A Tiny Piece of Sky by Shawn K. Stout Page A

shouldn’t make a joke about such a thing. There are people who have lost fingers and other parts in tractor accidents, and I’m sure they wouldn’t find that very funny.
    Anyway, I’m sorry I haven’t written, but I’ve been so busy settling into my new schedule here I barely have time for myself. Aunt Dottie, as it turns out, is quite strict. I have to get up at six o’ clock to feed the chickens and turn the horses out to pasture. Then there are chores around the house, weeding the vegetable garden, cleaning the horses’ stalls, and then and then and then and then . . .
    My afternoons are free, so I really shouldn’t complain, but lately I’ve been so tired from the morning activities that I fall asleep in a chair and don’t wake up until suppertime. I think I now know how it feels to be Grandma Engel. (But please don’t tell her I said that.)
    Tell me how the restaurant is going. I bet it’s really exciting. Will you get to work the cash register or seat the customers? Are you taking good care of Dixie? How’s Bismarck?
    Give my love to them and to Daddy and Mother, too. And Grandma Engel, of course. And everyone else. Even Elizabeth.
    Oh, I miss you so.
    With sisterly love,
    Joan
    P.S. Have you seen that no-good Leroy Price much?

15
    â€œJOAN SAYS HELLO,” Frankie told Elizabeth as she folded the letter in half lengthwise and slid it into the front pocket of her dress. She sat on the middle of the living room rug and slipped her shoes into her roller skates.
    Elizabeth’s head was buried in Mother’s latest issue of
Ladies’ Home Journal
. “That’s nice.”
    â€œShe also says that Aunt Dottie has her doing a lot of work around the farm.” Frankie fastened the buckles and tightened the skates with her key. “She hasn’t had any time to write before now, she’s been so busy.”
    â€œMmm-hmmm.”
    â€œShe wants to know all about the restaurant, so I’m going to write her all about Amy and Julie and Mr. Washington and Seaweed. And that awful Mr. Stannum, too. And how Daddy is throwing a big Fourth of July party and has invited everybody.”
    Elizabeth laid the magazine open on her lap. The page, which featured a high-arched eyebrow with step-by-step how-to instructions, draped over her leg. “I don’t know what Daddy was thinking.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” asked Frankie. “Don’t you think all the work on the restaurant will be done in time?”
    â€œI’m not talking about all the work that needs done,” saidElizabeth. “I mean I don’t know what Daddy was thinking inviting
everybody
.”
    â€œWhy shouldn’t he?” said Frankie. “We’ll have plenty of food.”
    Elizabeth sighed and shook her head. “You don’t understand. Just forget it.” She returned to her page in the magazine.
    â€œForget what?” said Frankie. “What should I forget?”
    Elizabeth put down the magazine once more in a huff. “All I’m saying is that inviting all the staff, you know,” and then she brought her voice down to a whisper, “colored people along with the rest of us, people will talk. And I hope he doesn’t get in trouble.”
    â€œElizabeth Baum,” said Frankie, getting to her knees, “you sound just like a snob talking like that.”
    â€œYou take that back right now!” shouted Elizabeth. “I’m no snob. I’m only thinking of Daddy because of what other people might say. You’re too young to understand. It matters what other people think.”
    While Frankie didn’t give a fig about what others thought of her, Elizabeth strove for perfection in all that she did. When people took to calling you Princess since the moment you were born, anything less than perfection might disqualify you in their eyes and cause you to lose your crown. The expectation was set from