He didn’t ask to see him. He sat on the couch starin’ straight ahead, not lookin’ at me, not holdin’ me, just starin’ ahead like he was watchin’ a picture show. Maggie had come up with a plan to pretend to bury the baby in our family plot on Daddy’s farm. She said we couldn’t bring Mama into the plan, because we’d be puttin’ her in the terrible position of havin’ to lie to Daddy, and two liars in the family were enough. Mama was shoulderin’ enough burdens for any woman. I didn’t want to do it—keep the secret from Mama or pretend to bury Joshua—but I didn’t see any other way around the situation. Maggie bundled a doll that belonged to one of Patricia’s children, put it in a cardboard box, and taped it up; then, she wrapped the box in blue paper, and even sealed it with a bow. She’d gone back home the night of the boycott to tell my parents what had happened. She said Daddy lugged his biggest shovel down to the plot and dug a hole, stoppin’ often to wipe tears with his sleeve.
