Free A String in the Harp by Nancy Bond

opened the book in his lap and pointedly ignored Jen. Whatever he’d been hinting at, he wouldn’t tell her now, that was certain. With a sigh, Jen went up to make her own bed.
    ***
    At half-past twelve, Rhian, with Becky in tow, burst through the front door. From the kitchen, where she was trying to decide between chicken and tomato soup, Jen heard the door bang and excited voices in the hall.
    “. . . jacket there.”
    “I am perishing with hunger! Thought Mam would never be done gossiping with Mrs. Williams-the-Shop! When they begin, there’s no stopping them until they have run out of breath, I am saying. Will we see what’s for lunch, now? Hullo! You’ll be Jen, is it? I am Rhian Evans.” She was small and dark, her black hair in a long braid. She was obviously not afflicted withshyness like Gwilym. Her movements were quick and decisive. She made a frank but not unfriendly examination of Jen. In spite of having been Becky’s sister for ten years, Jen was still frequently surprised at the people her younger sister brought home.
    She collected herself enough to ask, “Now you’re here, chicken soup or tomato?”
    “Tomato,” said Rhian without hesitation. “Mam’s always making chicken.”
    “Well, this is a can,” Jen informed her. But it didn’t matter to Rhian.
    She and Becky were soon busy spreading sandwiches with butter and pickle and slapping cheese into them. Rhian seemed right at home in the Bryn Celyn kitchen, businesslike and capable. In fact, she made Jen rather nervous. When lunch was ready, she told Becky to get Peter.
    He was still curled over his book in the study, pretending to read the same page he’d been pretending to read an hour ago.
    “Lunch.”
    “Not hungry,” Peter responded without looking up.
    “You’re kidding!” Becky stared at him in disbelief. “You?”
    “No,” he said firmly. “I’ll get something later.”
    “ I don’t know what’s wrong with him—if he wants to be difficult, we’ll just leave him alone,” Jen declared when Becky reported back. “Let’s have ours anyway.”
    “Maybe it’s the weather, like your headache,” suggested Becky. “It feels funny today; even my bones think so.”
    “Are we saving him any?” Rhian asked practically. She held the soup pan poised over the fourth bowl.
    “I don’t see why we should—it’s his own lookout if he won’t eat with us.”
    “Right-o,” agreed Rhian, and divided Peter’s portion among the other three.
    She must indeed have been famished. She had no trouble finishing a huge sandwich and emptying her soup bowl. Jen and Becky could only manage half of their sandwiches each.
    “You are quite sure you’re not wanting that extra?” Rhian asked, eyeing the other halves. “It’ll go stale if you leave it.”
    “Go ahead,” Becky urged. “Eat it.”
    “I suppose it’s my brothers and all. You have to be quick at our table or you will miss out. They are great big and eat ever so much more than me.”
    “How many brothers?” Jen inquired.
    “Three.”
    “Older,” Becky explained, as Rhian had her mouth full. “They work with Mr. Evans on the farm. They’re out of school.”
    “And wishing I was, too!” exclaimed Rhian, swallowing hard. “And a boy, see. Then I’d not be troubled with it now and learning all that useless stuff. I would be a hill farmer like Da and Dai and Aled and Evan. I am sure I don’t know what school’s good for anyway.”
    “You and Peter would get along,” remarked Jen. “Only with him it’s mostly learning Welsh.”
    “The Welsh is not so bad; it’s the other stuff I don’t see the use in. French!” snorted Rhian. “Now there’s a waste of time for you!”
    “Oh, I don’t think that’s so bad.” Becky disagreed. “I can’t see why I need to know all about the Wars of the Roses and the Spanish Armada.”
    “I’m glad Dad can’t hear you,” Jen observed with a grin.
    “As soon as I’m old enough, I’ll leave school, too, see if I