She pressed a bright yellow crayon hard against the top corner of the paper, drawing round yellow circles until the sun was solid and thick.

Under the sun, she drew four square red walls and a pointed black roof, with a line of gray smoke curling into the air.

“Who lives in the red house?” I asked, setting another stick of dried pine on the iron grate.

“Us,” she said, her voice clear and steady in the quiet room.

“And Mom is up in the sun keeping watch.”

Eleanor came out of the kitchen with a hot bowl of vegetable soup and set it in the center of the table beside the basket of warm rolls.