My eye remained pressed against the narrow gap between the fence boards.
For several seconds, I couldn’t make sense of what I was seeing.
The seven children weren’t doing chores.
They weren’t being punished.
They weren’t even in their usual backyard.
Instead, they were gathered around a large wooden table beneath an old covered shed.
And on that table was a mess of papers, photographs, notebooks, envelopes and what looked like hand-drawn maps.
The youngest child was holding a flashlight.
Continue reading on next page…