That night Madeline tried again. “I want to see where you grew up.”
Ethan cut his steak without looking up. “There’s nothing to see.”
Then he added softly, “My life starts here—with you.”
Madeline smiled, squeezed his hand, and didn’t ask again.
Back in the little room, Evelyn washed clothes for one dollar a piece. In a week she saved twenty-three dollars. Linda tucked the money into a tin.
“It’s not much,” Evelyn said.
“But it’s yours,” Linda replied. “You earned it.”
That night, while Evelyn slept, Linda pulled out the yellow envelope again and stared at it for a long time.
“This can’t be everything,” she murmured. “There has to be something here.”
The humiliations kept coming.
Ruth spoke loudly in the yard, not bothering to lower her voice.
“That blind woman smells like mildew. Makes the place look bad.”
Others nodded in silence.
“And Linda acting like a saint… we’ll see how long that lasts.”
Linda stepped into the yard. “Ruth, Evelyn washed for half this neighborhood while you begged credit at the corner store. Don’t you dare talk about her.”
Ruth stood up. “If you love her so much, leave together. Let’s see who can stand you.”
On Sunday, Evelyn asked a favor.
“Can you take me to church?”