"You suck! This place sucks!"

The childish, high-pitched yell from the back yard gained Carol Fisher's instant attention, and her heart sank.

Pie-making forgotten, she quickly headed for the kitchen door, threw it open and hurried toward the two struggling children.

"David, Vikki! Stop it!" Carol put a hand on each child's shoulder and tugged them apart. The little girl's flailing arms finally stopped pounding on the little boy. But David stood defiant, while Vikki just glared.

As concerned as she was, Carol had to restrain an impulse to smile as she remembered herself and her older brother in such a fight, oh, a million years ago. But they never, never would have dared use that kind of language. She'd have to play the heavy.

"OK, David, what's going on?" she asked her son.

"She won't share; she kicks, and she beats on me," David answered triumphantly, listing all the sins at once.

"He's a big baby! Kids in my old neighborhood would'da made dog barf out'ta him."

"I'm not a baby; I'm seven!"

"What are you fighting about?" Carol asked.

"She stuffed the box of granola bars in her dumb sack and hit me when I tried to get it back. Tell her she has to share!"

The backpack again. Carol sighed. For two weeks, she'd watched any number of things disappear into the bedraggled bag that Vikki refused to part with, day or night. She'd hoped once the little girl got used to being with them that she'd stop hoarding. The social worker had warned her that kids like Vikki try to make up for their insecurity by hanging on to their possessions for dear life. Carol sometimes felt she was living with a ten-year-old bag lady.

"Go and get one from the other box in the cupboard, David," Carol said. "But don't stuff yourself. When your Dad gets back, and the pies are done, we're leaving for dinner at Grandma Mary's.

"Cool." David was off in a flash, leaving Carol and Vikki alone in the yard.

Carol shivered a little; she hadn't stopped to put a jacket over her sweatshirt, but for the moment she'd ignore the chill November morning. "Let's sit on the steps and talk," she said, leading the way.

Vikki followed sullenly and sat down just as far away from Carol as she could.

"I know you were mad at David," Carol began. "But we've talked before about setting an example. You're old enough to remember that we don't talk like that in our family."

"I ain't part of no family here!"

"Everybody that lives in this house is a part of our family, including you. And everybody has rights and responsibilities."

Vikki scooted to the edge of the step so she could turn her back on Carol, who had to strain to hear her mumbled words. "Trash ain't got no rights neither."

Carol wanted to hug Vikki from the tops of her peeling pink polished fingernails to her forlorn slumped shoulders, but she had tried that before and been rebuffed. She'd have to go slow.

"Vikki, I know it must be hard to adapt to a new place, but we wanted very much for you to come and live with us."

Vikki turned around to stare needles through Carol and said, "Did'ja need the money that bad?"

The flippant question from a street-wise ten-year-old was contrasted with the old sad look in her eyes, and Carol simply said, "No. We wanted to have a little girl in our family."

"Yeah, right," Vikki answered.

Carol decided to switch tactics. "I'm freezing fast to this step; why don't we go inside? I need help with the pies if we're going to make it on time for Thanksgiving dinner."

She was pleased that Vikki followed her into the kitchen. David sat at the counter with a granola bar and a glass of milk.

"Have a snack, too, if you want," Carol urged Vikki. "We probably won't eat till late afternoon."

Vikki shrugged, but went to the refrigerator and took out a can of soda. Carol bit her tongue. Nobody ever died drinking Pepsi for breakfast.

"Is Grandma Mary making a big turkey?" David asked.

"Bigger than ever," Carol replied. "Aunt Ellen and Uncle Harry and all their kids are coming from California this year."

"Yippee," cried David, "somebody to play with!"

Carol noted the forlorn look on Vikki's face. She finished patting the edge of the pie crust, and put on a bright smile. "OK, who wants to help make some twistys?"

"Me, me!" cried David, jumping up and nearly spilling the milk. Carol pushed the remainder of the pie dough to the side of the floured board and watched as David began the age-old method of making little twisted bits of dough, sprinkling them with cinnamon sugar, and placing them in a baking pan.

"What're those?" Vikki asked.

"Something my mother let me make when I was a little girl," Carol told her. "You get to eat them before the pies. Want to make some?"

"Naw," Vikki made her voice dismissive, but her eyes were glued to the process. "My Mom and me made a cake once."

Sensing that Vikki was sharing a glimpse into her previously unmentioned family, Carol smiled and put her hand on Vikki's shoulder. "We can make one too, if you like."

"Naw," Vikki repeated. "We didn't get to eat much of it, anyway. My Mom's boyfriend came home mad and said it made the house hot - 'cause it was summer. So he smashed it, and we didn't even get to frost it. But I ate some after he threw it in the trash. It was chocolate."

"Is that your favorite?" David asked.

"Don't have no favorites. Mom says you're lucky enough to get anything, so's you better eat whatever you get."

Carol felt a tug at her heart. "Do you miss your Mom?

I wish she could come and join us for dinner."

Vikki chuckled without humor. "Didn't they tell you nothing? She'll get a turkey sandwich or something in jail."

"I know where she is," Carol said, "but I bet she'd like it if you wrote to her."

"Maybe sometime," Vikki admitted, but a hard look came into her eyes. "But it don't matter. Can't change nothing."

Carol wasn't sure what she would say next, but the appearance of her husband Frank through the kitchen door effectively ended the conversation. He presented a small brown sack to Carol with a flourish.

"Man, do you know how hard it was to find this on a holiday?"

Carol laughed as she peered inside and pulled out a small carton. "Well, real whipped cream is the only thing worthy of my pies. I just forgot to get some yesterday."

"I like Cool Whip!" David announced.

"You bet, Sport," Frank replied giving him a grin. "That's almost what your Mom had to settle for. I wasn't sure Grumpy was up to making another trip across town."

"Oh, Frank, is the car OK?" Carol was alarmed.

"Are you looking at the best mechanic in Chicago or not? I coaxed it to behave. I think she'll last a bit longer."

"If we could just sell the house, we could get a decent car," Carol declared.

Vikki looked up from her Pepsi, "You guys movin' or what?"

"We're gonna go live with Grandma Mary," David cried bouncing up and down. "She's got a big house out in the country."

"My mother has two houses just outside the city," Carol explained. "She lives in the small one and has been renting out the other. Her renters are relocating, and we can buy it from her, that is, if we can sell this one."

"We will, babe," Frank told her.

"Can'tcha just rent it?" Vikki asked.

"No," Carol answered. "We need to have money up front for moving expenses, and most important for a decent car for transportation to work."

"And maybe even a second car for us," David put in.

"Maybe, but it's been six months without even a bite." Carol's mood turned gloomy.

Frank went behind her to place his arms about her waist.

"Speaking of bites, I'm starved!" He lowered his lips to her neck. "Maybe I should just take a bite here."

Carol's face turned red as she saw Vikki staring at them, but she reached up to pat Frank's cheek.

"Well, join the kids in a snack; we have to wait until the pies get done. Mom isn't expecting us till one or one thirty."

"Do we haf'ta go to church first?" Vikki asked.

Before Carol could answer, David popped in, "Nope, this isn't a church kind of day. It's an eating kind of day."

"We'll go to Sunday school this weekend," Carol told them. "We've missed the past couple of weeks, I know. Did you go to church with your last family?"

"Sure," Vikki replied. "I been to lot'sa churches." She ticked them off on her fingers. "Jewish, Methodist, and Catholic at the last place. She used'ta take me to the religious store, and we bought candles and stuff. She'da kept me, too, but they said she had too many kids and had to give some back."

"Can we light some candles?" David broke in.

"We aren't Catholic," Frank reminded him. "Although your mother has plenty of candles. But do you remember what I told you about playing with matches?"

"The kid at the home before last burned the house down," Vikki said, digging through her backpack. "Here's a picture of how it use'ta look, once when my Mom visited me. We lost 'bout everything 'fore they put it out. Then they moved me."

Oh, dear, Carol thought, was this a new worry? She took the torn and crumpled photo and got a lump in her throat at the sight of Vikki and and her mother standing in front of a run-down house.

She swallowed hard. "Well, we've got smoke detectors, but you two can never, ever play with matches."

"We know, Mom." David answered, but Vikki sat silent, putting the photo back carefully in her treasure bag.

The conversation lagged, and soon David and Vikki had gone to the living room to watch cartoons. Only then did Carol express her fears to Frank. "Honey, do you think we'll have problems with Vikki? She's really a neat kid, but I'm finding it hard to reach her."

Frank took her in his arms for the second time that morning. "If anybody can do it, you can. We knew it wasn't going to be a picnic when we agreed to take her. But she is family, you know."

Carol nodded, and for a moment enjoyed his warm hug. She remembered from childhood her troubled young cousin who was Vikki's mother. Carol had been ten years older, and her cousin Leslie seemed destined for a rough life from the very beginning.

Her parents had married and divorced young. Leslie got caught in the crossfire, a hostage to her parents' see-saw lives. Leslie and her mother had drifted across the country, and Carol's family had lost track of them, until Vikki had turned up in Chicago in the foster care system. By chance, Carol and Frank had learned about Vikki, and since they had already wanted to bring another child into their family, they had managed to work their way through the miles of bureaucracy to make it a reality.

"Do you ever have second thoughts about it?" Carol asked Frank. "What if loving and trying aren't enough?"

"What else is? You've just got the new Mom jitters.

"You've been my rock of support, but sometimes I just wish I could wave a magic wand and make everything all right." Carol sighed, and Frank lifted her face up for a long kiss. Carol felt a surge of pleasure that flowed to her toes. Frank could always make it all better. She smiled at him. "I feel ready to tackle anything with you with you behind me."

"That's how it's supposed to be," he replied.

They got to Grandma Mary's just after one, and the ensuing commotion surrounding the reunion of Carol and her sister and brother and their families was joyful. After dinner, when the adults were clearing up and the children had waddled off into the yard to play, Carol realized that she hadn't been paying close attention to Vikki. When she looked out the window, she saw Grandma Mary and Vikki intent on a small wire pen in the tree-filled side yard. The blue sky and sunshine seemed more like late summer than November. Perhaps it was an omen of better days to come.

"I'm going outside a moment," she told her sister and sister-in-law. Frank and the other men had already retired in front of the big TV to tune in ESPN. As she approached her mother and Vikki, she caught their conversation.

"Yes, this one is the baby. He's smaller than all the rest. Would you like to hold him?"

The look on Vikki's face was of utter awe. "Can I?"

Grandma Mary reached down to open the enclosure and scoop the littlest dog from among his squirming brothers and sisters and carefully placed him in Vikki's arms.

"Rusty's puppies?" Carol asked her mother.

"The same," was the reply.

Vikki looked up at Carol with eyes big and round. "She says I can name him and everything. I'm gonna call him Tinker. That's what my Mom called me when I was little."

The older woman didn't react to the reference to the absent Leslie. She only smiled. "I told Vikki that once you all move out here, Tinker will be her own dog."

"Is that true?" Vikki's brow wrinkled with doubt.

"If Grandma Mary says so, then it is. All we have to do is sell the house."

"And you will," Carol's mother assured her.

"Did'ja do your gardening?" Vikki asked Carol, diverting her attention momentarily from the wriggling puppy.

"In November?" Carol asked, confused. "We wouldn't do any gardening until Spring, and we surely hope to have moved by then."

Vikki didn't reply, and her attention returned to her puppy. Soon David and the nieces and nephews joined them and played with the other dogs. Vikki and Grandma Mary were on the sidelines, and Carol was glad to see that they were getting along so well. She was a bit concerned that Vikki wasn't playing with the others, but at least there were no fights. Carol went back inside to help in the cleaning up.

Later, in the car, on the way home, David produced a few wrinkled dollar bills and held them up for inspection.

"Grandma Mary gave us all money to save for Christmas," he announced.

"Did you get some too?" Carol asked Vikki, turning to look at her.

"Maybe," Vikki replied, clutching tight to the backpack on her lap.

The rest of the weekend was uneventful, and Carol made sure that they got up in plenty of time to make Sunday school. Vikki and David went into different classes, and there were no disruptions. Carol tried to put her concerns to the back of her mind and enjoy the holiday weekend.

Monday morning brought an abrupt change in the weather. Fat snowflakes were falling when they awakened, and David was excited. "If this keeps up, maybe they'll close school today."

"We're only expecting a couple of inches," Carol told him, "but you'd better wear your boots, just in case."

Carol watched as they waited for the school bus, David making boot prints with his friends in the driveway snow. Vikki stood a bit apart from the others. The omni-present backpack was firmly in place.

The morning went by quickly, and Carol was almost ready to walk to her noontime job at a nearby restaurant when she received a startling phone call.

"Mrs. Fisher? This is Sue Ellen Hammond, the school secretary. Since you haven't called to tell us Vikki is sick, we thought we'd better check on her."

"You mean Vikki isn't at school today?"

"No."

"But I saw her waiting for the bus with David, this morning! Have you asked him about her?"

"We didn't think to do that," Sue Ellen admitted. "Tell you what, why don't I get David paged down here to the office. Then we'll call you right back."

The five minutes between the time the school first called and when the phone rang for the second time, Carol was visibly shaken. Where had Vikki gone? Maybe it was just a mistake. The teacher had overlooked her in class, or she'd gone to the rest room when attendance was taken. But a few minutes later, her worst fears were confirmed.

"Vikki always rides in the back of the bus, and I was in front," David declared to his mother on the phone. "I never saw her get off. You didn't tell me I had to."

"It isn't your fault, David," Carol said. "Let me talk to Mrs. Hammond again."

Mrs. Hammond briefly filled Carol in on the situation. They'd checked all the other rooms as well as the rest rooms. Nobody had seen Vikki that morning. It was as if she'd vanished the moment she got on the bus.

"She doesn't have any special friends yet," Mrs. Hammond said. "She mostly keeps to herself, so the other kids don't tend to notice her as much. Nobody even remembers sitting next to her, but then David says the bus is never full."

Within fifteen minutes, Carol had called the restaurant to alert them that she wouldn't be in today, and got ready to go through the neighborhood looking for Vikki. Maybe she hadn't really gotten on the bus at all? David and his friends weren't paying close attention, so anything was possible. Carol had called Frank, but he was out test driving a customer's car he'd repaired, and wasn't expected back until after lunch. She'd left word for him to come home, if possible and then went out to search by herself.

The snow had blanketed the neighborhood streets with a chilling softness that made everything surreal. Only a few new flakes drifted down, but the air held the promise of more. Carol lost track of time as she combed the nearby strip of stores that lined the avenue. But the stores were nearly deserted, and there was no sign of Vikki.

Realizing that she couldn't cover a lot of territory on foot, Carol headed back for home. If Frank got home soon, they could take the car to look for Vikki. Or should she call in the police now? As she turned the last corner and headed up her own street, she could see her front steps. There, perched on the top one, jacket covered with snowflakes was Vikki, clutching her backpack. Carol broke into a run and then skidded to a stop in front of the little girl. Speechless, she gathered Vikki into her arms and hugged her.

"Where on earth have you been?" she asked when she found her voice at last.

"I had to go and get some stuff. If you ain't done your gardening, how can you sell the house?"

Carol knelt and held Vikki at arm's length. "Whatever are you talking about?"

Vikki reached into her backpack and pulled out a small object wrapped in paper. "It was a good thing Grandma Mary gave me some money. I just had enough, and the lady gave me the instructions, too." She held out the parcel to Carol.

Carol unwrapped the paper to find a painted plastic figure. "It's a saint of some kind, isn't it?"

"Yep, St. Joseph. He's the one you gotta have to do your gardening," Vikki said.

"I don't understand," Carol replied.

Vikki handed her the folded slip of paper that showed an illustration on the front of a holy man holding a child and a message printed inside: "Saint Joseph - Patron of Families and Homes. A custom that comes to this country from Europe is that of burying a statue of St. Joseph face down in the yard facing the house that is to be sold or rented and praying to him to intercede for help. This tradition is often called 'doing your gardening.' After the house sells, the statue is dug up, cleaned, and put in a place of honor in the new home."

"Where did you get this?" Carol asked.

"At the religious store in my old neighborhood," Vikki said. "I knew we had to do our gardening 'fore the ground froze up solid, so I took off and walked there this morning. It took longer than I thought, so I didn't go back to school today. You mad?"

Carol hugged her again. "No, I'm not mad. But we were very worried about you. Promise me that you'll never go away like that again."

"'Course I won't. But I had too! Can we bury him now?"

Carol stood up and held out her hand to Vikki. "We have to call the school and Frank and tell them that you're OK, then we'll get a shovel."

A few minutes later, they were back in the yard. "This is the best place to plant him," Vikki declared, pointing to the base of the "For Sale" sign.

Carol, relieved that she had caught up with Frank just before he'd left for home, nodded in agreement and watched as Vikki dug the hole and buried the statue, wrapped in the plastic sack that Carol had provided.

Vikki patted the dirt carefully over the hole and smiled up at Carol, "That'll work!" she said.

So, everybody but Vikki was surprised when the real estate agent phoned just a week later to announce that a buyer had made an offer on the house. But everyone was delighted when the deal was so quickly closed.

Even David was impressed. "Do you know anything we can bury that will make Dad get me a two-wheeler?" he asked Vikki.

"Nope," Vikki replied, too busy picking out wallpaper and paint samples for the room that she would have at the new house, to take up the challenge.

The next few weeks went by in a flash. With cash in hand, they all went to the car lot where Frank was head mechanic and picked out two reasonably priced used vehicles. Frank chose a red pickup, while Carol and the kids fell in love with a bright blue mini van.

Miraculously the weather stayed good while they took load after load from the city. Finally they spent the first night in the new house, and the next morning after breakfast, Carol hurried the kids out to the car. Frank would take them for the last day at the old school.

Frank hung back until the kids were out the door, chattering good-naturedly to each other. He gathered up Carol in a hug that lifted her off the ground. "See, I told you it would all work out," he said, lips silencing her reply.

After a long moment, Carol caught her breath. "Better than I could have hoped. Thanks for being my rock."

"Pure granite, m'am," Frank said kissing her again.

But the persistent beeping of the horn from the kids in the car finally gained their attention, and with one last kiss, Frank left.

Carol wandered contentedly about the rooms, putting things away. There were still boxes everywhere, and two puppies, Tink, and David's Goliath romped on the kitchen floor.She picked up a sweater Vikki had left on the counter and took it to the girl's room. In the doorway she stopped short. There, casually parked against the wall was Vikki's backpack. She took a deep breath. At last Vikki had felt secure enough to leave it behind.

Carol approached the bookshelf mounted over the bed and saluted the statue that occupied a place of honor there.

"Way to go, Joe," she said.