The summer dragged on, as anxious eyes watched skyward for relief that never came. For days on end, the wind blew hot and dry from the southwest, setting nerves on edge and straining tempers to the limit.

Amber glanced up from her work as Aunt Grizelda heaved a sigh and sat down heavily across the table from her. Clumsy and swollen with yet another pregnancy, she was, no doubt, every bit as uncomfortable as she looked. Strands of graying hair hung limp at her temples and fine beads of perspiration stood out on her forehead. Amber felt sorry for her. The heat was hard on all of them, and she knew it was almost unbearable for Grizelda.

Eight kids, thought Amber, feeling a mixture of awe and concern. According to Uncle John, there was always room for one more, but things were getting a little crowded. The children slept three to a bed already, and when this new baby came, the last one, little Jamie, would have to give up the cradle in the bedroom and move out with the others. But none of the children seemed to mind the crowded conditions; it seemed they could adapt to any situation, however unpleasant, and they never complained much. All, that is, except the petulant little Lucy.

Amber, play with me, the three-year-old pleaded in her annoying, high-pitched whine, flipping her golden braids back over each shoulder. Her bare feet and small, stout legs, tan with dust, were braced wide apart. In one sweaty little hand she clutched the rag doll she had received last Christmas.

Amber started to answer, but was cut short. No! snapped Grizelda. Amber has to help me braid this rug. She picked through the pile of rag strips on the table. You go on outside and play. Find Kris---hell play with you.

Lucy began to sob. No he wont, she cried defiantly. I want Amber! I want Amber! she screamed, louder and louder.

I said no! Now be quiet or youll wake the baby. Go on out and dont bother us, do you hear? And dont hold that screen door open---the flies are already thick in here!

The screen door slammed. Grizelda sighed and wiped the perspiration from her forehead with the back of one hand, as Lucys wails receded across the dusty farmyard.

Even Ambers thoughts seemed to seek relief from the heat, for she found herself thinking about last Christmas. It had been a nice holiday in many ways. Their tree had been the best one ever, just a bare little branch Uncle John had cut from a cottonwood, but they had transformed it into a fairly respectable Christmas tree with the addition of cranberry and popcorn strings and paper decorations.

And, of course, there were the gifts, simple and homemade though they were. She recalled Lucys squeal of joy when she first saw the rag doll her mother had made, and the other childrens delight with their own gifts. It took so little to make them happy!

Lucys doll, made from an old sock and stuffed with sawdust, reminded Amber of the doll she once had back in Ohio---the only doll she ever owned. She wondered what had finally become of that doll. Lisa and Amy had probably worn it out long ago. Since then, all my dolls have been real ones, she said to herself with a sigh, as she watched little Karl, Hilda, and the twins playing around on the floor with tin pans and jabbering to one another. Soon Jamie would be old enough to join them in their childish games.

Amber slipped one hand under the table and slowly eased her skirt up to her knees. Long dresses made her feel grown up for fifteen, but they sure werent practical in hot weather!

Pay attention! grumbled Aunt Grizelda, as she waved away a bothersome fly. Youre not holding that tight.

When do you think Lonnie and Uncle John will get back? Amber wondered aloud.

Better be shortly, replied Grizelda. Its almost time to do chores. If they dont come before long, youll have to start the milking.

Digging a new well must be a big job. But with all the neighbors helping, maybe Josh can get it done today, said Amber.

Mr. Mitchell, corrected her aunt.

Yes, maam---Mr. Mitchell.

The screen door banged and Kris trudged in, grimy with dirt from playing under the hackberry bush beside the porch. I want a drink! he announced, as he stood on tiptoe and plunged the tin dipper into the water bucket on the corner shelf.

Wheres Lucy? asked his mother.

Kris paused only long enough between gulps to answer. Dont know, he said, water dripping from his chin.

Well, go find her and see what shes doing. I dont want her chasing those chickens again.

He returned the dipper to the bucket, wiped his mud-streaked mouth on his shirt, and went back out.

Wed better stop for now. You get things cleared away so I can fix the mush for supper, said Aunt Grizelda, and Amber cleared the table of rag strips, needles and thread. Now, grab a dish towel and help me shoo some of these flies out. She stationed Hilda at the door. You hold this open for us. Thats it.

Kris sauntered back through as Hilda held the door. Cant find her, he said with boyish unconcern, as he joined them and began waving his arms to help drive the flies out.

What do you mean, you cant find her? demanded his mother impatiently. Amber, you go get her.

Amber stepped out onto the porch and shaded her eyes with one hand. The farmyard was bathed in the glare of the late afternoon sun. Lucy, she called. There was no answer. She tried again. Luuu-ceee! Still there was no answer. She had probably fallen asleep in the barn or some other cool place.

Dont just stand there yelling---go look for her! ordered Aunt Grizelda, but Amber was already off the porch.

She quickly made the rounds of the whole farmyard---the barn, the haystack, the chicken house, the pig pen, the granary, the smokehouse---once and then again, but Lucy was not to be found. Shes got to be around here someplace. She didnt just disappear! Amber reassured herself.

The only place she had not searched yet was the corral. It did not seem a likely place, but it was worth a try. As she passed the water trough, a piercing whine caused her head to jerk around. Lucy? she called. It was only the windmills screeching complaint of metal against metal. But something bright caught her eye. Lucys rag doll was floating face up on the surface of the water, its embroidered smile and shiny button eyes staring up at her with innocent cheerfulness. Amber picked it up. Well, shes around here someplace, she told herself.

Suddenly, fear clutched at her heart. With sickening dread, she slowly leaned over the trough and peered into the murky depths of the water. She gasped! Lucys small, still form was sprawled face down on the bottom.

Oh, no! No! No! she cried, as though she could will away what she had seen. She began to sob, but fought the impulse to run screaming to the house. To panic now would not help. She must get Lucy out. Quickly she reached into the water, pulled the child to the surface and slipped both arms underneath her. Carrying the limp little body, she stumbled toward the house, sobbing uncontrollably. Tears streamed down her face and splashed onto Lucys soaked dress, joining the dripping water to leave a dark, wet trail in the dust of the farmyard.

Aunt Grizeldas form appeared in the doorway. Amber was unable to speak, but words were not needed. With a moan of anguish, Grizelda took Lucy from her arms. My baby! My baby! she cried hysterically, searching the little face for signs of life. Lucy no longer looked troubled, but was peaceful now in death.


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