The crape myrtle bloomed. She struggled to put up a sturdy white trellis of four-inch squares against the garage. Nickel ran around the yard pursued by Buster. The far end of the trellis leaned forward. “Nicky, come to Momma.” “No.” Nickel ran faster. “I need you to help me.” The word “help” captured the child’s attention. Small though she was, the idea of being useful appealed to her. She ran over. Juts pointed to the far end of the trellis. “Can you lean against the wall?” Nickel walked over and flattened herself bellyfirst against the wall, which meant she pressed the trellis to it. “That’s good. What a strong girl you are.” Juts quickly tapped in a holding nail on her end, then hurried over to tap one in where Nickel stood. “Thank you.” She popped open the stepladder and climbed to the top, where she tapped in another nail. Then she carried the stepladder to the other end, repeating the process. When she’d climbed down she admired the trellis. She could picture seashell-pink tea roses trailing over it.
