Each evening, Magnolia lit one lamp in her parlor and sat knitting. To those who saw her from the window, she appeared vulnerable and fragile. In fact, they thought she was too weak-eyed to notice them creeping closer. Knitting needles clacked rhythmically, while her eyes occasionally lifted toward her notebook lying open on the table beside a steaming teacup.
Her routine was predictable too—meals, knitting, and early bed. The boys whispered among themselves, debating what treasures might lie unguarded indoors. Their laughter edged with tension. Some of them, it’s true, were uneasy. They did not like the idea of breaking into a home.