A Bright Tomorrow by Gilbert Morris

all right,” she whispered. “Be gentle with her, Amos.”
    â€œWhy, sure I will,” he said, and then she was gone. He moved back, getting out of the way of the stage hands who were hauling on ropes and moving the scenery around. He was grateful that he had a few minutes to compose himself, for seeing Lylah had shocked him terribly.
    He was over the worst of it when she came out, wearing a dark gray dress and a black coat. “Amos, there’s a café down the street,” she said. “We can talk there.”
    He walked out of the theater with her, not saying a word until they were outside. “I’m glad to see you, sister,” he finally said, not looking at her.
    â€œHow did you know I was in the play?”
    â€œOh, I didn’t. Just happened to come.”
    They spoke no more until they were seated at a table in the café. They ordered coffee and sandwiches, and when the waiter was gone, Lylah spoke. “How long have you been looking for me? I know that’s why you’re here in New York.”
    â€œI left home almost two months ago.” Amos could not help himself, but leaned forward and put out his hand. She put her hand in his, and he groaned. “Oh, Lylah, why did you do it?”
    Lylah held her brother’s hand, her face ashen. She had been almost as shaken as Amos at the moment of their meeting. “I can’t explain it. It–it was something I had to do.” Then she whispered, “Do–do you hate me, Amos? Do you all hate me?”
    â€œNo! Never that, sister!”
    Tears filled Lylah’s eyes, and she let them overflow. “Never hate me, Amos. Love me…even if I can’t be what you want me to be.”
    They sat there talking for a long time. The food came, but they ignored it. They drank cup after cup of coffee, Lylah telling of her experience, her great adventure. As she spoke of life in the theater, her eyes glowed, and Amos knew she would never come home.
    Then Lylah began to question Amos, and he spoke diffidently of what he had done since leaving home. She drew out of him more than he wanted her to know, more than he knew himself.
    â€œAmos,” she said with dawning conviction, “you’ll never go back to the farm!” She saw his head snap up, saw the impact of her words in his widening gaze. “I know you, Amos. You’ve hated that farm…more than me, I think. And when you talk about writing, your whole soul spills over!”
    â€œWhy, Lylah,” he said in a shocked tone, “I’ve got to go home. They can’t make it without me.”
    â€œYes, they can.”
    A sudden resolve formed in Lylah’s mind. It was something she’d thought about for a long time. Now she was fully determined. “Owen can help more, Amos. You’ve got a good job…and that girl can help you get on at the paper. And I’ll help, too. I’m not making much, but I can send a little, and Pa can hire a man if he has to.”
    Amos could not speak. He had put his dreams away years before. Buried them and kept them firmly in the grave. But now…he began to breathe a little harder, and he asked hoarsely, “Lylah—do you think it can happen?”
    Lylah loved her brother deeply. It hurt her to see the longing on his face. A great joy swept over her as she thought, I’ve hurt them all … but if I can help Amos, that will make up for some of it.
    She took his hand in both of hers, leaned forward, and whispered, “We’re a pair of rebels, big brother. But we’re going to make it, you and me!”

7
“R EMEMBER THE M AINE !”
    T he feeble February sun was a pale and pallid disk that seemed to be made of ice rather than fire. It dropped behind the low-lying hills just as Owen emerged from the woods and crossed the yard. He tossed the sack of rabbits down on the table beside the house, then went to the front.
    As soon as he opened the door, he