She glimpsed at the rusty iron bed on the other side of the kitchen. It was empty. Her Uncles usually came in much later after everyone had fallen asleep. The striped feather mattress was covered with a dingy threadbare chenille bedspread, untouched since she made it that morning. It would be such a joy she thought if they never came home tonight or any night. She knew that was wishful thinking. They were cruel at times especially when one of them wet the bed. She began to shiver thinking about that Saturday morning in late June of last summer. With this fresh in her mind she decided to use the night pot again even though she didn't feel the need to go. She shook the other girls awake, making certain that Betty Ann got up as well. She had developed a motherly instinct for her little sister when their mother, Janie Mae left them at such a tender age.