“Billy, sometimes it’s hard to believe that things like this can happen, but there’s always an answer.
When you’re older, you’ll understand better.” “No, I won’t,” I said.
“I don’t care if I’m a hundred years old, I’ll never understand why my dogs had to die.”
As if she were talking to someone far away, I heard her say in a low voice, “I don’t know what to say. I can’t seem to find the right words.”
Looking up to her face, I saw that her eyes were flooded with tears. “Mama, please don’t cry,” I said.
“I didn’t mean what I said.” “I know you didn’t,” she said, as she squeezed me up tight.
“It’s just your way of fighting back.” I heard the voice of my father calling to us from the house.
“Come now,” Mama said. “I have supper ready and your father wants to talk to you.
I think when you’ve heard what he has to say, you’ll feel better.” “I can’t leave Little Ann like this, Mama,” I said.
“It’ll be cold tonight. I think I’ll carry her back to the house.” “No, I don’t think you should do that,” Mama said.
“Your sisters would go all to pieces. Let’s make her comfortable here.”
Raking some dead leaves into a pile, she picked Little Ann up and laid her in them.
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