Free The Day of the Pelican by Katherine Paterson

pot was old and battered, but it held water. She pumped until it was filled to the brim. It was so heavy the narrow metal handle cut into her palm, but she carried it carefully, unwilling to lose a precious drop, and walked back to where the family waited.
    "She said we could keep the pot," Uncle Fadil said, proud as a child who's won a school prize.
    Not even Mehmet complained aloud that no food had been offered, or that the pot was so dented and stained Mama would have thrown it out long ago. It held water. That was what mattered. It would even boil soup, if they ever got the makings of soup and the means to start a fire.
    When everyone had taken a good long drink, Meli returned to the well and filled the pot once more before they began to walk again. The water helped a bit to fill their empty stomachs, and it was not until they stopped to rest a couple of hours later that Meli was conscious of her stomach growling and churning. She had been far more aware of the metal pot handle cutting into her palm.
    Nexima nursed the twins and then called her three-year-old and fed him as well.
    Adil sidled over to where Meli was sitting. He put his thin little arm around her neck. "I'm hungry," he whispered in her ear.
    "I know," she said. "We all are. When we come to a place where we can buy food, Baba will get us something." She remembered midsentence that their father's money was now in that pillowcase.
    "When?"
    She rubbed her brother's bony back. "Soon," she said. "Soon, I'm sure. We have to be very patient and very brave."
    But even if there had been money, there were no shops selling bread in the villages they walked through. There were houses being looted as their owners fled, and every business seemed to have been burned or vandalized beyond repair. The road was filled with people just as hungry and desperate as they were. By midmorning they were too tired and hungry to walk another step. They knew they must keep walking, but as much as their minds told them to go on, their bodies simply refused to move.
    "Hashim, Fadil," Mama said after they had passed through yet another burned village, "why don't we sleep now, while the grass is dry and the sun is warm? We can walk in the evening when it is too cool to sleep." The older children didn't wait for permission. They plopped down on the grass. Baba and Uncle Fadil put Vlora and Elez beside their mothers and then helped Granny out of the wheelbarrow. She groaned a bit when they set her on her feet.
Poor Granny,
thought Meli.
How stiff she must be, riding all those hours in that funny position over this bumpy road.
    The old woman straightened as much as her old back would let her and then looked around at all of them sprawled on the grass. "Are we having a picnic?" she asked. Mehmet gave a short laugh and got a look from Baba.
    "No, Mother—" Uncle Fadil began, but stopped when they saw Granny reaching about under her shawl and overshirt and into the waist of her trousers. Auntie Burbuqe jumped up to keep her mother-in-law from pulling her clothes apart in front of them all. "Granny," she said, "what are you doing? Let me help you."
    Just then Granny succeeded in pulling two loaves of bread out from under her voluminous overshirt.
    "I was going to take them to the chickens," she said. "Then those bad men came. I didn't have time, so I..." She made a motion of sticking the bread into her waistband. She looked apologetic. "It's not so much for all these people."
    "It's a feast!" Baba said. "You clever woman!"
    Adil was on his feet, clapping his hands. "Clever Granny. You fooled the bad men!"
    Granny smiled shyly as Uncle Fadil broke off pieces of the loaves and gave some to everyone. Even the babies had a piece to suck on.
Only someone who has ever really been hungry would understand how delicious this dry bread tastes,
thought Meli. They each ate their share, had a long drink of water, and, almost satisfied, lay down to sleep on the grass. Baba and Uncle Fadil agreed to take turns