"Aye, that he is," his mother agreed.

A couple more children managed to grab hold, but the pig slithered away. Dale remained in the same spot. "Sooo-eee!"

Laney stood on tiptoe and held her breath as the pig veered toward Dale. Two boys descended on it and each grabbed a leg.

"Turn loose!" the director shouted.

"Why?" Sean craned his neck to see the boys grudgingly release their holds.

"Only one person can touch the animal at a time," Mrs. O'Sullivan explained. "If two grab him, they both have to let go."

Laney tossed caution and propriety to the wind. She cupped her hands around her mouth and called, "You're doing fine, Dale!"

He cast a happy smile in their direction, then beamed as the pig came toward him. "Sooo-eee!" The pig trampled across one of Dale's legs, and Dale collapsed around him.

"Five, four, three," the director counted.

"Two, one!" everyone joined in.

"He won!" Colin wheeled around and threw his arms around his mother. "Ma, he won!"

Someone fashioned an odd-looking halter that went around the pig, wiped much of the grease off, then handed the end of the rope to Dale. Dale trotted out of the enclosure. "Lookee, Ma!"

"Now aren't you a sight! Why don't we go put him in the pen with Hortense?"

Colin jogged ahead. "Hey! There's something on Hortense's pen!"

Sean joined him, then hollered back, "Hortense got an honorable mention!"

Dale led his pig into the pen. "Hortense, I caught you a friend!"

A man sauntered over. He looked at the pigs, then nodded. "Good-looking shoat you have there."

"Thank you." Dale beamed.

"Couple of good hams and a bunch of pork chops from her." The man didn't notice how Dale's smile twisted into horror. "The going rate is-" "I'm sorry." Laney stepped forward. "I've already decided to buy this shoat. As you said, she's very good-looking. The judges obviously agree, as well. That being the case, I thought she'd be an excellent investment."

Mrs. O'Sullivan looked completely flummoxed.

"Dale's latest acquisition is a male." Laney tried to make her plan sound reasonable. "This could be the start of a business venture for him."

Hilda rubbed her jaw. "Of course, you'd have to board Hortense over at the O'Sullivan farm, Laney."

"Yes. Yes, I would. But I can go visit her."

"Now, wait a minute," the butcher growled. "The man in charge of this place told me this shoat was for sale. There weren't all that many hogs here this year."

"Which is why this would be a sound business venture."

Laney smiled at him. "Why, next year, we'll probably have several pigs for you!"

The man walked off, muttering under his breath.

"I getta keep Hortense?"

"You're going to board her-much like Galen boards the horses for the Pony Express." Laney did her best to make her voice sound serious. "Business deals are very important, you know."

Eyes wide, Dale blurted out, "We'd be partners?"

"Exactly. A business between two people relies on their honor and integrity. Neither one of them slacks off or gives up."

"Never, ever?"

"Never, ever," Laney confirmed. "No matter what."

"That's right." Hilda narrowed one eye and stared at the pigs. "I'll bet Laney would be willing to make a deal with you, Dale. In exchange for Hortense's board, you could-" "Have all of the piglets!" Laney leaned forward. "Would you be willing to do that for me, Dale? I know I'm asking a lot of you."

"If you're asking my son for a partnership, it needs to be a mutually beneficial agreement." Mrs. O'Sullivan's jaw rose a notch. "Dale, any partnership needs to be fair for everyone. If you do this, Miss Laney ought to own half of the piglets."

"Half," Dale said, looking up at Laney.

"I couldn't agree to such an arrangement." Laney shook her head. "And it's not ladylike for me to haggle," she added.

"Three quarters." Hilda suggested. "That's fair. Dale keeps three quarters of the piglets; Laney gets one quarter."

"Miss Laney, which quarter do you want? A forequarter or a hindquarter?"

"That's not what Miss Hilda meant, Dale." Colin grinned at his baby brother. "She means out of every four pigs, you get three and Miss Laney gets one. They weren't talking about butchering them all!"

"I didn't know. 'Sides," Dale said, giving his newly won pig an assessing look, "I'm a farmer and I'm s'posed to grow things up to be food."

Crack! The eggshell shattered, half of the pieces sliding into the skillet with part of the egg. The other half glued themselves to Galen's slime-coated fingers as the other portion of the egg oozed down the outside of the skillet.

The rooster crowed as someone knocked on the door.

"Come in!" Galen shouted as he tried to figure out how to clean his hand enough to use something to flip the measly half egg before it burned.

The door creaked open. "Good mornin', Mr. O'Sullivan."

"Ishmael." He grabbed a dish towel and began to wipe his hand. "And the morning's not starting out so well. Do you know how to cook?"

"Not really. Sis usually sees to that. Your breakfast's startin' to smoke."

Galen grabbed the nearest implement and tried to flip the egg. The tines of the fork poked through and shredded it. "Scrambled eggs," he muttered to himself as he started to stir the blackening mess. Most of it clung to the skillet and smoked more. In desperation, he flipped the skillet over a plate and two stinking pea-sized blobs fell onto it.

"Must've been quail eggs." Ishmael didn't sound as if he was joking.

Galen stared at the mess inside the skillet. "The sad truth is, it was a chicken egg. Looks like you're the only Grubb I'll have today."

Laughter rippled out of Ishmael. "I don't mean to make fun of you, Boss, but you've got a right clever mind to come up with a joke like that."

"If I'm so clever, why can't I fry an egg?"

"Thought you was trying to scramble it."

Galen glanced at the pathetic plate and then held the castiron skillet for the new farmhand to inspect. "I was trying to salvage it."

Ishmael cleared his throat. "From the looks of your land, you're a fine farmer."

"But a more miserable cook you'll never find." Ma's teased me about how I need a wife to take care of me. For the first time, I'm thinkin' that's not so much of a joke. "Cooking makes no sense to me. Ma always cracks the eggs straight into the pan, and they slide out perfectly. What I wouldn't give for a good plate of her bacon and eggs."

Ishmael swallowed.

Here I am moaning about wanting bacon and eggs, and this man is truly hungry. "Get on over here, Ishmael. Two grown men can't let a bunch of eggs get the better of them!"

Three eggs and a huge mess later, Galen yanked the plate of charred blobs from Ishmael and dumped them into the swill bucket. "Those aren't fit to eat."

"They were tolerable."

"Maybe I could put water on to boil, and we can just drop in the eggs."

"Sometimes when we have eggs, Ivy puts 'em in the pot and boils 'em at the same time as she's a-boilin' the coffee."

"We can do that!" Galen pumped water into the coffeepot. He thought for a minute. "Hand me that kettle there, will you?"

"This one?"

"Yeah." Galen filled it with water, too. "If I'm making eggs, I'm making enough to last for tomorrow." He started to gingerly place eggs in the kettle and had to dip out some of the water when he'd put in a dozen. With the extra room, Galen popped in the rest from the egg basket.

"Want me to make the coffee anyway?"

"Better. Otherwise, I'll be surly the whole day long." Galen put the eggs on to boil and sheepishly admitted, "I drank stonecold leftover coffee for the past two mornings."

"Coffee niver lasted long 'nuff for me to try it cold." Ishmael squinted at the cupboard. "Where d'ya keep the beans?"

"Blue canister. Bottom shelf."

"Here, found it. I'll scour that skillet so's I can roast-" "No need to roast the coffee beans. Ma's started buying this new stuff. Osborn's Celebrated Prepared Java Coffee. Just toss some into the grinder, and we'll be set."

Ishmael whistled under his breath and opened the canister. "A name like that makes a feller feel like he's getting sommat extry special. How many cups d'ya wanna brew?"

"The pot holds eight."

"You wanna make a whole pot?" When Galen nodded, Ishmael grinned. "Reckon on drinkin' it cold again for a few days?"

"We'll polish it off by noon. I'm planning on getting a lot done today." Galen pretended not to notice how Ishmael painstakingly counted out seventeen beans and put them in the grinder. "Tell you what: why don't you go gather eggs while I finish the coffee and eggs?"

"Shore." Ishmael took the empty egg basket from the table and left.

Galen shook the coffee beans out of the grinder and into the scoop Ma used to measure them. They filled the scoop only halfway. He added more, quickly spun the handle on the grinder, and dumped the grounds into the coffeepot.

A short time later the men sat down to breakfast. Looking across the table, Galen stated, "I'll ask grace."

Ishmael's brow furrowed as he glanced around the cabin and squinted at the loft. "I thought you was on your lonesome. Is Grace up thar, abed?"

"Saying grace is the same thing as asking a blessing or praying before a meal."

"I ain't niver been churched. Whaddya want me to do whilst you tend to grace?"

"Just bow your head and close your eyes. When I say amen, that means the prayer is over." Galen rested his elbows on the table and folded his hands.

"That's a good notion-keeps a body from wantin' to swipe a mouthful since nobody's looking." Ishmael promptly thumped his elbows onto the table and clenched his hands so tightly together his nails went white.

Lord, this man doesn't just lack his daily bread; he knows nothing about the Living Water. Is that why you brought him here?

"Dear heavenly Father, we thank you for providing this meal. Bless it to our bodies and be with us as we work today. We'd like to ask you to keep watch over our loved ones and keep them safe. In Jesus' name, amen."

Galen reached for his coffee.

Ishmael gave him a puzzled look. "I thought you Christian folks prayed to God. Didn't know you talked to the departed. Bet your pa's pleased you ain't forgot him."

Peeling the shell from an egg, Galen carefully considered his words. "My da passed on about two months back." His voice broke, and he cleared his throat. "We're all missing him something fierce, but I wasn't speaking to him when I prayed. God is my heavenly Father."

"So who's your heavenly mother?"

The question stunned him. It's logical. I've never thought of that before, though. "God created us. Because He is the Creator, we call Him our father."

Ishmael wolfed down an egg. "Guess that makes sense."

Galen bit into an egg and shoved the kettle full of them toward Ishmael.

"Thanks."

They'd both eaten two, and Galen took a third. "Keep going. I was serious when I said I'd work you hard."

"I'd rather set one aside and take it home to my sis if you don't mind."

Galen plucked three eggs from the kettle and put them on his new hand's plate, then took two more for himself. He lifted another from the kettle and turned it so a big crack faced Ishmael. "I must've done something wrong, because most of the eggs are cracked. They won't keep, so I figured on sending them back home with you."

Color flooded Ishmael's face.

"I came from Ireland," Galen said in a pensive tone. "Probably didn't need to tell you so. I've never lost the accent. Anyway, times were hard. Potato famine. Ma and Da both did without more often than not so us kids could eat-but even then, two of my brothers were so weak, the cholera killed them. I don't have much money, Ishmael, but God's blessed my family with an abundance of food. I couldn't look myself in the mirror each morning if I hoarded something someone else needed."

"I'm beholden to you."

"Nonsense. With Ma and the boys gone, I'm not using up the eggs, and I'm not taking them to town for the mercantile to sell. They'd spoil."

"When'll your kin come back?"