I grabbed-his wrist slapped into my hand. I caught it and held it. I held his arm up high over his head, not too high, but high enough and hard enough to be uncomfortable. And embarrassing. "Hold it," I said quietly, but firmly. "There's not going to be any hitting around here."

"Who says?"

"I do. "

"So what?"

"Well, I'll tell you what-" All right, so I would play the game if I had to. I picked him up by the front of his shirt. It was heavy enough material to support him, his feet left the ground nicely; vhis could turn into quite a power trip. "l say so-I'm bigger than you." I held up my fist-gently, very gently now-in front of his face. "A lot bigger. So, if there's any hitting to be done, I've got first dibsies."

He muted his belligerence, he had no choice, but not his resentment or distrust. I couldn't take those away from him. He bit his lower lip and looked away. I'd won.

I lowered him to the ground, put my hands into my pockets and grinned.

He socked me in the stomach.

I deserved it; I'd let my guard down.

The problem with hitting a kid that size is how do you do it without looking like a bully? The answer is you don't. Fortunately, the question didn't even cross my mind until I'd finished clobbering him. Gently, of course.

First, I cuffed him up one side of the head; then, as he reached up to protect himself, I poked at his stomach with four stiff fingers. He sort of doubled up, and that's when I walloped his behind with the flat of my hand. Then I held him-at arm's length, the little bastard was still trying to kick me-and I slapped him once more. I had him by the throat then, one hand wrapped firmly around it, and he stopped; he had to if he wanted to keep breathing.

I tried not to show that I was out of breath too. He fought like a tiger. "Let's get one thing straight, stupid," I said. "Don't ever try that again."

He glared. "Well-Alec is mine."

"Your what? Are you two brothers?"

"Not exactly."

"What does that mean?"

"It's just . . . we stay together. Wherever we go."

"Oh," I said. I had to think about that. I eased up on his neck. "Can I trust you?"

He nodded.

"All right." I let go. "Nobody's going to separate you, if that's what you're afraid of. But you don't have to hit him."

"He doesn't talk much. And if you don't hit him a little, he doesn't move either."

I wondered if Alec was autistic. Maybe; but then again, maybe not. Maybe he was just as withdrawn as the rest of us who had walked into the sledgehammer, which was just about everybody. Sometimes insanity is the only sane response to an insane situation; hadn't Foreman once said something like that? "Well," I said, putting a hand on Alec's shoulder-he had huddled up next to me for protection, I hadn't even noticed until I put my hand down-"Well, around here, it's all right if you don't talk." I leaned down close to Alec. "If you don't want to say anything, you don't have to. Okay?"

He didn't answer, but he never took his eyes off me. Betty-John Tremaine came hustling up then, a collection of freckles with strawberry-blonde hair; it couldn't decide whether to be yellow or red, so settled instead on an unholy pale pink color that floated around her face like a glowing corona. Her attempts to tan had turned her into the source of all freckles; they sometimes called her complexion Mother-Of-Freckle, but never to her face. She had been pretty once; she still was, but now in a leathery sort of way. "Oh, hi, Jim; I'm glad you're here. The kids okay?"

"Just fine."

Ollie, the driver, was frowning. "You kids were supposed to stay on the bus."

"It was too hot for them," I said. "I told them to get off."

"Well . . ."

B-Jay ignored him. She had sized him up as accurately as I had. "Come on, kids. We've got some cold lemonade and baloney sandwiches and cookies and peach ice cream all waiting to be eaten up. Oh, who has to go potty?" She began herding them toward the mess hall. "Then we'll get you some clean clothes and-oh my, look at how dirty some of you are. Well, we'll all go swimming and wash off all the dirt in the creek-hi, what's your name, peanut?-and then we'll give you your own rooms to stay in, and-who likes movies? Let me see your hands. Okay, we'll show a movie too."

"I've got a couple too small too walk," Ollie said, obviously annoyed at something, her-or me, probably.

"So, I'll carry one and Jim . . . ?"

"Oh, sure," I said. "I don't mind. I was making friends anyway. "

One of the older girls-maybe twelve or thirteen, but as gaunt as the rest-piped up. "I can carry one. I've been carrying him all week. I can carry him a little farther. I don't think he's feeling too good though. He's all hot and . . ."

"Well, let me see . . . you're right, we'll get him to the infirmary right away. What's your name, honey? Susan? Okay, you carry him. I'll carry this little lady in pink here, and--oof, she's heavy! Okay, kids, see that yellow building up there, that's where we're going."

I started to follow, bringing up the rear, watching for stragglers, or escapees, when I felt a tug at my arm. I looked down, and round-eyed Alec silently slipped his hand into mine.

"Well," I said. "You want to walk with me? Okay, let's go." I guess I felt kind of proud. Maybe I could be trusted after all. Or maybe he just felt he ought to try to get along with someone who'd just proven he had the right to hit. Either way.

Holly took my other hand, because she was my friend now, and the older boy, whose name was Tommy, tagged carefully along on the other side of Alec. He made a point of taking Alec's hand, possession being nine points of the law.

I wondered if I could win him over. "Where are all of you from, Tommy?"

"I don't know. We all came from the center. That's in Sacramento. Alec and I are from Klamath and Holly's from Orinda. "

"I know Orinda," I said. "That's where the big Jell-O Foundry used to be."

"I never saw it," said Holly, blankly. So much for jokes.

Tommy added, "I don't know where all the rest are from."

"It doesn't matter, you're all at Family now."

"Family? What's that?"

"This is Family. That's the name of this place."

"That's a funny name." That was Holly.

"So is Holly a funny name."

She pouted. "It is not."

"Well then, neither is Family."

"I thought a family was a mommy and a daddy and all their children. "

"That's right. Only here, we have a lot of mommies and daddies and children. It's all one big Family. So that's what we call it."

She eyed me with curious suspicion. "Are you a daddy?"

"Nope. "

"Then what are you?"

"I'm me. I help out."

"Doing what?"

"Oh, I get to spank all the bad kids and kiss all the good ones."

"Oh." She edged a little bit away, even let go of my hand. A minute later, she grabbed hold of it again. Apparently, she figured I was safe after all. She said, "I guess that's okay. I'll even help tell you who all the bad ones are."

"Oh, I think I can tell without any help."

"I'll help anyway, okay?"

"Okay."

We got to the mess hall then and followed the rest of the crowd in. B-Jay was sitting the kids down at long tables, propping the smaller ones up on cushions, snapping orders at Daddy Potts and the other cooks and assistants, even as she kept up a running patter with all seventeen of the kids simultaneously. "Get Doc over here fast, and Nurse Ivy too; some of these kids have infections, but I want to get some food in them first. Daddy, let's get some big bowls of soup on the tables. And then we promised them all sandwiches and lemonade-no, you can't drink your lemonade until you finish your soup-and have we got any of that peach ice cream left? Well, so we won't have it for dinner tonight. The kids are more important-what's that? No, you won't have to get a shot. Unless you need it; Doctor Birdie-yes, that's her real name-is a very good doctor. She doesn't like to give shots. Jim, will you help out here please? Sit down at that end and help those three you brought up."