“Mommy is making beef stew,” she informed him.
His eyes widened, but he didn’t say anything.
“You have to help with the dishes after,” Dorothy put in, feeling brave.
“Ja.” He hesitated. “Does your mother cook potatoes in the stew?”
“Lots,” Margaret informed him. “I like potatoes.”
He nodded slowly. “I also like potatoes.”
Both girls were pleased, having established this important common ground. He couldn’t be all bad if he liked potatoes in his stew.
“Anyway,” Margaret continued, “we’re going outside to play if you want to come.”
Margaret led the parade into the yard, indicating points of interest. “That is Daddy’s shed. Don’t go in there. That’s the swing he built for us.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Think you could push us high in that?”
“Ja, I could.”
His accent sounded odd to Margaret’s ears. Dorothy thought it was nice.
“All right.” Margaret stopped by the tall maple tree beside the house. “This is my tree. I’m the only one who climbs it.”
“Why?”
“Because Dorothy doesn’t like to climb trees. She sits on the stump.”
Dorothy nodded. She preferred to watch her sister climb. Just to show him what Margaret meant, she hopped onto the old stump and swung her feet a little. Gus seemed to take that in, then he stepped closer to the tree, looking up.
“Can I go up?” he asked. There was a pause.
“I don’t know about that.” In an instant, Margaret had scrambled up to her favourite spot, a sort of “V” in the branches where she’d built a nest of leaves. Nobody had ever sat there before, except for her. “Can you climb this high? Because this is pretty high.”
“I can.”
Dorothy studied him. He stood right beside her, observing Margaret, and she thought he probably could climb it easily. Hewassix, after all, and aboy.
“It’s very high,” she warned him quietly. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
He faced her, and Dorothy could tell he was thinking carefully about what she’d said. His expression was serious, but he had pretty blue eyes, and so far he wasn’t bossy at all. He hadn’t even argued with Margaret. Then he smiled, and it was such a nice smile that she returned it.
“Can you climbthishigh?” Margaret asked again, now higher in the tree.
Dorothy’s stomach flipped. Her sister was showing off. “Margaret! That’s too high!”
“No, it isn’t,” she called back.
“Come down! Mommy will be angry!”
“I don’t care. Can you climb this high, Gus?”
He took another step closer to the tree, frowning a little. “I can.”
Margaret shifted in place, a little off balance without her nest on this higher branch, but that was all right. She wasn’t scared. She wanted to show Gus how grown up she was. She folded her arms and leaned as far out as she dared, watching his face. “Prove it!” she yelled.
Then her foot slipped, and she screamed as the other one went as well. Suddenly she was flying—and then she was on top of Gus, gasping and trying not to cry. Dorothy rushed to her side and pulled her off the boy, who lay quite still on the ground.
The front door slammed, and their mother rushed out, apron flapping. “Gus! Margaret! Oh, what did you do?”
