Seventeen

Sarah and Fanny watched Jacob’s every move as he attached the pale blue fabric to the wood strips he had nailed to the ceiling.

“Done!” he exclaimed.

Sarah and Fanny ran into their new “bedroom.” Sammy followed, yelping like an excited puppy.

Sarah flopped on her bed and looked from side to side. She had been right to talk Fanny into blue rather than rose. “It’s a beautiful day,” she sang. “The sky is blue.” She moved so Sammy could wriggle in beside her.

Fanny wrinkled her nose. “Now I wish I had held out for rose.”

“Mama, come look,” Sammy cried.

“Maybe I should sew on a white lace border,” Rifke said, as she walked between the parted curtains. “The blue looks washed out.”

“It’s a soft blue, Mama. We would have gotten tired of that dark rose Fanny wanted.”

“Well,” Fanny said coolly. “We’ll never know, will we?”

“Blue sky, I want pie,” Sammy chanted, bouncing up and down.

“Hmmmm,” Jacob said, walking in as Rifke walked out. “Beautiful. Enjoy it in good health.”

“Fanny doesn’t like it,” Sammy piped up.

Sarah put her hand over his mouth. “Thanks, Papa.”