She stood on the doorstep, crying for parents brother safety. She’d walked past every bunkhouse where women and girls slept, and knocked on my door. I looked at the teddy in her hand, tears on her face, and called her into the bunkhouse where I alone slept. In darkness she crossed to a bed and climbed in. I stared for a moment, listened to wind and rain, asked if she was warm. I got into bed and drew the covers tight, falling asleep to prayers in the dark. Of all the bunkhouses she chose mine.