Chapter 9: The Bread of Humility
Martha looked at Harper for a long moment.
She remembered the screams in the kitchen, the threats of eviction, the cruel sneers directed at working people whose shoes were muddy. Every legal and human right gave Martha the justification to point toward the gate and tell Harper to walk away.
Instead, Martha reached behind her, picked up an umbrella from the porch rack, and walked down the steps.
She held the umbrella over Harper’s head, sheltering her from the cold rain.
""Are you hungry, Harper?"" Martha asked gently.
Harper looked up into Martha’s calm, unjudging grey eyes. The final defenses of her manufactured world—the pride, the spite, the desperate need to feel superior—shattered completely.
Harper collapsed to her knees in the wet gravel, burying her face in Martha’s woolen apron, weeping with the raw, uncontrollable agony of someone who had finally hit rock bottom.
Martha knelt in the gravel beside her, wrapping her arms around the shivering young woman, holding her steady against the grey afternoon.
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""Come inside, child,"" Martha said softly. ""The oven is hot today.""
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