"Bill?" Her voice was timid. "Do you believe I will be punished for leaving the Masters? I did not mean to."
"Who would punish you now?" I asked.
"The Masters' God. They always told me he would punish me if I were bad. And he is such a terrible God." Her expression became bright with hope. "Is your God terrible, Bill?"
I tried to reassure her, to pacify this naive creature with her own private terrors, but she must have read in my mind how our Christian God could also be terrible in his wrath and justice, for she gave a small cry and pulled herself close to me.
Several minutes went by while she trembled in my arms and wept disconsolately. Finally she quieted and in a young girl's voice asked, "May I use your hanky, daddy?"
In surprise I held her out from me and saw that now she was my daughter, Joanie, with her newly bobbed hair, and her sweet face still wet with tears.
Of course. While I held her I had been thinking of her as a child. As my child, Joanie.
I wiped away her tears and blew her nose.
I thought swiftly. Perhaps this was my opportunity. Speaking as I would have to Joanie I asked gently, "Won't you help us get the fuel we need, honey?"
"I can't." Her childish wistfulness was replaced by the stubbornness I had encountered before.