Until the Harvest by Sarah Loudin Thomas

her insulin shots on time, and that she always has candy in her pocket just in case. Mom is determined to transform her into some sort of debutante.”
    Emily sighed and clasped her hands, looking thoughtful. “What if you took her with you?”
    “I don’t think Mom will let me.”
    “Maybe. Maybe not. Let’s take this one step at a time. If Mayfair weren’t in the picture, what would you want to do?”
    Margaret tilted her head and squinched her eyes. “Honestly? I’d like to keep working for you and maybe help do more farming. You have chickens and now the cow, and we can put in a big garden in the spring. I’d like to make butter and can vegetables. Maybe raise and butcher another hog.” She sat forward and used her hands to illustrate her words. “We could cure hamsand bacon, if we had a smokehouse. Being on the farm—it just makes me feel alive and useful. I can see what I’ve accomplished when I look at a clean bathroom or gather the eggs I use to make a cake.” She glanced at Emily and subsided back against the cushions again. “Of course, what you do with the farm is up to you.”
    Emily smiled and patted Margaret’s knee. “I’m not opposed to doing a bit more farming, although I’m not sure about that smokehouse. But is that preparing for your future?”
    “I’d save every penny I could, and one day I’d buy a little farm of my own, and Mayfair would come live with me. Maybe we’ll have sheep and sell the wool or make things out of it and sell blankets or socks or something.”
    “No husband or children?”
    “It might be nice, but I’m not counting on it.”
    “Well, I have an idea, but I need to ponder and pray a bit before we discuss it. Go on and finish the ironing, and I might have news for you come lunchtime.”
    Emily stood and disappeared into her bedroom. Margaret sat a moment, not sure what to think. Would Emily let her come live here? But if she did, Mayfair would be defenseless. How could she abandon her sister? Still, if it would somehow work out, the life she’d just described sounded like heaven. For just a moment, she let herself picture living on a farm, raising a garden, caring for animals, watching over Mayfair. They’d be their own little nation of two—independent and utterly free. Margaret stood abruptly and turned the heat up on the iron again. She glanced out the window at the falling snow and considered that daydreams were little more than snowflakes—lovely, but hopelessly fragile.

    By the time Henry pulled up in front of the Simmonses’ place, there was about an inch of snow on the ground and morecoming down. He saw Clint at the end of the porch messing with something. The old man barely flicked a glance their way as they parked and got out of the car. Charlie half fell out of the backseat and hopped over to the porch. He must have lost his crutch somewhere in the night. Henry joined him, feeling he was about to face a firing squad.
    “You boys took your sweet time making that delivery,” Clint said.
    Henry realized the older man was skinning out a red fox. The animal’s pelt looked bright and thick. He’d get some good money for it.
    Charlie struggled up the steps and flopped down on a cane-bottom chair. “We stayed for the entertainment.”
    “Thought you might’ve.” Clint made a final cut, separating the skin from the carcass. He wiped the blade of his knife on a pant leg. “Either that or you run off with my car and my money.”
    “We ain’t that dumb, Pa,” Charlie said, digging in his pocket for a wad of bills. He handed it to his father.
    Clint grunted and laid the fox skin out on the porch boards so he could take the money. Henry felt an irrational urge to stroke the glossy fur. He shoved his hands in his coat pockets.
    “Mighty fine pelt you’ve got there,” Henry said. “You trap her?”
    “Shot her. She’s been at the chickens the last couple a nights.” Clint stopped counting bills long enough to look at Henry. “Only thing I