went away to war when I was small. Mama said he would be coming back soon. She said the War was over now."
"She was surely right about that. Where is your mama?"
"She's gone. Some bad men came and took her away. I didn't think they were bad men at first because they wore those gray uniforms," she pointed at Dal, "like he does. But they took mama away. They dragged her."
"And they just left you here? Alone?"
"Mama didn't tell them about me. I don't think she did. She was afraid, and I think she knew they were coming, because when she came in she was all scared and everything. She said some bad men were taking women away and that if they came here I should keep very still and wait, that papa would come."
"How've you been getting along?" Dal asked. "Have you been eating?"
"Oh, yes! There's milk. There's some left, anyway. And there's cheese mama made, and bread she baked for papa."
"How long have you been here alone?"
"See?" she pointed at a calendar. "I scratch off the days. It is four days."
Dal looked around. "Snug cabin." He glanced at the little girl. "Is it all right if we stay here tonight? We're going home."
"You can stay. I wish you would. At night sometimes it is scary. I think about wolves an' Indians an' ghosts an' such."
"What's your name, honey?" Mac asked.
"I'm Susan. I am Susan Atherton."
Dal glanced at Mac, then at her. "Jim Atherton?"
"Yes. Did you know him?"
Dal's face was pale and he turned toward the fireplace. "I knew him in passing, sort of. I mean I never knew him well."
Dal started for the door. "I'll fetch some wood. Mac? You want to help me?"
Outside, Dal said, "Mac? We've got to take her with us. We'll have to take her home. Jim Atherton's dead. He was killed by a sharpshooter, last day of the War."
"What about this business? Men in gray uniforms carrying off women? That doesn't seem like any Southerners we know."
"There's all kinds." Dal thought a moment. "Could be Colonel Ashford. He was headed this way, but I didn't think he'd bother women-folks. Always seemed a gentleman." He paused. "He wanted me to come with him and keep on fightin'. The War may be over for you an' me but it ain't over for Ashford. When Lee surrendered he was fit to be tied. Called him a traitor, a coward, whatever he could think of."
"We'd better go back inside. She'll be afraid we left her, too."
"Damn it, Mac! What's got into the man? Draggin' women-folks away to God knows what?"
"Dal? There's women-folks at our place, too. And it can't be more'n thirty-five, forty miles from here."
"I was thinkin' of that. No use to start now. We'd kill our horses before we made it. Let 'em rest, eat, an' we'll ride out in the mornin'."
Mac went back through the door and watched the girl, finally saying, "Susan? I think when we leave in the morning we'd better take you with us. Your papa may be some time in getting here, and we'll leave a note for him. We've got some folks down south of here, and you can stay with them."
She looked at them, round-eyed and serious. "Mama said I was to wait for papa."
Mac squatted down beside her. "Susan, the War is over, but it may take some time for all the soldiers to come home. We don't know where your papa was, and he might have to walk all the way from Pennsylvania or Virginia. You had better come and stay with us until he can come for you."
In a cyclone cellar near the house they found several slabs of bacon hanging, a half barrel of potatoes, and one of carrots and onions Some of the potatoes had begun to sprout. The milk was kept in a cool place, a small pit slabbed with rock. The milk was beginning to turn, but there was butter-milk and a little cheese.
"Your mother must have been a worker," Dal commented as Mac put food on the table.
"I helped. I can work, too."
"How old are you, Susan?"
"I am eight years old. I helped mama with everything. I can milk a cow, and I can churn butter, and I helped dig the vegetables."
She ate in silence for a few minutes and then asked,
"She was surely right about that. Where is your mama?"
"She's gone. Some bad men came and took her away. I didn't think they were bad men at first because they wore those gray uniforms," she pointed at Dal, "like he does. But they took mama away. They dragged her."
"And they just left you here? Alone?"
"Mama didn't tell them about me. I don't think she did. She was afraid, and I think she knew they were coming, because when she came in she was all scared and everything. She said some bad men were taking women away and that if they came here I should keep very still and wait, that papa would come."
"How've you been getting along?" Dal asked. "Have you been eating?"
"Oh, yes! There's milk. There's some left, anyway. And there's cheese mama made, and bread she baked for papa."
"How long have you been here alone?"
"See?" she pointed at a calendar. "I scratch off the days. It is four days."
Dal looked around. "Snug cabin." He glanced at the little girl. "Is it all right if we stay here tonight? We're going home."
"You can stay. I wish you would. At night sometimes it is scary. I think about wolves an' Indians an' ghosts an' such."
"What's your name, honey?" Mac asked.
"I'm Susan. I am Susan Atherton."
Dal glanced at Mac, then at her. "Jim Atherton?"
"Yes. Did you know him?"
Dal's face was pale and he turned toward the fireplace. "I knew him in passing, sort of. I mean I never knew him well."
Dal started for the door. "I'll fetch some wood. Mac? You want to help me?"
Outside, Dal said, "Mac? We've got to take her with us. We'll have to take her home. Jim Atherton's dead. He was killed by a sharpshooter, last day of the War."
"What about this business? Men in gray uniforms carrying off women? That doesn't seem like any Southerners we know."
"There's all kinds." Dal thought a moment. "Could be Colonel Ashford. He was headed this way, but I didn't think he'd bother women-folks. Always seemed a gentleman." He paused. "He wanted me to come with him and keep on fightin'. The War may be over for you an' me but it ain't over for Ashford. When Lee surrendered he was fit to be tied. Called him a traitor, a coward, whatever he could think of."
"We'd better go back inside. She'll be afraid we left her, too."
"Damn it, Mac! What's got into the man? Draggin' women-folks away to God knows what?"
"Dal? There's women-folks at our place, too. And it can't be more'n thirty-five, forty miles from here."
"I was thinkin' of that. No use to start now. We'd kill our horses before we made it. Let 'em rest, eat, an' we'll ride out in the mornin'."
Mac went back through the door and watched the girl, finally saying, "Susan? I think when we leave in the morning we'd better take you with us. Your papa may be some time in getting here, and we'll leave a note for him. We've got some folks down south of here, and you can stay with them."
She looked at them, round-eyed and serious. "Mama said I was to wait for papa."
Mac squatted down beside her. "Susan, the War is over, but it may take some time for all the soldiers to come home. We don't know where your papa was, and he might have to walk all the way from Pennsylvania or Virginia. You had better come and stay with us until he can come for you."
In a cyclone cellar near the house they found several slabs of bacon hanging, a half barrel of potatoes, and one of carrots and onions Some of the potatoes had begun to sprout. The milk was kept in a cool place, a small pit slabbed with rock. The milk was beginning to turn, but there was butter-milk and a little cheese.
"Your mother must have been a worker," Dal commented as Mac put food on the table.
"I helped. I can work, too."
"How old are you, Susan?"
"I am eight years old. I helped mama with everything. I can milk a cow, and I can churn butter, and I helped dig the vegetables."
She ate in silence for a few minutes and then asked,
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