The Christmas Children

“I can’t understand why you thought you could get away with this,” Paul said. “Where’d you get the money to ride on buses?”

“Our neighbors collected some money for us to use until we could find a home.”

“This is incredible!” Carissa said. “I’d think there would be a nationwide hunt for you.”

“Maybe nobody knows we’re gone,” Alex said, a crafty gleam in his brown eyes.

“What does that mean?” Paul said severely.

“Alex wrote notes to our aunts and uncles so each would think we were with another one. He left a note for the preacher that we’d gone to visit with our uncle in—” Lauren broke off the sentence when Alex shook his head at her.

“Alex, what kind of kid are you, anyway? You lied to your family, you jimmied the lock and came into my sister’s house, and you’ve been stealing food from her kitchen. I know you’re young, but can’t you comprehend how much trouble that’s going to cause you?”

Alex straightened in his chair, an indignant expression in his brown eyes. He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. “I didn’t steal nuthin’. I kept track of all the food we took,” he said, adding, “so I can pay it back someday.”

He handed the paper to Paul, whose throat constricted when he read the daily entries: “three glasses of milk, three sweet rolls, three sandwiches.”

Paul passed the paper to Carissa.