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Peter hunkered down and held her by the shoulders. “You won’t see Pastor Zeke for a while, Abra.” She thought that meant she wouldn’t see him until church on Sunday, but then Peter drove a different way Sunday morning. When Penny asked where they were going, Peter said they would be attending a different church. While Penny whined and fussed about not seeing her friends, Peter said change would be good for them. Abra knew it was her fault they weren’t going to Reverend Freeman’s church anymore, and her last hope died. She wouldn’t even get to see Joshua now. Penny crossed her arms and sulked. Priscilla gave her a sad smile and said they’d just have to wait and see how things went.

    1950
    Mitzi opened her door and peered around it. She wasn’t wearing any makeup and her hair hadn’t been brushed. “Is it Wednesday?” Shewaved Abra inside and closed the door. She was wearing a red lounging robe and worn blue satin slippers with a feathery trim.
    Abra stared. “You said I could practice here.”
    “Well, a promise is a promise.” The slippers slapped her heels as she went into the living room. “I’m glad you’re here, sweetie pie. Just don’t tell anyone I wasn’t dressed at three in the afternoon. And don’t tell anyone I’ve been smoking.” She crushed a cigarette in a small cut-crystal ashtray. “Hodge thinks it’s bad for my health.” She grabbed the ashtray and took it into the kitchen, where she dumped the evidence of her misdeeds into the garbage. “How about a cup of Ovaltine before you attack that piece of Beethoven I gave you?”
    Abra sank into a kitchen chair overlooking the side yard. Mitzi’s son, Hodge, lived next door. Abra could see his wife, Carla, busy in the kitchen.
    “Pull down that shade.” Mitzi waved her fingers as she stayed out of view. “No, wait. Better not. Carla will think something’s amiss and Hodge will be over here wanting to know why I’m still in my robe in the middle of the afternoon.”
    Abra giggled at Mitzi’s air of defiance and then wondered, “Why are you still in your robe in the middle of the afternoon?”
    “Because I am old and tired and sometimes I just don’t feel like fussing with makeup and hair and figuring out what to wear. Lookin’ good is a major project that requires a trowel and a bucket of foundation. Ah! Finally! A smile!” She spooned Ovaltine into the milk warming on the stove. “How’s life treating you, sweetie pie?”
    “Penny hates it when I play piano.”
    “Because she has no ear nor talent for music.” Mitzi’s expression changed. “And you will forget I ever said that as of right this minute.” She held out her hand, little finger extended. “Pinkie promise.” Abra complied.
    Carla Martin had noticed Abra and waved from her kitchen window. Abra forced a wide smile and wiggled her fingers back.
    “You could practice on that sweet baby grand at the church anytime, you know. Pastor Zeke wouldn’t mind.”
    “Why would I want to go there?” Abra looked out the window again.
    “I was just thinking . . .” Mitzi turned off the gas and poured steaming Ovaltine into two mugs. “Let’s go into the living room.” She handed a mug to Abra and pretended to slink out the door. “No point in flying the red flag in front of Carla’s face.”
    Holding the hot mug between both hands, Abra slouched into an overstuffed chair and slung her legs over the arm. “Thanks, Mitzi.” If she sat like this at Peter and Priscilla’s house, Priscilla would tell her to sit up like a lady. “I like being here better than anywhere else.”
    Mitzi’s smile turned tender. “I like having you here.” She settled onto the sofa, kicked off her slippers, and put her bare feet up on the coffee table. Her toenails were painted bright red. “So they’re all ganging up on you, is that it? They’re trying to nip the bud of your blooming talent?”
    Sometimes Mitzi could be annoying. Abra sipped her cocoa and decided to be