"Cassie, what's the matter with you, girl?" Big Ma asked as she thrust three sticks of dried pine into the stove to rekindle the dying morning fire.  "You sure are takin' a sorrowful long time to churn that butter."

"Nothin'," I muttered.

"Nothin'?" Big Ma turned and looked directly at me.  "You been mopin' 'round here for the past week like you got the whoopin' cough, flu, and measles all put together."

I sighed deeply and continued to churn.

Big Ma reached out and felt my forehead, then my cheeks.  Frowning, she pulled her hand away as Mama entered the kitchen.  "Mary, feel this child's face," she said.  "She seem warm to you?"

Mama cupped my face in her thin hands.  "You feel sick, Cassie?"

"No'm."

"How do you feel?"

"All right," I said, still churning.

Mama studied me with the same disturbed look Big Ma wore and a tiny frown line appeared on her brow.  "Cassie," she said softly, fixing her dark eyes upon me, "is there something you want to tell me?"

I was on the verge of blurting out the awful truth about the bus and the men in the night, but then I remembered the pact Stacey had made us all swear to when I had told him, Christopher-John, and Little Man about the caravan and I said instead, "No, ma'am," and began to churn again.  Abruptly, Mama took hold of the churning stick, her eyes searching mine.  As she studied me, she seemed about to ask me something, then the question faded and she pulled away, lifting the lid of the churn.  "It looks ready now," she said with a sigh.  "Dip out the butter like I showed you and wash it down.  I'll take care of the milk."

I scooped the butter from the churning lid onto a plate and went through the curtain to the small pantry off the kitchen to get the molding dish.  It had been placed on a high shelf under several other dishes and I had to stand on a stool to get it.  As I eased it out, Mama and Big Ma spoke softly in worried tones on the other side of the curtain.

"Somethin' the matter with that child, Mary."

"She's not sick, Mama."

"There's all sorts of sickness.  She ain't ate right for goin' on over a week.  She ain't sleepin' right neither  Restless and murmurin' in her sleep all night long.  And she won't hardly even go out and play, rather be in here helpin' us.  Now you know that ain't like that child."

There was a moment's pause, then Mama whispered so I could hardly hear her.  "You think... Mama, you think she could've seen -"