“What’s wrong now?” Loreda said, sounding put-upon.

Elsa drew a breath, pushed off, let the swing rock backward and forward. Lord, she wished her grandpa were here to say, Be brave, and give her a little push. “Your father has left—”

Loreda looked impatient. “Oh, yeah? Where’d he go?”

And there it was. The moment to lie or tell the truth.

He’s taken a job out of town to save us. It would be easy to say, harder to prove when no money or letters came, when month after month, he didn’t come home. But they wouldn’t cry themselves to sleep, either.

Only Elsa would.

“Mom?” Loreda said sharply. “Where did Dad go?”

“I don’t know,” Elsa said. “He left us.”

“Wait. What?” Loreda jumped off the swing. “You mean—”

“He’s gone, Lolo,” Elsa said. “Apparently he jumped on a train.”

“DON’T YOU CALL ME THAT. Only he can call me that,” Loreda screamed.

Elsa felt fragile enough that she feared there were tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“He left you,” Loreda said.

“Yes.”

“I HATE YOU!” Loreda ran down the porch steps and disappeared around the corner of the house.

Ant twisted around to look up at Elsa. His confusion was heartbreaking. “When’s he comin’ back?”

“I don’t think he will come back, Ant.”

“But . . . we need him.”

“I know, baby; it hurts.” She stroked his hair back from his face.

Tears filled his eyes and seeing that made her own eyes sting, but she refused to cry in front of Ant.

“I want my daddy. I want my daddy . . .”

Elsa held her son close and let him cry. “I know, baby. I know . . .”

She couldn’t think of anything else to say.

LOREDA CLIMBED UP THE windmill and sat on the platform beneath the giant blades, her knees drawn up. The wood was warm beneath her, heated by the sun.

How could Daddy do this? How could he leave his family on the farm without crops or water? How could he leave— Me.

It hurt so much she couldn’t breathe when she thought of it.

“Come back,” she screamed.

The blue, sunlit Great Plains sky swallowed her feeble cry and left her there, alone, feeling small and lonely.

How could he abandon her when he knew how much she wanted to leave this farm? She was like him, not like Mom and Grandma and Grandpa. Loreda didn’t want to be a farmer; she wanted to go out into the great big world and become a writer and write something important. She wanted to leave Texas.

She felt the windmill rattle and thought, Great, now Mom was going to come up, looking all pathetic, and try to comfort Loreda. Mom was the very last person Loreda wanted to see now.

“Go away,” Loreda said, wiping her eyes. “This is all your fault.”

Mom sighed. She looked pale, almost fragile, but that was ridiculous. Mom was about as fragile as a yucca root.

Mom continued climbing up to the platform and sat down beside Loreda, in the place her daddy always sat, and it made Loreda suddenly furious. “You don’t belong there,” she said. “It’s where . . .” Her voice broke.

Mom laid a hand on Loreda’s thigh. “Honey—”

“No. No.” Loreda wrenched free. “I don’t want to hear some lie about how it will be okay. Nothing will ever be okay again. You drove him away.”

“I love your father, Loreda.” Mom said it so quietly Loreda could barely hear it. She saw tears brighten her mother’s eyes and thought, I will not watch you cry.

“He wouldn’t leave me.” The words felt ripped out of Loreda. She climbed down the windmill and ran, blinded by tears, back into the house, where Grandpa and Grandma sat on the settee, holding hands, looking like tornado survivors, stricken.

“Loreda,” Grandma said. “Come back . . .”

Loreda barged up to her bedroom, and found Ant curled into a little ball on her bed, sucking his thumb.

The sight of him crying finally broke Loreda. She felt her own tears burn, fall.

“He left us?” Ant said. “Really?”

“Not us. Her. He’s probably waiting for us somewhere.”

Ant sat up. “Like an adventure?”

“Yes.” Loreda wiped her eyes, thinking, Of course. “Like an adventure.”

ELSA REMAINED ON THE platform, staring out, seeing nothing. The thought of climbing down, walking back into the house, into her bedroom—her bed—was more than she could bear. So she stayed there, thinking of all the things she’d done wrong that had led to this moment and wondering what her life would be like now.

She felt a brush of wind lift her hair. She was so lost in her thicket of pain, she barely noticed.

I should go after Loreda.

But she couldn’t face her daughter’s fury and heartache. Not yet.

She should have told Rafe she’d go west. Everything would be different now if she’d simply said, Sure, Rafe, we’ll go. He would have stayed. They could have convinced Tony and Rose to come with them.

No.

That was a lie she couldn’t tell herself even now. And how could Elsa and Rafe have left them behind? How could they have gone west with no car and no money?