“Well, hello,” I said. I bent down a bit. “I’m Clara Jefferies. This is Hannah Jessop. We’re looking for your mothers.”
A tiny voice said, “They ain’t here.”
“Where are they?” I asked. “It’s important that we talk to your mothers. Someone older.”
“My momma, my whole family’s working in the field. Every one of them. But I gets to stay home, cause I’m too little to reach the cobs,” the child said. Gradually the door edged farther open, a bit at a time, until we saw a young boy of eight or so staring at us with saucer-round pale blue eyes under a sparse fringe of blond hair. “What’d’ya need my momma for?”
“We need to talk to her about Jayme.”
The boy frowned.
Hannah moved forward. “I think we’ve met, haven’t we? The time you came to the shelter with Jayme to pick up her earnings. Isn’t your name Samuel?”
The boy appeared to have reservations about answering, but eventually, he nodded. “Yeah, like the peak. My momma named me after it.”
“What a wonderful name,” I said. “And we’re Clara and Hannah, as I said. We’ve come to talk to your mom. Or better yet, we’d like to talk to Jayme.”
“’Bout what?” His face cocked to the side, he looked up at us out of the corners of his eyes.
“About…” Hannah hesitated, and then said, “To tell Jayme that she still needs to pick up the rest of her pay for helping me at the shelter.”
That seemed to make sense to Samuel, and he swung the door the rest of the way open. His ragged and soiled clothes drooped on his reed-thin frame, and he had a faint swath of dirt across his left cheek. From inside, the house emitted the mingled odors of sweat and rotted meat. Since Hannah seemed to be making a connection with the boy, I stepped back and let her move closer.
“We’d like to make sure that Jayme gets her money, Samuel,” she explained. “But to do that, we need your help.”
“We needs that money.” A spark of excitement in his eyes, Samuel suggested, “You could give it to me, and I’ll give it to Momma.” He appeared to think that through for another moment, and then he said, “But you was here before to see about Jayme, weren’t you? How come you didn’t tell Momma about Jayme’s money?”
“That’s right, I was here,” Hannah said, taken a bit aback. I was rather enjoying her predicament. The boy and his questions were giving her pause. “You must have been listening that day I came to your house to try to find Jayme.”
“You told Momma that Jayme was in trouble,” he said. “Momma said Jayme weren’t in any trouble at all.”
Hannah beamed at the boy as if he’d answered a difficult test question correctly. “What a smart boy you are.”
“Momma told you to leave,” he said, giving her a doubtful frown.
Hannah hesitated just a moment, and I decided to take over. “She did. But you see, Samuel, Miss Jessop needs to talk to Jayme, to get her okay to give your mother the money. Miss Jessop can’t just hand out your sister’s money unless Jayme agrees to it.”
Samuel thought about that and his smile wilted with disappointment. “Jayme’s not here. So how’s my momma gonna get the money?”
“Well…” Hannah began.
“We don’t have to talk to Jayme in person,” I suggested. We had an inroad. This was working. “We could talk to her on the phone, assuming you know how we can reach her.”
At that, his small face brightened. “Momma gots it,” he said. “Wait here.”
The door slammed, and I heard footsteps again, this time running away from the door.
From the cornfield, the clatter of the harvesting crew grew ever closer. I thought about the boy inside, the prospect that he could help us. The arrival of his family, among the workers, could prove our undoing. Once they reached their house, one might spot us. His mother could come and send us packing. I opened the door a few inches and called out, “Samuel, please hurry. We need to be on our way soon.”
“I am,” he shouted.
Seconds later, he stood at the door holding onto his britches with one hand, trying to keep them from sliding down his scrawny frame, and clutching a scrap of paper in his other.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“That’s where Jayme is,” Samuel said, pride at his great accomplishment shining on his smudged face. “You can call her and give us that money now, right?”
Hannah and I looked at the note.
“Are you sure she’s here? That this is where we’ll find her?” I handed the scrap of paper back to the child.
“My momma says it is. The man told her that she could find Jayme there anytime she wanted. He said she could call and talk to Jayme if she wanted. But Momma said she had no reason to talk to a daughter who runned away,” Samuel said.
“I see,” Hannah said.
The boy bunched his lips up as if he didn’t approve. “The man said there’s a lotta kids there from Alber, the ones who runned away.”
“What man gave your mother this information? Do you know his name?” I asked.
Samuel appeared apprehensive. “Do you need to know that to give us the money?” he asked. “’Cause I don’t know no name or anything. Momma just said it ’twas a man.”
“No, it’s okay,” I said. “This is what we need, Samuel. A way to reach Jayme. Thank you.”
“How long till my momma gets the money?” he asked. “We could use it quick, ’cause we ain’t got any electric right now. Momma couldn’t pay the bill.”
I’d noticed the house was dark inside. A nonfunctioning refrigerator could account for some of the smell. I looked at the child’s face, the dilapidated house,
