Free Swan Place by Augusta Trobaugh Page B

extra shifts, because we needed the money so bad, so he came home late almost all the time. Most of the time, he was too tired to have any supper at all, so he just had a cold beer and went to bed.
    Then something happened right in my own backyard at the end of May that made that summer such a happy one for me, in spite of everything. Because even though we had an electric clothes dryer on the back porch, I always hung our sheets out, where they got all crisp-like and smelled like sunshine and were ever so much nicer to sleep on. And besides, running the dryer made the electricity bill way too high.
    So that day, I washed a load of sheets while Molly and Little Ellis were having their lunch, and when they went down for their naps, I took the sheets outside in a big basket to hang them on the line. The sun was high in the sky, and the earth was just roasting under its heat. Even the little bit of grass in our backyard sounded crispy when I walked across it in my bare feet. I wasn’t thinking about anything at all, that I knew of. Just making sure to get all the wrinkles out of the sheets before I clipped on the clothespins. So I’m not sure of when I first noticed a scurrying sound in all the tall weeds under the dead pecan trees farther back in the yard. The part that we shared with Aunt Mee.
    She had come and knocked on our back door about once a week or so, to check on us and see if we needed anything. I always invited her in, but she smiled and shook her head. Except for once, when she came into the kitchen to help me figure out if a moldy piece of cheese was still any good.
    “Oh sure, honey,” she had said. “This cheese is fine. Just you trim off the moldy part, and the rest is fine.” But I hadn’t seen her recently, so maybe that sound I heard that afternoon was her coming to see about us.
    “Aunt Mee?” I called, and the sound stopped right away. No answer.
    “Aunt Mee?” I called again. “Is that you?”
    I heard a giggle and then more scurrying sounds in the weeds.
    “Who’s there?” I called, suddenly feeling prickly all over. Another giggle, and I knew at once there was nothing about that silly little sound to be afraid of.
    “Okay,” I said, trying to sound impatient. “Who’s there?”
    “Me!” A high-pitched voice. Then another giggle. I walked toward the tall weeds, and suddenly, a face appeared through them. The funniest face I have ever seen in my life. It was a girl, maybe about my age. Maybe a little younger, but it was hard to tell because the face was scrunched into shut-tight eyes, pouting lips, and a wrinkled nose. While I stood there, she stuck out her bright pink little tongue at me. I laughed.
    “Who are you?” I asked.
    The eyes popped open, big and brown, and the face unclenched itself—a face the color of coffee with lots of milk in it. A deep smile carved itself right in front of my eyes, in between two deep dimples like I’ve never seen before, except on a store-bought doll.
    “I’m Savannah,” she said. “I been watching you hang out sheets, and I wondered if you wanta play.”
    “Play?”
    “I have a checkers game,” she said, tilting her head toward Aunt Mee’s.
    “You staying with Aunt Mee?” I asked.
    “Just for a while.” She paused and the face went solemn. Just like somebody had blown out a candle. “‘Cause my mama died. And now folks in her family have to decide who’s going to take care of me.” The back of my neck prickled.
    “Your mama died?” I breathed. She nodded a few times, but then she ended up her nodding with her chin very high in the air and a determined look in her eyes.
    “My mama died too,” I said, holding my chin exactly like hers. We stood there for a long moment, looking right into each other’s eyes.
    “Well, do you wanta play?” she asked, at last.
    “I  . . . don’t think I have time. I have work to do. And my little sister and brother to take care of,” I answered.
    She brightened. “Children? Oh, can I see