Montgomery’s, Francie, and start those cakes.” Mama adjusted her hat in front of the little cracked mirror hanging over the basin stand where we washed our faces. “I’ll be down the street at Mrs. Grace’s, since I promised I’d get her floors waxed for her book-club meeting tonight.” My heart sank at the memory of Holly Grace and the sting of her slap. I hoped Mama wouldn’t find out about it. Mama took her hat off and hit it against her thigh, then set it on her head again and twisted it a bit. She frowned at herself in the mirror. “When we get up to Chicago, I’m sure getting me a brand-new town hat—I’m so sick of this one.” She turned to me. “Okay, as soon as you get to Mrs. Montgomery’s, start on the icing. I want it nice and chilled by the time I get there. You can go on and make the cakes, so they can cool, too. You listening to me?” “Yes, ma’am.” All the way to Mrs. Montgomery’s I dreaded the thought of seeing that priss, Clarissa. Maybe she’d gone back home to Baltimore.
