I shook out my wet umbrella on the porch before dropping it into the stand inside our front door. Half-day Saturday was over. I was ready for my Saturday night. I wanted to twirl through the parlor singing, but I knew I had to contain my excitement. Mama didn’t know anything about my ballet plans. In fact, Mama knew nothing about Lars—period. I breezed into the kitchen, where I was greeted by the lovely sizzle of something frying. Mama stood at the range, mastering two skillets at once. I kissed her on the cheek. “Potatoes and eggs. Mmmmm.” A half day of work meant no lunch. I was ravenous. “It is all done? Oui?” Mama’s expression was laced with concern. “Yes. The last person has been hired.” I plopped into a chair. Silverware, napkins, and two glasses of milk had been set out on the table. I snatched up my fork, my mouth watering in anticipation. “Glad that whole nightmare is behind me. I couldn’t bear one more Eastland story.” I shuddered, remembering everything I’d heard over the past three days.
