you don't sing anymore," he said. He said it harshly. Not because he meant to, but because he had been thinking of it for so long. "Why?" he asked more gently.
slowly, Papa straightened up. There was a long silemce, and the dogs looked up, wondering at it.
"I've forgotten the old songs," said Papa quietly . He sat down. "But maybe there's away to remember them." He looked at us.
"How?" asked Caleb eagerly.
Papa leaned back in the chair. "I've placed an advertisement in the newspapers. For help."
"You mean a housekeeper?" I asked, surprised.
Caleb and I looked at each other and burst out laughing, remembering Hilly, our housekeeper. She was round and slow and shuffling. She snored in a gigh whistle at night, like a teakettle, and let the fire go out.
"No," said Papa slowly, "Not a housekeeper." He paused. "A wife."
Caleb ltared at Papa. " A wife? You mean a mother?"
Nick slid his face onto Papa's lap and Papa stroked his ears.
"that,too," said Papa. "Like Maggie."
Matthew, our neighbor to the south, had written to ask for a wife and mother for his children. And Maggie had come from Tennessee. Her hair Papa reached into his pocket and unfolded a letter written on white paper. "and I have received an answer."