He reached into his jacket and brought out a toy crane carved from a block of pine, its small brass wheel shining under the fluorescent lights.

He set the wooden crane gently beside Daisy’s crayon box.

Daisy looked up from her paper star, her heels kicking softly against the seat.

“Does the yellow arm turn around?” Daisy asked.

“It swings all the way around,” Nathaniel said.

“And the brass wheel pulls the string up.”

“We don’t take presents, Mr.

Whitmore,” Martha said, her soft voice tightening at once.