Isabelle and Little Orphan Frannie: The Isabelle Series, Book Three by Constance C. Greene Page B

skipped home. She hadn’t skipped in a while and had forgotten how good skipping made her feel. She hadn’t told Mrs. Stern any of the things she’d planned to tell her. She’d only listened to Mrs. Stern’s problems. She’d been a great help. She was a sensible child. She was making progress, no matter what anyone said.

FOURTEEN
    Frannie was perched on the back step, waiting, when Isabelle chugged up the drive.
    â€œI can stay tonight,” Frannie announced. “For supper. Like your mother said. I asked my aunt and she said it’d suit her a treat on account of she’s hosting a Tupperware party, and she said she needs to clean up the joint.”
    â€œI don’t know. I better ask,” said Isabelle. She decided on her way inside to take the positive approach and tell instead.
    â€œFrannie can stay for supper tonight,” she told her mother.
    It was not a good time. Isabelle could see that. Her mother’s hair and face were both frazzled. She’d been working on her word processor all day, and she was losing the battle. It was new and she said she was going to master it if it killed her.
    â€œOh, not tonight, kids. Sorry, Frannie. We’ll be lucky if we eat supper at all tonight. The way it looks now it’s bread and milk for everyone.” Then she took a look at Frannie and said, “How about coming for Sunday dinner? We always have a gala feast then. Isabelle’s father fixes dinner on Sunday. We’d love to have you, Frannie. Think you can come?”
    â€œWell,” Frannie said, “I guess. But I can stay tonight too.”
    â€œSunday’s better,” Isabelle’s mother stated, and went back to her work.
    â€œWhat time?” Frannie asked.
    â€œAbout twelve thirty, after church,” Isabelle said.
    â€œWhat’s he fixing?” Frannie said.
    Isabelle’s mother rested her chin in her hands and rolled her eyes. “It’s a secret. That’s what makes it so exciting. It’s always something special.”
    â€œYeah, and Aunt Maude usually stays too,” Isabelle told Frannie. “As a matter of fact, she always stays although she pretends she won’t. Aunt Maude’s a real aunt, though. Not a phony one, like yours.”
    â€œWho says Aunt Ruth’s a phony?” Frannie demanded angrily.
    â€œYou said,” Isabelle replied. “You said she wants you to call her aunt, but she’s not a real aunt. So I call that a phony.”
    â€œYou’ve got no business calling her a phony,” Frannie said, fists clenched. “You don’t even know her. If I come on Sunday”—Frannie had calmed down some—“I’ll wear my new frock. It’s a real frock, all right. I look like a movie star in that frock. I look like somebody in a game show. That’s what Aunt Ruth says.”
    â€œWhat’s a frock?” Isabelle asked.
    Frannie’s mouth dropped open and her eyes popped in astonishment.
    â€œYou don’t know what a frock is?” Frannie said. “It’s this really special dress; you only bring it out for dressy parties. My mother sent it to me from Detroit. Did I tell you my mother’s boyfriend gave her a diamond?”
    Isabelle and her mother shook their heads no, she hadn’t told them.
    â€œWell”—Frannie licked her lips—“it’s about a karat, set in platinum with lots of little diamonds on the sides and all around. Now my mother says she can’t do the dishes or anything, on account of the diamond. Her hands were made for diamonds, and a diamond’s a big responsibility, you see.”
    â€œRight you are,” Isabelle’s mother agreed. “Now, girls, mind taking off? I’m very busy with this thing.”
    â€œCome on, let’s go,” Isabelle said, and they tiptoed outside.
    â€œHow come she calls it supper when it’s a school day or something,” Frannie asked,