Unsheltered

by Barbara Kingsolver

Silence settled on the dining room. The candle flames flinched in unison as an exterior door was opened and closed. Thatcher listened to a household driven by its endless preoccupations: china teacups vexing their saucers, the pump handle creaking out in the yard where Mrs. Brindle pumped water for washing up after their meal. The lifting and closing of the wooden lid of the toilet stool upstairs, where Gracie would find the stains of a secret bereavement as she cleaned the bedchambers. The quiet refrains of his disintegrating home.

Willa tucked her hands between her knees and declined to believe these things.

Willa’s heart constricted at the thought of a daughter incurring damage while she looked the other way.

Anything in her mother’s handwriting she saved.