Mama joined the group in front of the Pastor.
“What is Mama doing!”, Ella blurted. An usher frowned at her, but she went on, “wasn’t the altar-call for barren women?”.
“Shh!”, Papa shunned, looking at us. His eyes were like hot-ice. That hot-coldness was there at the birth of the last-born. He had hissed, “girl again!”, and bore the wounded eyes of a man plagued with six daughters; a species he calls “Liabilities” -tomorrow they belong to their husbands.
A look at those eyes, and Ella got her answer. She hushed, “Mama is barren. God give her an asset”.