner.” She reached for one of Henry’s shoes and tried to jam his foot into the tight-fitting high top.
    “Momma, I’m hungry now. I want eggs now.” Lottie poked out her lower lip and gave Annalaura her best “po’ chile” pout.
    “Eggs now. Eggs now.” Henry clapped his hands. The grin spread over his face as he celebrated his sister’s misery.
    “Hush up, both of you.” It pained Annalaura to let her voice sound as sharp as it did. Too roughly, she shoved the shoe onto Henry’s protesting foot. Ignoring his screams as best she could, she eased him to the floor as she tried to compose herself. Annalaura couldn’t let the children see how bad off things really were. At least, not until she could come up with a plan. She got her voice under control. “No mo’ than four eggs now. I don’t think them old hens is laying much any mo’.”
    “Then, can we have that old one for supper tonight? Ain’t had chicken in ever so long.” Doug’s voice sounded chipper, though at nine, he should already have known the answer.
    If not, Cleveland was there to supply it to him.
    “No, you jackass. If we keep eatin’ the laying hens, we won’t have no eggs at all.” Cleveland dodged Doug’s slap at his head only to be met by Annalaura’s backhand to his shoulder.
    “Ain’t I told you ’bout no swearin’? ’Specially in front of ladies and children.” Annalaura looked down at Henry, still on the ground protesting the offending shoes.
    “Papa swears sometimes.” Cleveland folded his arms across his chest and wagged his head, looking so much like John that it gave Annalaura a startle.
    “Your papa ain’t never swore at me nor you children not nary a time and you know it. Decent folks don’t use those kind of words.” Annalaura clamped her eyes shut for an instant as her head swirled her world around her. She couldn’t take out her fear on her children. “It’s just a hard day comin’ up, is all.” She watched her eldest drop his hands to the table and look over at her.
    “Every day is hard for us, Momma.” Cleveland’s voice dripped the sound of a weary old man.
    Annalaura sucked in her lip. It wasn’t right for children to have to pay for the sins of the father. While Henry bellowed his discomfort and Doug and Lottie scampered down the ladder, Annalaura stood to get the kitchen knife. It was time to cut the sole from the leather on Henry’s shoes. Cleveland followed her with his eyes.
    “You think Papa will be back befo’ the harvest?” For all his manly cares, there was still something of the little boy in her firstborn, and Annalaura was glad that all his childhood hadn’t been taken from him. He still had hope.
    “Yo’ papa be back in due time. He left us here ’cause he knew we’d be all right.” She pulled off the vexing shoes. Annalaura didn’t like telling lies to her children, but she had just come upon the idea herself that her husband was gone for good.
    “You think Papa’s gone to Clarksville?” Cleveland’s doubting voice showed more than budding growing-up lows and highs.
    “Clarksville’s not but five miles away.” Annalaura knew that if John were in that close-knit colored community, she would surely know about it. “I reckon you could be right. Yo’ papa’s sure to walk through that do’ just about any time now.” With the shoe sliced open to allow Henry’s toes wiggle room, she swept the boy back onto her lap.
    As Annalaura