All night long, the freezing wind blew outside the abandoned building Sadie and Henry had chosen for shelter.

On Chicago's South Side, whenever the wind blew outside, it usually blew inside. And on this bone-chilling night the wind came sweeping in. It whistled down the dark, deserted hallway where Sadie and Henry hid, trying to rest.

As the wind howled, Henry just lay there. He was neither asleep nor awake. Sadie still lay silent a few feet away. She slept on top of newspapers and under piles of relief-center blankets and her worn and faded quilt. Henry knew it probably wasn't sunup yet. Sadie was always up before the sun, no matter where they slept.

Soon the layers of old newspapers would crackle, no matter how much she tried not to disturb him. As Sadie slept, Henry took another tender look in her direction. He could only see the soft silhouette of her too-young, too-tired face across the dimly lit warehouse. Knowing her thoughts, he felt heartbroken for her.

Sadie missed her babies. The folks down at the Child Protection Agency had taken the twins, the boy and the girl. When they took her babies, they took Sadie's soul.

They said that living in the streets and sleeping in old, broken-down buildings without food, heat, and love wasn't no life for no twin babies who wasn't even three yet. And they was right.

They was right about the no home part, and the no food part, and the no heat part. But they was wrong about the no love part. Miss Sadie Bacon had plenty of love, especially for her own babies. Yes, they was right about this here life not being no life for no twin babies. But they forgot to say that living like this wasn't no life for nobody. No, nobody at all.

As Sadie began to toss and turn, Henry thought back to when he first saw her. He had found her early that cold November morning, wandering down Lake Shore Drive, dragging that old, worn-out quilt. The quilt was the only link to her past.

What he remembered most were those big, sad, brown eyes. They were leaking like faucets. They stared everywhere but saw nothing.

Everybody else on The Drive just pointed or stared. Most kept their distance, but Henry stayed near. He wouldn't touch her, and wouldn't let nobody else touch her either.

Henry followed, waited, came closer, and whispered a few kind words. He followed and waited some more. Finally, from sheer exhaustion, Sadie’s steps slowed. And then her sadness overflowed.

Sadie had come from a little town near Jacksonville, Florida, near the clean, blue sea and the warm, white sand. The sun shone almost every day. She hadn’t never seen snow before, except on the tiny, used, black-and-white television in Grandma Bacon’s little house. The house was off the backroads of Springfield, just a hop and a skip from the beach.

Now, mind you, Sadie loved her little town. She just wanted to stay in the sun, near the beach. She just wanted to stay with her sweet, sassy Grandma Bacon. Grandma Bacon had raised her from a baby. She taught Sadie how to groom herself and how to clean a house and set a table real fine.

Warm-hearted and wise, Grandma “Misty” Bacon had tried to teach Sadie about life. But she didn’t have time to teach some things, like the ways of the outside world, or even how to cook.

Grandma used to laugh and say that every time Sadie cook, Sadie burn, even burn bacon. So she started teasing Sadie and calling her “Burnt Bacon,” even though she wasn’t really burnt at all. She was plenty lean and plenty brown, both her skin and her big old eyes.

Oh, and Sadie was plenty smart, too. She was book smart, loved her some books. She just didn’t know much about life or cooking. Naw, Miss Sadie Bacon at age 18 hadn’t been burnt yet, not even by that hot Florida sun.

Sadly, Grandma Misty got sick during Sadie’s last few months at Seminole High School. At the age of 86, that big, warm heart of hers was wearing down with each new sunrise.

One evening, as the bright Florida sun began to set, Grandma called out to Sadie in her too-tired voice. "Baby, listen now, I’m going to have to leave ya. You can't stay here by yourself. So I wants you to go to Chicago to live with my stepson, George. I’ve been putting aside a little money for ya."

"Now, you gotta watch him," Grandma went on. "George is a little bitter. He tends to drink a bit because his real momma never did love him. I tried, I really did try, but George ain’t been really happy since his daddy died 25 years ago. George always calls me on Christmas and my birthday, so I heard from him a few months ago. I told him you’d be coming after graduation. Now, he ain't really ya kin, but he's all we got right now. Just stay there ‘til you can do better. Don't never forget your prayers, and don't get lost in that there big city, like your momma did in New York. She like to broke my heart when she run off and never came back. And promise me you'll take this quilt with you, wherever you go. My own Granny made it so long ago, and it will… it will..."

“Grandma? Grandma, please don't leave me!" Sadie cried.

Still, Grandma Julia Mae “Misty” Bacon closed her eyes for the last time, still holding her old quilt and young Sadie's hand.

Just two weeks later Sadie rode the bus for 22 long, tiring hours, alone and afraid, to Chicago. It was nearly a thousand miles to a city she'd only read about and a man called "Uncle" George who wasn’t really her uncle. He was a man she'd never even met.  

Sadie got a day job right away cleaning hotel rooms. She read every book she borrowed from the free library in her tiny, locked room at night. She also cleaned Uncle George's filthy house to help pay her way, but kept her distance for many months.

Remembering Grandma's teasing about her cooking, one night Sadie took great care to prepare rib-tips, rice, and gravy. While the meat cooked, she sat at the kitchen table and opened one of her borrowed books. Unfortunately she became lost in the world of another young girl, a happy young girl with family, friends, and a future. 

The strong, scorched smell of burnt food hit her nose at the same time that Uncle George's huge hand pulled her back to reality and then into his hellish nightmare. His harsh, liquored breath and brutality left her on the kitchen floor, bruised, battered, and shamed.

With her body, mind, and spirit humiliated and abused, Sadie packed her few belongings and escaped. 

She never told anyone. There was no one to tell, no one to care. So she slept at the hotel where she worked for a few days until she rented a room at the girls’ Y.  

A month or so later, Sadie found a better-paying job as a cashier at Marshall Field's department store. She started taking classes at Harold Washington Community College at night. At first, despite her fear and shame, life was almost bearable. Her days and nights, though lonely, were completely full. 

Then she missed her first period, and then another.

She tried to have an abortion. She made the appointment, then canceled. She made the appointment again, and just never showed up. Six months later, the twins were born.

Welfare helped some, but it was never enough. Sadie loved her pretty brown twins, Jackson and Julia, despite their brutal beginning. She took good care of them. But she was often forced to use the rent money to buy food, diapers, or formula.

Over the next two years, not knowing how to manage money, Sadie got put out of one apartment after another until she and the twins ended up on the street. That same night, they took her babies. That next morning, Henry saw those eyes.

Telling the story had been hard and draining. Sadie slept for two days while Henry stood guard. After that, Sadie and Henry walked together, stood out in the cold together, found shelter together. They were two sad people who had come together.

Other street folk started saying Henry was Sadie's man, and it stuck, even though they hadn't really come together that way.