The road curved along beside the stream. Ma searched the land and the flooded fields. Far off the road, on the left, on a slight rolling hill a rain-blackened barn stood. “Look!” Ma said. “Look there! I bet it’s dry in that barn. Let’s go there till the rain stops.”
Pa sighed. “Prob’ly get run out by the fella owns it.”
Ahead, beside the road, Ruthie saw a spot of red. She raced to it. A scraggly geranium gone wild, and there was one rain-beaten blossom on it. She picked the flower. She took a petal carefully off and stuck it on her nose. Winfield ran up to see.
“Lemme have one?” he said.
“No, sir! It’s all mine. I foun’ it.” She stuck another red petal on her forehead, a little bright-red heart.
“Come on, Ruthie! Lemme have one. Come on, now.” He grabbed at the flower in her hand and missed it, and Ruthie banged him in the face with her open hand. He stood for a moment, surprised, and then his lips shook and his eyes welled.
The others caught up. “Now what you done?” Ma asked. “Now what you done?”
“He tried to grab my fl’ar.”
Winfield sobbed, “I—on’y wanted one—to—stick on my nose.”
“Give him one, Ruthie.”