Steve Shell

They would have to go.

Mr. Churchman eased the Cadillac off the road into the high weeds just down the road from the Capriati's rambly old house.

It was an ideal location from which they could monitor their bouncing baby bombshell while remaining unseen by the house's occupants.

Mr. Crane waited until the sun had fully set, and shadows spilled long across the valley, pooling at the base of the tree line and bathing the Capriati's yard in shadow.

Then he stepped quietly from the passenger seat, picked up a small bundle wrapped in blankets and moved silently through the tall grass to the edge of the road.

As Polly and Churchman watched from the car, he slipped between the weeds.

And just like that he was gone, folding the shadows around him so that none could mark his passage or so much as even hear his footsteps.

He approached the house across the road.

A few minutes later, his sleeping package deposited silently on the family's front porch.

Mr. Crane returned to the car, lowered his muscular bulk into the passenger seat, and quietly closed the door behind him.

He was just in time.

Not five minutes later, they heard the sound of footsteps, accompanied by the murmuring of several voices coming down the road from the direction of the mine.

A moment later, the porch light across the street snapped on, bathing the Capriati's front yard in a soft golden glow.

And suddenly, an infant's cry split the evening calm.

and there was suddenly much ado on the porch across the street.

As the four Capriotti brothers ran the rest of the way home in response to the sound, Mrs. Capriotti opening the door and stepping into view, and there were a few minutes of heated discussion, punctuated with gesticulating, but in the end, Mama Capriotti scooped the squalling bundle up and began gently bouncing the infant on her hip.

His cries soon turned to giggles with her tender ministrations.

Where do you think he come from, Mama?

One of the men could be heard to ask.

I don't rightly know, but a lot of folks got a hard run of hoe these days.