The Sisters from Hardscrabble Bay by Beverly Jensen

was from Dad.”
    Maddie looked at Idella. “ Pardon. I did not know.”
    “Honey keeps forever.” Idella placed the jar back exactly where it had been. “I’m keeping it forever where she put it. You French girls touch everything.”
    There was the sound of a wagon approaching. Maddie turned quickly from the window and put her head down, as though trying to disappear.
    “Hello there, you Hillocks!” The man in the wagon was yelling. “Need anything in Salmon Beach today?”
    “That’s just Mr. Pettigrew,” Avis said. “He always calls that when he goes by. He’s nice enough.” She ran to the door. “No thanks, Mr. Pettigrew. Not today.”
    “Just asking.” He kept his wagon moving. “Tell your dad not to work too hard!” He laughed as he said it. “Tell him I said so.”
    “Do many people go on the road?” Maddie asked.
    “Nah. The Pettigrews, ’cause they live farther up. The Doncaster boys go tearing by. They’re always cursing at each other, so you know it’s them. Then Mrs. Doncaster yells after them from her porch. Come on out to the barn.” Avis took Maddie’s hand and pulled her out into the yard. Idella followed at a distance.
    Maddie looked at every chicken, like one was different from the other. She came up behind them as they scattered about the yard, felt them, put her hand down around their bodies, and laughed when they pecked her.
    She put her hand on the muzzle of Tater, the cow, who turned her big head heavily in Maddie’s direction. “You have a nice cow,” she said as they stood in the doorway of the barn watching her.
    “Idella saved that cow’s life,” Avis said. “She got a chunk of potato stuck in her throat, and that cow was going to choke to death.”
    “Let me tell her, Avis—it was me that done it. Dad was yelling for me from the barn, see, and I didn’t know what he wanted, but I knew he wanted it bad! He said, ‘You’ve got to get that potato. We can’t get our arms down there.’ So I did his bidding. Dad and Dalton held her mouth open, and I reached my arm in—I stuck it way down in, through the mouth and beyond—and I felt around, and then I come to it—I got my fingers around it, and I pulled my hand out all along the way with that piece of potato. Dad told me I’d saved the day. He used them words.”
    “That’s why we call her Tater,” Avis said. “We used to have two cows, but the best milker went with Baby Emma.”
    “Who is Baby Emma?”
    “Our sister.” Avis picked up bunches of loose hay and scattered them over her head, twirling about. “She’s two on May Day. She lives ten miles away, and she needed the cow for her milk. Mother died having her.”
    “Avis!”
    “Well, she did.” Avis stopped her spinning and stood. “So Dad give her to Aunt Beth. She wanted a girl, and Dad had two already.”
    Maddie stood with her hand on the cow and looked at Avis and then Idella . “C’est triste,” she finally said, then caught herself. “Sad. So sad.”
    “She was beautiful,” Idella said, returning Maddie’s sorry gaze with narrowed eyes. “Our mother was beautiful. She was a lady. She wasn’t anything like you.”
    “Non.” Maddie shook her head, her fingers still splayed heavily on the back of the cow. “ Non. Not like me.” She spoke softly. “I am sorry, Idella. I did not know what happened to your mother. I did not have a mother for long.”
    “Did she die?” Idella asked.
    “She left me.”
    “Left you? By dying?” Avis asked.
    “By going in a wagon and not taking me. She left me with my father.”
    Avis persisted. “He nice to you?”
    Maddie looked at Avis. “There was no jar with honey.”
    “Dad got that honey for Mother special from the man with bees,” Idella said.
    “I am sorry I moved the jar. Don’t be mad, Idella. Please.”
    Idella ran up to the pile of hay and kicked her leg through it, scattering stiff bits in a prickly flurry. She turned and ran into the house, jumping over the porch step and