stunned.
M.K. hadn’t made up her mind yet about the yellow dog that followed Sadie home. He was a crazy dog, with an unpredictable streak running through him. They ended up calling him Doozy. He would bark at the silliest things without warning, like a leaf skittering across the driveway or a shadow moving across a windowpane, or a towel flapping on the clothesline. On the other hand, he was very predictable about other things. Every single time a buggy came to call, for example, Doozy could be found hiding under the porch. The poor thing was half starved and flea-bitten, and though Fern usually didn’t have a sympathetic bone in her body, for some reason she took to this pathetic creature. When M.K. pointed out this contradiction to her, Fern raised one eyebrow and replied, “What I like best about dogs is that they wag their tails instead of their tongues.”
Fern! So prickly.
M.K. left Fern baking in the kitchen to go see what Sadie was doing with the baby. She curled up on Sadie’s bed and watched her sister feed the baby a bottle. He would drink a little, then fall asleep, then jerk awake and start drinking as if he were starved. The baby held one hand up in the air, fingers splayed like a starfish. M.K. loved looking at his little hands. They were so small, so perfect.
Her mind drifted to the unsolved dilemma: to whom did this baby belong?
“Later today, maybe I can take the basket and go ask around town.”
“No,” Sadie said with an uncharacteristic firmness. “You’ve already created enough problems. The last thing I want is to have you poking your nose into this.”
M.K. looked up at her, serious, and blinked once. How were they going to figure out who the baby’s mother was with that attitude? This business with Sadie reminded her of doing math problems. Sometimes they worked out. Sometimes you were back where you started.
Sadie put the baby into his basket and covered him with a little blanket. “M.K., I think maybe we have a special job ahead of us. Something important.”
Mary Kate was just about to ask what she was talking about as she heard the yellow dog wander up and down the hallway, completely stumped by this new environment. He wasn’t the brightest of dogs. He came into Sadie’s room and curled up on the small rug by the side of her bed. “Fern is going to have a conniption when she finds you indoors.” The dog looked up at her with sad, brown eyes. Then he cocked his head, ran to the window, and let out a low growl.
M.K. jumped off the bed to see what he had noticed. “Oh no,” she said. Her mouth was suddenly very dry. Edith Fisher had rolled up the driveway in her buggy. Worse still, Jimmy Fisher was beside her, looking angry and sullen. She looked down at the dog, who was still growling a little. She patted his head. “Maybe you’re smarter than you look.”
She saw her father walk out of the barn to greet Edith, who was out of the buggy and walking toward the house. Jimmy followed behind, hands in his pockets, scuffing the gravel with his feet.
She knew what this was all about. She had hoped to avoid this, but it figured that Jimmy would try to pin this on her. She saw her father look up at the house and catch sight of her in the window. He motioned to her to come downstairs. She sighed, deeply annoyed with Jimmy, and went out to meet them. Sadie followed behind, far too happily, M.K. noticed.
When they reached Amos, he said, “M.K., I understand you challenged Jimmy to a buggy race, from Bent N’ Dent to Blue Lake Pond.”
She glared at Jimmy. “Nolo contendere.”
Her father paid no mind to her Latin. “And I understand that a police officer pulled Jimmy over after clocking him at thirty-five miles per hour—” He stopped abruptly and turned to look at Jimmy. “Really? You got that old gelding up to thirty-five miles per hour?”
Jimmy brightened. “Sure did.”
Amos whistled, one note up, one down, impressed.
“Amos Lapp!” Edith Fisher snapped,
M.K. hadn’t made up her mind yet about the yellow dog that followed Sadie home. He was a crazy dog, with an unpredictable streak running through him. They ended up calling him Doozy. He would bark at the silliest things without warning, like a leaf skittering across the driveway or a shadow moving across a windowpane, or a towel flapping on the clothesline. On the other hand, he was very predictable about other things. Every single time a buggy came to call, for example, Doozy could be found hiding under the porch. The poor thing was half starved and flea-bitten, and though Fern usually didn’t have a sympathetic bone in her body, for some reason she took to this pathetic creature. When M.K. pointed out this contradiction to her, Fern raised one eyebrow and replied, “What I like best about dogs is that they wag their tails instead of their tongues.”
Fern! So prickly.
M.K. left Fern baking in the kitchen to go see what Sadie was doing with the baby. She curled up on Sadie’s bed and watched her sister feed the baby a bottle. He would drink a little, then fall asleep, then jerk awake and start drinking as if he were starved. The baby held one hand up in the air, fingers splayed like a starfish. M.K. loved looking at his little hands. They were so small, so perfect.
Her mind drifted to the unsolved dilemma: to whom did this baby belong?
“Later today, maybe I can take the basket and go ask around town.”
“No,” Sadie said with an uncharacteristic firmness. “You’ve already created enough problems. The last thing I want is to have you poking your nose into this.”
M.K. looked up at her, serious, and blinked once. How were they going to figure out who the baby’s mother was with that attitude? This business with Sadie reminded her of doing math problems. Sometimes they worked out. Sometimes you were back where you started.
Sadie put the baby into his basket and covered him with a little blanket. “M.K., I think maybe we have a special job ahead of us. Something important.”
Mary Kate was just about to ask what she was talking about as she heard the yellow dog wander up and down the hallway, completely stumped by this new environment. He wasn’t the brightest of dogs. He came into Sadie’s room and curled up on the small rug by the side of her bed. “Fern is going to have a conniption when she finds you indoors.” The dog looked up at her with sad, brown eyes. Then he cocked his head, ran to the window, and let out a low growl.
M.K. jumped off the bed to see what he had noticed. “Oh no,” she said. Her mouth was suddenly very dry. Edith Fisher had rolled up the driveway in her buggy. Worse still, Jimmy Fisher was beside her, looking angry and sullen. She looked down at the dog, who was still growling a little. She patted his head. “Maybe you’re smarter than you look.”
She saw her father walk out of the barn to greet Edith, who was out of the buggy and walking toward the house. Jimmy followed behind, hands in his pockets, scuffing the gravel with his feet.
She knew what this was all about. She had hoped to avoid this, but it figured that Jimmy would try to pin this on her. She saw her father look up at the house and catch sight of her in the window. He motioned to her to come downstairs. She sighed, deeply annoyed with Jimmy, and went out to meet them. Sadie followed behind, far too happily, M.K. noticed.
When they reached Amos, he said, “M.K., I understand you challenged Jimmy to a buggy race, from Bent N’ Dent to Blue Lake Pond.”
She glared at Jimmy. “Nolo contendere.”
Her father paid no mind to her Latin. “And I understand that a police officer pulled Jimmy over after clocking him at thirty-five miles per hour—” He stopped abruptly and turned to look at Jimmy. “Really? You got that old gelding up to thirty-five miles per hour?”
Jimmy brightened. “Sure did.”
Amos whistled, one note up, one down, impressed.
“Amos Lapp!” Edith Fisher snapped,
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