Saturday morning was sunny and warm. Ivy sat on the porch steps waiting for the Everses, her skirt bunched around her knees. When the station wagon rolled up, she called good-bye to her mom through the screen and trotted down the walk, her satchel bumping on her hip.

At the market grounds, Mom Evers squeezed the car in alongside Dad Evers’s pickup loaded with chairs. There was just barely room to fit because of a truck on the opposite side that was straddling the dividing line. The passenger doors wouldn’t open; Ivy had to climb out on Prairie’s side.

Mom Evers opened the tailgate to reveal their eggs and the banana box full of supplies. “You two get your stuff set up and then help Dad with the chairs, okay? He’s probably already got your table unloaded. I’ll be there in a minute. I have to pee. Again.”

Prairie made a face. “Mom. You don’t say pee in front of people.”

“Why not? You just did.” They stuck their tongues out at each other and Ivy giggled. This was why she could never miss her weekends with them.

Prairie and Ivy each grabbed a box and headed for their spot in the pavilion. Their steps were matching: right, left, right, left. They glanced at each other, then put their arms around each other’s shoulders and began flinging a leg over the other’s leg with every step. It was tricky, like a dance step, only a more modern one than Grammy’s box step. They had to be in perfect timing, each one pulling their leg out for another step at exactly the right moment so they wouldn’t trip each other, but they were good at it. Of course. Ivy grinned. Prairie was magic. She would tell her, everything. Sometime today, she would find a time. She might even admit she hadn’t really been sick last weekend.

When they got back to the car for another load, an old lady was dragging a case of jam from the back of the pickup that was blocking their car. Ivy watched, an idea niggling at her. When they came back the next time, the lady was slowly walking away from the truck with a box of jam clenched up against her chest.

Prairie grabbed a chair and headed back to the pavilion. Ivy tapped Dad Evers’s arm. “Is it okay if I offer to help that lady? When we’re done with the chairs?”

Dad Evers gave her one of his slow smiles. “Sure. Go on ahead right now. Prairie and I can finish these.”

Ivy turned and took a breath, then trotted to catch up with the woman. “Um, ma’am? Can I help you do that?”

• • •

She ended up carrying box after box of jam, arranging the jars in pyramids on the old woman’s table, which was right across the aisle from their own, and pointing all of their egg customers in that direction.

“Why are you being so nice to her?” Prairie whispered.

The lady wore a red ball cap and a bright green T-shirt, but the main thing you noticed about her was her giant frown. “How about you see to it that your kid’s hands stay to himself!” she snapped at a woman who’d just bought three dozen eggs from the Everses and whose little boy had touched a jar of jam. The mother pulled the little boy close to her and hurried away.

Prairie shook her head. “You’re going to make us look bad by association.”

Ivy grimaced. She was embarrassed to admit she was hoping to earn some money for her efforts.

• • •

Toward the end of the day Ivy carted the remaining jam back to the lady’s pickup, along with her heavy wooden lawn chair. When the last box was loaded, she stood in front of the woman smiling. She tried to make the smile friendly, reliable, and humble all at the same time.

The woman pointed at the chair. “Fling that up there too, would you, since you’re such a helpful Henry? Make sure you get it wedged in good so it don’t flop around.”

Ivy hefted the chair onto the tailgate and climbed up after it to push it to the front. She climbed back out and straightened her skirt.

“You ought to wear pants for work like this, not them dresses. Don’t know what your ma was thinking.”

Ivy kept smiling.

The old lady shuffled through her bag.

“Where’d I put those keys?” she muttered. Then with a ha of triumph she held up a ring of keys. She punched the fob and the truck’s lights went on; its locks popped up with a unanimous clunk. She hauled herself into the driver’s seat. “Take it easy, kid. Maybe I’ll see you here next week, steer some of my customers your way. That jam of mine, it sells itself.” She started up the truck and drove away.

Ivy let her foolish smile fade and trudged back to the pavilion.

• • •

“You seem quiet.” Prairie handed Ivy the stack of empty egg cartons a man from High Falls had brought them. “Are you okay?”

Ivy put the cartons in the banana box, then lifted the table to start folding in the legs. Prairie lifted the other side at the exact same time and again Ivy wanted to tell her everything: her mom’s new work schedule, the police cars, the film contest, all of it.

They lugged the table to the pickup and started back to the stall.

“So, um,” Ivy said as Prairie’s cell phone rang. It sounded like a tinny player piano and Ivy lost her step. When they got the phones they’d both set them with an old-fashioned landline ring and Ivy wouldn’t have dreamed of changing hers. Prairie dropped her arm from Ivy’s shoulder and pulled her phone out. “Hi!”

Ivy started walking again and kept her eyes on the ground, like there was something fascinating there.

“No, I can’t, I have company. That doesn’t work.”

“No.” Pause. “No.” Then a laugh. Ivy walked faster. Prairie hurried to catch up.

At the stall, Ivy refolded their tablecloth into a tighter square.

“No, I’ll call you when I know.” Prairie stared across the emptying market ground; she squinted like she was gazing across a wide-open plain. “Sunday night, maybe. That’d probably work.” She ended the call and shoved her phone in her pocket.

“Sorry. We’re doing this project for 4-H—a breeding program, only just on paper—and that was Kelly, wanting to talk about it. So anyway—you seem quiet, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“I still wish you were doing 4-H.” Prairie took aim at a pebble and gave it a whap with the side of her foot. “Nothing’s as fun without you.”

Ivy’s feelings shifted again. She would tell Prairie—

There was a sound behind them, a groan. Mom Evers had come back from the port-a-potties at the edge of the market. She sank into a chair that hadn’t been packed yet, holding her stomach with both hands like it was a vase that had almost fallen off a shelf. Her face was pale.

“Prairie, go get your dad.”