Page 17 of Head Room

With that encouragement, she went to the truck, opened its back door and did something inside.

Presumably something that soothed the baby, because the caterwauling volume diminished.

Curious, I edged closer.

The father, Paul Chaney, had shown me a photo last fall.At that time, my main impression had been a baby with a square face and determined chin.

Both qualities remained.In fact, were stronger now, making her look even more like her father.

Her eyes were drifting closed as she sucked on a pacifier.From my experience as an aunt, I guessed the pacifier had dislodged, causing the caterwauling.Hannah restored it, and peace reigned.

She now rearranged a quilt, tucking in its edges between the interior of the seat and exterior of the child.It was a patchwork quilt, with one set of squares devoted to a cow, a horse, a dog, a sheep, a pronghorn deer, a prairie dog, and presumably other local animals, that were out of sight.Another set with various birds, including a robin, owl, and sparrow.And another set with landscapes and skyscapes of mountains, ranchlands, storms, and fluffy clouds.

“That’s beautiful.”

She smiled.“Isn’t it?Irene made it for Vidalia.”

Had I heard right?They named their baby after an onion?I suppose the town was a possibility, although Hannah didn’t strike me as someone who would have traveled to Georgia.

“Of course, she wasn’t Vidalia yet because it was before she was born.Irene did such beautiful work.She taught me some, but nothing like what she did.

“After she died, the sergeant gave us another of her quilts she’d been working on for when Vidalia is a little older with the letters of the alphabet.She’d almost finished it.I did the final quilting — not near as good as hers, but finished.I have it hanging on the wall across from her crib.”

Her eyes abruptly filled with tears.I thought at both the generosity of the gift and the memory of the woman’s death.

But she didn’t speak of that when she added, “She had so many quilts.And, on top of everything else, to think of any of those beautiful quilts burning up...It’s what I thought about after I called the fire department—”

“You called the fire department?”

“Uh-huh.”

When she didn’t elaborate, I asked, “You spotted the fire?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You came by here and saw the fire?”

“Oh, no.I didn’t come here until after I called.”

“How did you spot it?”

“I was weeding a patch where we’re growing tomatoes.Hoping for better than we had last year.I don’t know what I did wrong—”

“They’re hard around here, with the short season.”That was not personal experience.That was the result of listening to my next-door neighbor Zeb Undlin describe the travails he went through to produce a crop.Could almost make me feel guilty for eating the ones he brought over.

Almost.

“What caught your attention?”

“Smoke first.Then flames, too.”

Smoke would rise well above the fire, but...“You saw flames?”

“Uh-huh.From the house.”

I’d been to the Chaney house during a previous inquiry.If I had my geography right, their place was off another road, well to the south of here.Twists and turns might put the two places closer for any crows flying around, but nothing like next-door neighbors.

“You can see — could see—” I amended.“—this cabin from there?”