She only wanted them warm.
Before dawn, she pried up three floorboards in the northwest corner of the cabin, beneath the children’s bed. The nails screamed softly as they came loose. Emma stirred, eyes half open.
“Mama?” she whispered.
“Go back to sleep,” Sarah said quickly. “I dropped something.”
Emma’s eyes lingered on the dark hole, then closed again. Children trust adults the way the wind trusts open cracks.