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“Harman—”

A whiid with fear as the whier

“Wazzat?”

“The wind,” she said quickly, “it’s just the wind”

“Mama?”

The baby’s cry was soft but it seeht, Tommy, no, please, baby, no Go back to sleep

“Maan to cry

“It’s the kid,” Harirl”

“He’s not He’s just—we must have woken him He heard us and he’s afraid He’s only a baby”

“I’ll give him somethin’ to be afraid of,” her husband said He rose up on one elbow, groaned and fell back against the pillows “In the mornin’ I’m too wore out now Man works all day, coet it?”

“Maaamaaa…”

“Go shut the kid up, you hear me, Dawn? You keep him quiet, or else”

Dawn sprang froether and ran into the next roo for it, really, and suddenly she knehy she hadn’t suggested it was time to put hi, afraid of Har he wasn’t a baby any longer

“Mama?”

Tommy sobbed her name, lifted his arms to her and she scooped him up, held him close, soothed him hispers and kisses