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room.
    “Rebecca’s home,” ten-year-old Katie said, sticking her head into the kitchen. “Yummy—cinnamon rolls!” Tall for her age, she had black hair like Rebecca. Her sisters were right behind her.
    “Hi, girls,” Rebecca told them and glanced their way.
    “Why are you home?” nine-year-old Viola asked.
    “Now be nice,” Mattie told her. “You ought to be glad. She’s finishing the cinnamon rolls.”
    “I don’t know how to do that anyway,” Viola said dryly. “She’ll just boss us around now that’s she’s home.”
    “That’s because you need bossing. I can’t be everywhere at once,” Mattie said.
    “You can help by putting these in the oven,” Rebecca said. “Practice is what you need. The sooner you start the better.”
    “ See, ” Viola declared, “that’s what she does.”
    “It’s good for you,” Mattie stated simply. “Now listen to what she says.”
    “I’m still in my school clothes,” Viola protested.
    “It doesn’t matter.” Mattie said. “You’ll hardly get those dirty. You’re just putting pans in the oven.”
    Viola made a face and joined her sister in front of the kitchen table, arms stretched out to keep the proper distance between the pans and her school dress.
    “You’re just afraid James will see your dirty dress tomorrow,” Viola taunted Katie as they stood there.
    “I am not,” Katie retorted.
    “Yes, you are. I saw you smile at him today.” Viola wrinkled her face into a fake smile, her features contorted, her head tilted sideways.
    “I was not. I was smiling to myself.”
    “He’s in your grade. He sits right across from you,” Viola stated, as if that proved it all.
    “Be quiet, girls,” Rebecca said. “The oven is ready. I’ll open the door.”
    “She’s so bossy.” Viola made another face.
    “And you are the pest number one,” Katie informed her. “Like a little insect. Buzz, buzz.”
    “I am not!” Viola retorted. “ You are. You little worm—wiggle, wiggle.”
    “That does it,” Mattie said. “I think one little girl needs something.”
    Without further ado, Mattie took Viola by the hand and disappeared into the bedroom. Sounds of solid whacks soon came, followed by muffled cries.
    Rebecca and Katie said nothing, solemnly transferring the pans of cinnamon rolls to the oven and taking no pleasure in the event in the bedroom. They accepted it for what it was, the necessary ebb and flow of growing up into something resembling civilized human life.
    Letting the oven door shut gently, Rebecca made sure the temperature was right. “There. That’s done.”
    Behind them, Mattie appeared with a tear-streaked Viola in tow. “Both you girls go change. And no more arguing. Is that understood?”
    Katie nodded, heading for the stair door, careful not to look at Viola lest she mistake the gesture as hostile. Viola only sniffled, going over to wet her hands in the kitchen sink and running them over her face. She pulled a piece of paper towel off the roll on the countertop to dry herself, dropping the crumpled result in the wastebasket in the corner.
    The younger sisters, Martha and Ada, were already coming down the stairs, having changed into work clothing. With her back turned to the kitchen, Viola must have thought her actions were hidden. She made a face—just a quick, deep contortion—without turning around.
    Maybe it was that Mattie was watching, expecting that sort of thing, or the brief dark looks on Martha and Ada’s faces. Mattie turned around, exclaiming in an exasperated tone, “I told you to stop that. I guess you haven’t had enough yet. Let’s go see about this again.”
    “I’ll behave—I will,” Viola protested. “I didn’t mean it.”
    “If you don’t watch it, you’ll get spanked for lying yet,” Mattie pronounced, unpersuaded. “That was not a nice face.”
    “I was teasing,” Viola insisted. “They were laughing at me.”
    “I don’t think so,” Mattie told her. “I could see