The Sisters of Nowhere

t w e n t y - t h r e e : p a n c a k e s

They were tough, as expected, but good enough. Birdie cut hers up into tiny bite-sized pieces, a question rolling around in her head. She kept seeing Wyatt's beaten face in her mind and feeling chastened by all the snide comments she'd made to him. Even though they were mostly deserved, it still made her feel guilty. "Dad?"

Oscar looked up.

"Why did you ask Wyatt to come work for us?"

Oscar swallowed his pancake and replied, "We needed a hand this summer."

"That's what you've said. Why did you really hire him?" Birdie lifted an eyebrow. "It has to do with Hal, doesn't it?"

A conflict was waging war inside Oscar's head. Birdie could see it plain as day with the way his eyebrows scrunched together and his weathered fingers tapped against the countertop.

Figuring it might help him along, Birdie added, "Hal beat him yesterday something awful."

She'd been right in her assumption because Oscar seemed to reach a conclusion. Oscar folded his hands together. "I don't know Hal Best," he said. "And I can't judge a man by what I don't know about him. But what I do know is that he's lived here for ten years and he's never talked to anybody. Never made friends, not even acquaintances. I reckon there's nothing wrong with the quiet types, but that depends on what they're quiet about. Hal Best is quiet about everything. And when I saw that Wyatt was sleeping in an old greenhouse when Hal has more rooms to spare that we've got in our own home, I knew Wyatt would need a place to go. For safety, I thought, but maybe just for family."

Birdie took another bite of pancake, letting that word family roll around in her head. Had Wyatt ever experienced that until now?

She said, "These pancakes taste like bricks."

~~~~~~~~

"We have a new Hamlet!" Ophelia cried, bursting into the house on Tuesday afternoon.

Birdie looked up from her book, Rose stopped dusting the lamp shades, Marigold and Wyatt looked up from studying the manual for the first washing machine the Penny's had ever bought.

"Johnny Grey," Ophelia said breathlessly, "he's gangly and awkward, but he'll do! He was in a Shakespeare play in Atlanta. Atlanta! He's all but a professional!"

"So the play's back on?" Birdie asked hopefully. She'd grown rather tired of Ophelia's complaints and sighs after the other lead role had quit on her. She was starting to sound like the ghosts.

Ophelia clasped her hands together. "Yes!" She looked around the room, hesitating only for a second before saying, "I need help at the school. The play's in one week now, so we have to have everything ready for dress rehearsals by tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Marigold repeated, folding the instructions and placing them on top of the washing machine box. "How will we get it done in time?"

"We'll all pitch in," Rose said, a tone of finality in her voice. "You children go on. Dad and I will even come after we're done with our work."

Ophelia's eyes shone with gratefulness. "You mean it?"

Rose smiled. "Sure, honey. We need to see that play!" She turned around and gave the other siblings a meaningful glare that said, No arguing.

Wyatt glanced at Rose, then at the washing machine, a question in his eyes.

"You go on too, Wyatt," Rose said. "Oscar won't mind."