CHAPTER 1

Looking for Water

The little boy drew the small paintbrush along the wood, pressing too hard,moving the bristles with difficulty, and then not pressing hard enough. Thebrush swooped into the air like a bird startled from a fence post. Dropsof white paint landed here and there, and a hot wind blew dust into thespots.

He grinned, his mouth full of baby teeth so white in his tanned face."See, Deb'r! Me paint!"

"Good job, Jimmy. Good."

Deborah Nelson studied her old work shoes, not bothering to wipe thespatters away. They were her favorite, most comfortable shoes, marked withmemories of other jobs ... the shallow cut on the leather from the timeshe used her foot to brace the sharp disk on a field implement ... oil fromgreasing the temperamental Maytag washing machine ... the marks frombeing gouged by broken barbed wire hidden under blown-in thistles. Andthere were the new soles that Victor Whitesong had proudly cobbled underAugust's teaching eye. Playing with words, the way her husband Christianused to do, Victor had said, "Look, I didn't cobble up the job."

"Next, Deb'r, next." Jimmy was learning the word next.

Before they had started painting the addition to Victor's house,Deborah had put a worn-out T-shirt from one of the bigger boys overJimmy's overalls, pulled the stretched neckline up in back, and pinned itwith a clothespin. Socks, so worn they could no longer be darned, coveredhis hands and shoes. He had laughed as she dressed him, knowing helooked silly, even saying he looked silly, but not bothered by it. The lastthing she had done was split the cuff of a man's stretched sock, which shepulled over his blond hair like a stocking cap. A tuft of hair stuck out ofa hole where the sock's heel would have been. He had said, "Thank you,Deb'r."

She had crouched down. "Let me hug you before you get paint onyourself." He hugged back, nuzzling his face against her neck.

He swaggered about, waving the small brush. "Me! Me ... paint!" Eachtime Jimmy said me, he jabbed his index finger into his chest. He grinnedat the bigger boys who were also painting the side of the house.

Deborah wore her hair in long braids, and she stopped to tuck theminside her collar and tie a bandana over her head. Jimmy gestured with hisbrush. "Hair. Black." He was learning his colors.

She held his hand and dipped his brush into the bucket of paint. Heneeded help. Jimmy either barely dampened the ends of the bristles oroverfilled them with paint onto the handle. He made a light, useless strokeon the board, and she put her hand on his, helping him feel the amountof pressure needed to move the brush. When she let go, he managed topaint a stripe.

Seven boys, her two and John Strate's five, were helping her paint VictorWhitesong's house, doing whatever part of the job each was capable ofaccomplishing. Jimmy Strate wasn't the best of painters, but he desperatelyneeded to feel he was a part of the group. At the stage where his awarenessof being the youngest and smallest was driving him to be more like the bigboys, Jimmy often said, "Me big!"

The hot wind had been blowing all morning, and a sudden gust sentmore dust and dry grass flying about them. "Oh, man," groaned Paul, theoldest of John's boys. "Dusty white. The drought is going to be preservedon the side of this house."

Jimmy blinked his eyes free of the dust. A broken piece of leaf stuck tosaliva in the corner of his mouth, and Deborah bent to brush it away.

"Thank you, Deb'r."

"You're welcome." She had never known such an appreciative child.

He thrust out his hand. "I'm two!" She could imagine he was holdingup two fingers within the sock.

"Two going on three," she sang.

"Free!" He held up his sock-covered hand again. His brush strokedthe board with paint.

August Goodman came around the corner of the house. "That's adandy job, Jimmy. All you boys, you're doing a real fine job." The old manremoved his straw hat and wiped his face. "You be sure you stay in thisshade. It's a hot day."

"You'd better follow your own advice, August." Deborah examinedhim closely. He seemed hot and tired. "Come sit on this tar bucket. Youcan supervise us."

"I believe I will, daughter." He was frail, and the overturned five-gallonbucket just fit his smallness. She brushed his white hair back from hisforehead, and the breeze caught it, ruffling its dampness.

"That air feels good," he said, watching the boys. "Here you all are,working so hard while I sit, and I'm the one who caused the work."

"That's not how we see it." She smoothed his hair to one side. "We'regetting a lot done, and that's satisfying."

The old man's face wasn't quite as flushed now. He grinned and bouncedon his seat in that typical manner of his. His face sobered. "Daughter, I'vebeen thinking about how much we've been getting done since all of usdecided to work together. But I don't think Audrey and me can say we'redoing a lot at eighty-five."

She wondered why he was thinking that. "That's not true. You dochores, you cut and rake alfalfa, and Audrey gardens and cooks. Both ofyou help to supervise and teach the boys. We're all grateful that you taughtHarlan and Lawrence how to tie shoes. Sure saves on shoestrings." All ofthe boys laughed. "This many children need serious watching over. Youknow it, they know it."

Flies buzzed about Deborah's head, and she batted at them tiredly."Age doesn't matter. You've brought your experience. Where else wouldI have learned things like making sauerkraut and dill pickles? Or how tosmoke hams without burning down the smokehouse?" They both laughed,remembering how Christian had once set the smokehouse on fire.

Paul had been listening. "Grandpa August, if Grandma wasn't cooking,my dad might be, and sometimes that's a catastrophe."

"Well," the old man said, "I reckon that's a consideration for sure.Though he does make a good boiled egg and coffee."

"Oh? You ever been around when he has let some eggs boil dry?" Lesterasked. "You ever smelled that?"

"You've taught me plenty about weather," Paul said.

Lester said, "Yep, and about the old days when you first came toKansas. I like learning about the olden days."

All of the boys had been listening.

"I've learned things about your Indian friends from the old days,"Harlan said.

"I liked learning how to plant tomatoes from Grandma Audrey,"Lester said.

"Tomato worms," Lawrence said.

"What about them?" Paul asked.

"Grandma Audrey couldn't see them, so I got to pick them and feedthem to the chickens. That was fun."

David said, "Grandma Audrey helped me learn to read."

"You taught me how to harness a team and drive a wagon," saidJonathan. "Even David learned how to do some of it."

August looked more cheerful. "I suppose there's something to allthat." Jimmy pretended he was going to paint August's face. The old manreached out and patted the boy's cheek. "Watch out there, young fellow."He slapped his knees and stood. "I'd better go tell John and Victor howto do that porch repair."

* * *

There had been some argument when August suggested his calf shedbe moved and added onto Victor's little two-room house. "You've doneenough for me, old friend," Victor said.

The old man had his reasoning ready. "Now, Victor, a kitchen andone bedroom are fine for a bachelor. But if you're going to have John andall his...