The man’s expression changed.
“How much?”
“Ten cents.”
The man looked down at his lap.
“Not today.”
“All right.”
Malik did not push.
He had learned that people sometimes refused food because they could not afford it, and sometimes because admitting they needed help hurt more than hunger.
He nodded politely and returned to the cart.
But he could not forget the way the old man’s hands had tightened around the arms of his wheelchair.
A few minutes later, Malik wrapped a biscuit in paper.
He carried it back.
“I made too many of these,” he said.
The man eyed the biscuit.
“Did you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You sure?”
“Very sure.”
The elderly man accepted it carefully.
“Much obliged.”
“You’re welcome.”
Malik went back to work.
From behind the cart, he watched the man break the biscuit into small pieces and eat them slowly.
Something about that quiet movement stayed with him.
He had seen hungry people before.
But there was a difference between someone eating quickly because they were in a hurry and someone eating slowly because they did not know when another meal would come.
That evening, Malik carried the empty pot home beneath a sky streaked with purple and gold.
The broad prairie beyond town glowed in the last light.
Horses stood quietly near the stable, and a distant windmill turned against the horizon.
When Malik reached home, Nora ran to meet him.
“Did you bring anything?”
“Three biscuits.”
“Three?”
“One for you, one for Ma, and one for a very handsome young man.”
“Who?”
“Me.”
Nora giggled.
“You’re not that handsome.”
“Well, that’s a cruel thing to say to someone carrying biscuits.”
She reached for the packet.
He lifted it above his head.
“Take it back.”
“You’re the most handsome boy in all of Montana!”
“That’s better.”
He handed her the biscuits.
Inside, Ada sat at the table with a basket of washing beside her.
She looked up as Malik entered.
“How was school?”
“Good.”
“And the cart?”
“Good.”
“Anything interesting happen?”
Malik thought of the man in the wheelchair.
“Not much.”
He set the money pouch on the table.
Ada did not reach for it immediately.
She had never liked seeing her son bring home earnings when he should have been enjoying childhood.
But she knew what the money meant.
Malik counted the coins.
There was enough to buy more beans, a little flour, and a small tin of lamp oil.
He separated the money into neat piles.
One for food supplies.
One for household expenses.
One for the rent.
The last pile was painfully small.
Ada watched him.
“You’re going to wear those coins thin from counting them.”
“I’m hoping they’ll grow.”
“Hasn’t worked yet.”
“Maybe tomorrow.”
She smiled.
Then she reached over and gently closed his hand around the remaining pennies.
“Keep some for yourself.”
“I don’t need anything.”
“Everyone needs something.”
“I’ve got my boots.”
“Those boots are held together by stubbornness.”
“Then they’re good for another winter.”
Ada shook her head.
She knew her son was trying to make her laugh.
She also knew how tired he was.
After supper, Malik helped Nora with her reading.
She sat close to him beneath the lamp, following the words with one finger.
Every so often, she stopped to ask a question.
“What does ‘opportunity’ mean?”
Malik looked at the book.
“Where did you find that?”
“Here.”
She pointed to a sentence.
He read it.
“‘Every opportunity brings a chance to learn something new.’”
Nora waited.
Malik considered the word.
“An opportunity is when you get a chance to do something you couldn’t do before.”
“Like going to school?”
“Yes.”
“Or getting a new dress?”
“That might be more of a treat.”
“Or having our own house?”
He hesitated.
“Maybe.”
She leaned against his shoulder.
“What’s your opportunity?”
Malik looked toward the kitchen window.
Outside, darkness had settled over the fields.
“I don’t know yet.”
Nora frowned.
“You always know things.”
“Not everything.”
“Then what do you want?”
He thought of the drawing in his school notebook.
A larger stove.
A warm kitchen.
A place where people could sit.
But speaking about those things made them feel distant and foolish.
“I’d like to have a place where people can eat,” he said at last.
“We already have a kitchen.”
“A bigger one.”
“With more biscuits?”
“Lots more.”
“And can I help?”
“You can taste everything.”
Nora brightened.
“I’ll be very good at that.”
Malik laughed.
Then he looked at her more seriously.
“Maybe one day, we’ll have enough money that Ma won’t have to wash clothes anymore.”
Nora grew quiet.
“That would be nice.”
“Very nice.”
She rested her head against him.
For a moment, Malik allowed himself to imagine that future.
He imagined his mother sleeping past sunrise.
He imagined Nora wearing shoes that fit.
He imagined his own hands no longer aching from pushing the cart through mud.
But when the lamp began to flicker, he closed the book.
Tomorrow would begin early.
And dreams could not be allowed to use all the oil.
Over the next several days, Malik continued seeing the elderly man near the station.
Sometimes the man sat beneath the awning.
Sometimes he rested near the stable, watching horses move in and out of the yard.
He seemed especially interested in a chestnut mare that belonged to one of the freight drivers.
One afternoon, Malik approached while the man watched a young stable worker struggle with the mare’s harness.
“She doesn’t like being handled that way,” the elderly man muttered.
Malik followed his gaze.
The horse tossed its head.
“What do you mean?”
“Boy’s pulling too hard.
He thinks strength makes a horse obey.”
“What makes a horse obey?”
The man glanced at Malik.
“Trust.”
Malik looked toward the stable.
The young worker loosened his grip, and the mare immediately became calmer.
The old man nodded.
“There.
See?”
“You know horses?”
“Knew a few.”
“Did you work on a ranch?”
“For most of my life.”
