Out of the Ashes by Valerie Sherrard Page B

nice way of repaying Mom for the dinner invitation. Even though she’d tried to refuse the offer, I knew she was tired from cooking all day long. It was great for her to be able to sit down in the living room and relax instead of having to do the big clean-up. And of course, I would have been helping her, so it was beneficial to me too.
    It was kind of sad though, watching Greg and his dad doing the dishes. Mr. Taylor washed and Greg dried, and I couldn’t help thinking about how theymust do this together at home all the time because there was no Mrs. Taylor anymore. It looked wrong somehow, because she was missing from the picture. I wondered what she had looked like and how she had fit with the two of them.
    Just as we were finishing up, Betts arrived to tell me about some of the gifts she’d received. I had a bad moment when she was introduced to Greg’s dad and she got an excited look on her face. I thought for sure that she was going to start asking him embarrassing questions. It reminded me of how I’d been planning to watch him for signs that he might be the Little River fire starter, which by then struck me as ridiculous. There was no way a nice man like Mr. Taylor was involved in something like that.
    I never found out whether or not Betts might have gotten around to prying because Greg suggested that the three of us go outside and build a snow sculpture.
    â€œIt’s kind of dark out,” Betts pointed out. She didn’t seem that enthusiastic, but I was glad for the idea. After being in the hot kitchen, the thought of fresh air was more than welcome.
    â€œWe’ll put on the porch light,” I said, hauling on my jacket and gloves. “It’ll be fun.”
    She shrugged and came along just as I knew she would. Betts is really a good sport, and even if she complains sometimes she always comes through.
    We couldn’t agree right away on what we were going to make so we just started making a big mound, building up a pile of snow in the middle of the yard. By the time we had enough to shape into a sculpture, we’d agreed on making a snow castle. It was just taking form when Betts tossed the first snowball and hit Greg on the arm.
    â€œI can see that we’re going to need to build a dungeon in our castle for this miscreant,” he laughed, lobbing a snowball back at her.
    â€œWhat did you call me?” she demanded, ducking and laughing.
    â€œThou art a most sneaky and evil villain,” he said solemnly, gathering more snow into a ball.
    Well, that was the end of our sculpture. Fluffy white orbs flew back and forth faster and faster until we were all out of breath and gasping with laughter. Our faces were red when we finally went back inside to warm ourselves. Greg’s mitts were covered in snow and I banged them over the kitchen sink to knock some of it off before hanging them up to dry.
    â€œNeat mitts,” I commented. They were black with a red and purple design. He told me that it was an Aztec pattern and then added that his father had knitted them.
    â€œYour dad knits!” Betts almost choked on the words.
    â€œYeah, why not?”
    â€œWell, guys don’t knit.”
    â€œAnd why is that?”
    â€œKnitting is for women.”
    â€œWomen have been fighting that very attitude for years. Do you think that men and women have to be restricted to certain roles?”
    â€œThat’s not what she meant,” I said quickly. I could see Betts’s face clouding over, and I knew she wasn’t going to win an argument with Greg.
    â€œDon’t you think Betts should speak for herself?”
    â€œCome on, don’t make a big deal over something this small.”
    â€œStereotyping isn’t a small thing. Men and women need to accept each other’s right to make choices based on individuality, with all gender bias aside. Until that happens we’re all affected by unfair restrictions and ideas.”
    Well, by then