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Show in my father's house/ 9 5 Grandmother rocked and watched us, her lips pressed together like a closed book. "Was there a fire under the Jew's oven?" My mother stared, as though impaled by my questions. Grandmother stopped rocking. "What happened? Did it bake them? Were they alive?" I remembered our bonfire of leaves, how my hand hurt for hours after pulling a hot potato from the ashes. "No. They were already dead." "How did they die?" My mother sighed. "I don't know." "Why were they arrested, Mama? Did they live the Principle?" She gazed at me for a long moment. "What am I going to do with you?" Grandmother Allred rocked, her mouth twisted like a dried apple core. "She's full of questions, that one." She put down her embroidery and went to the window, gazing out through the lace curtains at the gravelled yard. Her simple white blouse and straight black skirt hung neatly from her thin frame, and she reminded me of a tall, straight evergreen. "How little we know of what we're bringing on our children and their children. Still...we have no choice but to do the Lord's bidding." She seemed to have forgotten my mother and me. Then she turned and put a hand on my shoulder as she spoke. "In my day, children were seen and not heard. You ask too many questions. If you |