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cried Sarah.
    “Go inside, Sarah,” he said.
    Papa raised his rifle to shoot the coyote, but Sarah grabbed the barrel of the rifle.
    “No! Don’t do it, Jacob. Don’t!”
    “Sarah! Stop!” yelled Papa.
    Papa tried to push her away, and the coyote looked up at the sound of their voices. Slowly he ran away over the fields, stopping once to look back. Then he was gone.
    Sarah began to cry.
    “He only wanted water. Water, Jacob!”
    Caleb climbed over the paddock fence and stood next to me. Papa took Sarah’s arm and turned to Caleb.
    “Put the animals in the barn, Caleb,” he said.
    Caleb turned and walked to the barn.
    Tears streamed down Sarah’s face.
    “Water!” she said. “He only wanted water. Just like us. . . .”
    She slumped to the ground and put her hands over her face as she cried.
    “Get Sarah something to drink, Anna,” said Papa.
    He took off his hat and sat down on the ground next to her.
    “Anna,” he said sharply. “Now!”
    I turned and went to the water barrel and scooped out a cup of water. Papa put his arms around Sarah.
    His voice was soft.
    “Sarah. Sarah,” he said softly. “It will be all right. It will be all right.”
    But Sarah cried and cried. And when Papa turned and looked at me, I knew that nothing was all right.
    The look in his eyes was fear.
    And that night, when I came in from the barn to go to bed, there was something else missing from the fence. Missing like Sarah’s roses. Caleb’s glass was gone.
     
    “They’re coming!” said Caleb, looking out the upstairs window.
    He wore a clean shirt, and his hair was brushed smooth. I wore the dress I had worn when Papa and Sarah were married. Outside, wagons came into the yard.
    “Will this make Sarah happy?” Caleb asked me, worried.
    I watched more wagons drive in. I saw Maggie dressed in a rose dress and a straw hat.
    “Yes,” I said. “This will make Sarah happy.”
    “Anna? Caleb? What is this?” said Sarah in the bedroom doorway.
    We whirled around, silent. Sarah walked to the window to look out, too, but I took her hand and pulled her out into the hallway. Papa looked up the stairs at her. He wore a vest and his hair was slicked back. He smiled at her.
    “Happy birthday, Sarah,” he said.
    “There are guests. And presents, Sarah!” said Caleb.
    “But I’m not dressed,” said Sarah.
    “Then get dressed,” said Papa softly.
    Outside there was a table in the shade
of the house, set with food and lemonade. Maggie and Matthew were there, and Rose and Violet and the baby. All the neighbors were there, too. Papa carried something covered with a cloth out to the table.
    “What is it?” asked Maggie.
    “You’ll see,” said Papa.
    “Here she is!” someone said.
    We all turned, and Sarah came out on the porch in her white dress.
    “Happy birthday, Sarah,” said Papa.
    “Happy birthday,” everyone called.
    Sarah smiled at the sight of them, everyone washed and clean as if the prairie winds had stopped covering us all with dust.
    “A present from the aunts,” said Papa.
    He took the cloth away, and there was a phonograph. I handed him a record and he put the needle on it. Suddenly, music filled the yard. Sarah stared. Papa walked up to her and held out his hand. She smiled and came down the steps and they began to dance. Maggie and Matthew began to dance, too, the baby between them. Everyone danced, then, in the dirt yard, the light around them all yellow like an old photograph. Sarah buried her face in Papa’s shoulder, and Caleb smiled at me. And for a little while, as the sun began to set, as they danced, everyone forgot about the drought. For a while, everyone was happy again. Even Sarah. Even Papa.
     
    The last of the wagons left in the moonlight. Sarah and Papa waved good-bye. Caleb was asleep under the table and Papa took him off to bed. Then Papa helped Sarah carry the phonograph inside.
    “I have a present for you, Sarah,” I said. I handed her a small book.
    “Anna, what is this?”