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Penny’s eagerness to have a sister disappeared. It came to a head when Priscilla made a new play outfit for Abra, and didn’t make one for Penny. “I thought it was for me!” Penny wailed.
    “You already have several play outfits and Abra doesn’t.”
    Penny cried louder. “I want her to go home !”
    Peter came around the corner from the kitchen nook, where he’d been grading papers. “That’s enough, Penny. Go to your room!” She went, but not before she stuck her tongue out at Abra. Peter told Priscilla they needed to have another talk with Penny, and he and Priscilla went upstairs. They closed Penny’s bedroom door and were in there for so long, Abra didn’t know what to do. Finally, she went out to the backyard and sat on the swing. Should she go home? Where would Daddy take her then? To another family?
    She turned around on the swing until the chains were twisted, then lifted her feet, spinning around and around. Penny will always come first, come first, come first. Penny is their real daughter, real daughter, real daughter. Dizzy, she did it again. I’d better be nice, be nice, be nice.
    Abra had overheard Peter talking to Priscilla in the kitchen that morning. “I haven’t seen her smile once in the past three months, Priss. She used to be such a happy little girl.”
    Priscilla spoke in a hushed voice. “Marianne adored her. She’d probably still be alive if they’d let us take Abra to begin with, and we wouldn’t be having all these problems now.”
    Peter poured himself a cup of coffee. “I hope things get better soon, or I don’t know what we’re going to do.”
    Fear had gripped Abra. They were talking about getting rid of her.
    “Abra!” Peter sounded upset. He came rushing out the back door. She got off the swing and he let out a relieved breath. “There you are. Come on back inside, honey. We all want to talk with you.”
    Abra’s palms felt wet. Her heart kept pounding faster as she followed Peter into the living room. Were they going to send her away to live with strangers? Priscilla and Penny sat on the couch. Peter put his hand on Abra’s shoulder. “Penny has something to say to you.”
    “I’m sorry, Abra.” Penny’s face was puffy from crying. “I like having you for my sister.” Her voice was dull; her eyes told the truth.
    “Good girl!” Priscilla squeezed her closer and kissed the top of her head.
    Abra didn’t trust any of them.
    Priscilla pulled Abra down beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, hugging Penny close on one side and Abra on the other. “You’re both our little girls now. We love having two daughters.”
    Daddy still came over every few days. Joshua never came with him. They only got to see one another after Sunday school each week, and then they’d just stand and look at each other and not know what to say.
    Whenever Abra heard Daddy’s voice, she flew down the stairs, hoping he’d come to take her home this time. Priscilla would takeher hand and lean down. “Don’t call him Daddy, Abra. You’re to call him Reverend Freeman like all the other children do. When you get older, you can call him Pastor Zeke. Peter is your daddy now.”
    She cried herself to sleep on those nights and sometimes had nightmares. She’d cry out to Daddy, but he couldn’t hear her. She’d try to run after him, but hands held her back. She’d scream, “Daddy, Daddy!” but he didn’t turn around.
    Priscilla woke her up and held her. “Everything is going to be all right, Abra. Mommy’s here.” But Mommy wasn’t. Mommy was in a box underground.
    No matter how many times they said it, Abra didn’t believe Peter and Priscilla loved her. She knew they’d only adopted her because Penny wanted a sister. If Penny changed her mind, Peter and Priscilla would give her away. Where would she go then? To whom?
    The next time Daddy came, Peter talked to him on the front porch for a long time, then came back inside alone. Abra tried to get around him, but