The wonderful aromas of baking ham, scalloped potatoes and hot dinner rolls promised a delicious meal would soon be ready. His mother, with beads of sweat on her upper lip, was stirring applesauce in a large pan on the stove. She looked over at him and smiled. “You’re just in time. Your papa has gone to wash up. How was it? Was Otis kind to you?” “It was fine. I’ll go wash up, too. Where is Andrew?” His bottomless pit of a brother was always in the kitchen trying to sneak a bite of this or that before his mother got it on the table. A worried frown creased her brow. “He said he wasn’t hungry.” Roman stared at her in shock. “Andrew said that? He must be sick.” Roman’s father came into the room. “He’s not sick. He just doesn’t like change. Can’t say that I do, either.” “We change when we must,” Marie Rose stated quickly.
