My momma cries a lot these days. Oh, she tries to hide it, and the younger ones don’t really notice -- but I do. Not that I say anything. She really wouldn’t want me to.

Last summer was my tenth birthday, and my momma planned a real celebration. We had ourselves a big time. My momma says a girl needs special days to smile back on -- says it makes her a lady. Well, she sure gave me a day to remember. We invited the church folks and the neighbors, and of course all the family. Poppa put up a trestle table down near the spring. Forrest and I collected armfuls of wildflowers, and we put them in Momma’s canning jars. Everybody brought food -- we just spread it out under the trees. My cousin Minnie had visitors from Virginia and they brought new games -- Myrimana and Manacala. I was particular good at Manacala -- I won three rounds!

After all that food, we just lay around and made clover chains. Lookin’ back, I guess that was the first time I ever heard about this war. I remember listening to the grownups talkin’ even then about this trouble. Late in the evenin’ they all gathered on the front porch and their voices got all hushed and tense. You know how it is, there’s a certain tone comes into your momma’s voice and it gets you quiet -- sorta like chills down your back, or when a goose walks over your grave --and you listen. We did. We listened. We heard, but we didn’t understand. I still don’t. One thing for sure, there won’t be any celebrations this summer.

My poppa left yesterday. He’s gone to Chattanooga. Says he’s gonna get on a train with lots of other men and travel up north. My poppa’s never been on a train before. Told us it would be an adventure, even smiled when he said it -- but his eyes didn’t crinkle and his dimples didn’t come, so it wasn’t a real smile.

Poppa sure gave me lots of instructions before he left. He said I’ve got to help keep the farm running. The younger ones’ll help, for sure, but they’re just babies. I’m the oldest.