Franny Parker by Hannah Roberts McKinnon

lemons back and forth over the wooden counter, squeezing the juices up to the surface. Mama sliced each one expertly, her long fingers moving over the yellow fruit, pressing each one to the juicer.
    â€œTake these to the chickens,” she said, passing me the peels.
    Outside, I tossed the lemon over the chicken wire, watching as the hens squawked and scratched around the scraps. I headed up the hill and around to the back door by the kitchen. It was there I heard Izzy’s voice join Mama’s inside. They spoke quietly, so I knew they were having a private talk. I waited outside, trying to tell my ears not to listen, but I couldn’t help it.
    â€œHonestly, Iz, why’d you have to ask her that?” Mama scolded.
    â€œWell, weren’t you wondering the same thing?” Izzy asked.
    â€œOf course, but it’s not our place. Lindy’s new.”
    â€œShe didn’t seem to mind,” Izzy protested.
    â€œShe’s just being a good sport,” Mama said.
    â€œWell, she’s used to it.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œA river of sadness, that one,” Izzy said with a sigh.
    â€œDon’t be silly,” Mama replied. “Lindy’s the most cheerful woman I know.”
    â€œI’m not kidding. I’ve seen sadness myself, and I can recognize a woman who’s seen the same.” Izzy’s voice was solemn.
    I peered through the back window. Mama and Izzy were at the counter, the ladies chatting loudly at the dining room table behind them. I strained to hear Mama’s words.
    â€œCome on, Iz. She’s got a great kid, she’s settled in nicely. Her pottery is a hit.”
    Izzy shook her head. “Details, details, details. Look in her eyes sometime. There’s a story there she’s not telling,” Izzy insisted.
    Izzy took the lemonade to the ladies. I pressed myself against the house, breathing quietly against the wooden heat. The back door opened, and Mama walked right past me, a strange look on her face. She crossed her arms and stared hard at the little cabin next door.

Ice Cream
    S o what book are you on?” Pearl wheezed, her skinny legs pedaling fiercely.
    â€œMy fifth,” I shouted back, rounding the corner of the town green onto Main Street. I’d almost run out of formula for the patients over the weekend, so I was relieved to be on my way to the vet’s office that Monday. For two miles Pearl had raced to keep up on her faded pink kiddie bike, its worn tires spinning twice as fast as those on my ten-speed. I glanced back sympathetically at the freckles glowing on her red cheeks.
    â€œMother says I can get a new bike if I win the library contest,” Pearl had confided earlier. I don’t know which made me feel sorrier, the fact that her mother was forcing her to ride a kiddie bike until she won or her belief that she actually could win.
    I pulled up outside Harland’s. “Ice cream break?” I offered, gently patting my shirt pocket. I’d taken to carrying Runty around in my pocket, letting him snooze in its dark warmth. He seemed to like it, popping his head out for a peek every now and then. I’d almost forgotten he was in there that morning until we were halfway into town.
    â€œOkay,” Pearl puffed, rolling to a shaky stop beside me. “Better hide that mouse.” Pearl liked the animal hospital just fine, as long as she didn’t have to touch any of the patients. Especially the mice.
    We headed into the cool air of Harland’s dairy section, and I peered into my Animal Funds can. I felt guilty spending the funds on ice cream. But Pearl had agreed to come along for vet supplies, so I figured I’d chalk it up to employee wages. Besides, the can was good and full at the moment. I’d long ago spent Faye Wakeman’s first five-dollar donation, but there’d been plenty since from all the people who sent me new patients. Izzy herself had plunked a