Black Angels by Linda Beatrice Brown

hungry,” she sighed.
    Luke stopped walking. “We need us a fish line,” he said to her. He looked in all their pockets for string they could tie to a pole. In one of the pockets there was something that looked like a wire.
    â€œCatgut,” Daylily said. “That’s what they use to string a banjo. That soldier must have played the banjo and stuffed the extra strings in the pocket of his jacket.” She searched for the right tree branch to use for a pole and tied the catgut strings together to make one long string.
    She felt more peaceful today, like it didn’t much matter what happened to them now. Digging in the mud with Luke’s knife, she thought about Granny’s kitchen garden, and the greens she used to be so proud of.
    Luke and Caswell just watched her. They both sat down on the banks of the river. Luke brushed aside some twigs and got comfortable.
    â€œYou know what you doin, gal?” he said.
    â€œIt good night crawlers in here.” She ignored his put-down. “Us got to find a hook, y’all.” She moved a few feet away, looking for a good place to throw in the line.
    â€œYou find it, I’m plum wore out,” Luke answered.
    â€œI’ll be mighty glad to eat all my fish myself,” she said, busy with her pole and her worms. She took the knife and made a groove on the pole so the string wouldn’t slip off.
    Luke looked in his pocket.
    â€œAin’t no hooks gonna be in this pocket,” said Luke. He shook his head, as if to say she was on a fool’s errand. Then he saw the medal pinned to his coat. “Look like we in luck,” he called to her. “Come get this pin.”
    â€œIf you can’t get up,” she shouted, “I’m eatin this fish myself. Me and Caswell. Caswell, bring me the hook.”
    Caswell was gazing into the water, a million miles into the past.
    â€œWait now, wait. I got to fix it for you,” said Luke, all business all of a sudden. “Girl, you don’t even know what to do with this here pin.” He broke off the hook on the back of the medal and put it back in his pocket. “Here, now, mind you don’t lose it, you know how you gals is.”
    Daylily looked at the little pin from the medal and then at him. “You got to bend it, boy,” she said. “You don’t have no sense sometimes. You got to bend it for the crawler and the string.” She handed it back to him.
    Luke worked with the hook until he had it shaped for a worm. “Mind you put that hook on the string good,” he said. “It’s the onliest one we got. Some big ole fish swallow it and it be gone.”
    â€œYou just make a fire,” she said, stretching out her brown legs and leaning against a tree, “and leave me be to catch us some dinner.”
    Â 
    Daylily’s fishing was a triumph and a lifesaver. She put the hook and line very carefully into her pocket. Their stomachs filled again, with a fish left over, Luke wrapped the little cooked sunfish in his handkerchief and they kept moving.

CHAPTER 9
    MUNDA AND THE THREE-LEGGED DOG
    It was now their fifth day in the woods. The day before, Luke had shot a squirrel, but it made a thin meal for them.
    Ever since he had learned about his Mamadear, Caswell’s eyes followed Daylily everywhere. When she washed her hands in the river, he’d wait, nervous until she came back. When she disappeared behind the trees for privacy, he’d wait impatiently until she reappeared.
    He constantly followed her with his eyes, except when they were around the fire at night. Then he watched the flames with wide-open eyes that had great circles under them that made his face look as pale as a winter sky.
    Luke was holding a rabbit between his knees that he had just shot for their supper.
    Daylily watched Caswell watching the fire. She poked at Luke softly and motioned that he should look at Caswell too. It worried her, this thing that