by Ava Winters
A sob caught in Millie’s chest as she remembered how her mother had loved preserving food. She would line the jars up on the shelves of the pantry and tell Millie how pretty she thought they were. No time for tears, now; just worry about getting Papa’s things together and getting him out of that jail cell, she reminded herself.
Aloud, Millie said, “The meat and vegetables won’t be preserved but at least it will stay fresh for a few days if Papa keeps them cool.” She took none of the food for herself even though she had not eaten since early morning. Her insides were too knotted with anxiety for food.
She carefully packed all the food into a saddlebag, wrapped in a small blanket to prevent damage, and then she collected the bedroll, a change of clothes, and matches. She packed the other saddlebag and stood looking around the kitchen for anything else she might add to make her father’s time in hiding even a tiny bit more pleasant.
Spying the small coffee tin, she smiled. Papa loves his coffee, she thought before packing it in with his clothes. He had a tin plate, fork, and cup that she also packed. The saddlebags were full and she dared not cram another thing in them.
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