straw-covered floor, picking one of the squirming little things up and holding her to my face. She was a blue merle, with a smoky-colored coat and sapphire eyes—a puppy-size twin of our Aussie, Misty. She had passed away from old age about the same time Mom had died of cancer, making the days surrounding Mom’s death even darker.
The dear little pup started to whine and wiggle, so I soothed her against my neck, smelling in the wonderful puppy smell.
“Do you think Dad will let us get one?” Justin asked me while petting two of the pups, a red one and a blue one, on his lap.
“Maybe… It’s been a while since Misty died, and he did say that we could get another dog eventually.” I looked over at Sam, who was sitting next to the mama dog, scratching her head.
“The only way he’s going to go for it is if you beg him, Rose, with that teary-eyed thing you do.” Sam quickly added, speaking to Noah, “Dad spoils her rotten. Anything she wants, she gets.”
Anger flaring in me, I countered, “That’s not true, Sam,” giving him a withering look.
“It is so true, Rose. That’s why you have to ask him!” Justin begged.
I rolled my eyes and sighed at the same time Noah sat down in the straw next to me. He picked up a puppy, distractedly rubbing its fur while he turned to me, saying, “So you have your father wrapped around your finger?”
I was glad he was talking to me, but I didn’t feel like defending my uncanny ability to get my dad to agree to almost anything. It really wasn’t any of his business, I decided, slightly bugged.
Shrugging my shoulders, I changed the subject. “What grade is Sarah in?” I asked him instead of answering his question.
He raised an eyebrow slightly, and I wasn’t sure if it was because of the question I asked or the one I didn’t answer.
“Ah…she’s done with school.” He said it slowly, as if he was talking to a stupid child.
“Why? How old is she?” I had guessed she was my age, and I was kind of hoping that we could be friends. Maybe she was older than I thought.
“She’s sixteen,” Noah replied as he changed out the puppy he was petting for a different one.
I looked around at the other three boys and noticed that they were all staring at me, again in that scrutinizing way. It was definitely less intimidating coming from the cute little boys but still irritating.
Noah’s words about his sister’s age suddenly sunk in.
“How long do you go to school for?” I asked Noah somewhat harshly and regretted the edge to my voice when his eyes widened in surprise.
“Eighth grade,” he said simply, holding my gaze.
“Sweet—if I were Amish, I’d be done with school next year!” Justin exclaimed, like any normal thirteen-year-old boy would at the thought of being finished with school at that age.
Then Sam got into the conversation. “Don’t you guys ever go to college?” he asked in amazement.
“No.”
After waiting a few seconds, and realizing he wasn’t going to elaborate on his answer, I asked, “What does your sister do every day, then?”
This time, instead of Noah answering, Peter beat him to the punch, saying in a matter-of-fact way, “She does the laundry and cleans the house, of course.”
Sam and Justin, in unison, started rolling with laughter. I, on the other hand, with my feminist side rearing up in anger, said, “You’ve got to be kidding.” I glanced at Noah, the mild shoulder shrug and expression on his face confirming what Peter had said.
“What’s so funny?” the middle boy asked quizzically as he watched my brothers make fools of themselves while they laughed in the straw.
“Sam, Justin—stop it!” I ordered.
When they finally quieted, Justin looked at me sheepishly and said, “Gee, Rose, maybe you can come over here and get some laundry and cleaning lessons from their sisters. They can even teach you how to cook!”
Sam started laughing all over again, and the look I directed at Justin caused him to quickly press closer to the three