“JOAN SAYS HELLO,” Frankie told Elizabeth as she folded the letter in half lengthwise and slid it into the front pocket of her dress. She sat on the middle of the living room rug and slipped her shoes into her roller skates.
Elizabeth’s head was buried in Mother’s latest issue of Ladies’ Home Journal. “That’s nice.”
“She also says that Aunt Dottie has her doing a lot of work around the farm.” Frankie fastened the buckles and tightened the skates with her key. “She hasn’t had any time to write before now, she’s been so busy.”
“Mmm-hmmm.”
“She wants to know all about the restaurant, so I’m going to write her all about Amy and Julie and Mr. Washington and Seaweed. And that awful Mr. Stannum, too. And how Daddy is throwing a big Fourth of July party and has invited everybody.”
Elizabeth laid the magazine open on her lap. The page, which featured a high-arched eyebrow with step-by-step how-to instructions, draped over her leg. “I don’t know what Daddy was thinking.”
“What do you mean?” asked Frankie. “Don’t you think all the work on the restaurant will be done in time?”
“I’m not talking about all the work that needs done,” said Elizabeth. “I mean I don’t know what Daddy was thinking inviting everybody.”
“Why shouldn’t he?” said Frankie. “We’ll have plenty of food.”
Elizabeth sighed and shook her head. “You don’t understand. Just forget it.” She returned to her page in the magazine.
“Forget what?” said Frankie. “What should I forget?”
Elizabeth put down the magazine once more in a huff. “All I’m saying is that inviting all the staff, you know,” and then she brought her voice down to a whisper, “colored people along with the rest of us, people will talk. And I hope he doesn’t get in trouble.”
“Elizabeth Baum,” said Frankie, getting to her knees, “you sound just like a snob talking like that.”
“You take that back right now!” shouted Elizabeth. “I’m no snob. I’m only thinking of Daddy because of what other people might say. You’re too young to understand. It matters what other people think.”
While Frankie didn’t give a fig about what others thought of her, Elizabeth strove for perfection in all that she did. When people took to calling you Princess since the moment you were born, anything less than perfection might disqualify you in their eyes and cause you to lose your crown. The expectation was set from day one, and Elizabeth worked hard to please everyone so that she could maintain her royal designation.
“And what do you think you’re going to do on those skates?” asked Elizabeth, indignant.
“Um, roller-skate?” said Frankie, who wondered why it was that Princess, of the three of them, was considered to be the smart one. Such a question.
“No, you are not,” said Elizabeth. “It’s your turn to clean Dixie’s shed.”
“I’ll do it later,” said Frankie. “I’ve already got my skates on.” She stuck her feet in the air and shook her wheels at her sister.
“Mother left me in charge while she and Daddy are taking care of some business at the restaurant,” said Elizabeth. “And you need to clean the shed before you do anything else.” She licked her finger and turned the page of Mother’s magazine. The page made such a snap that it punctuated Elizabeth’s command, and Frankie knew that was the end of the argument.