Mary Peace Finley
Award-winning author of books for young people
“Shhhh!” Their mother waved them toward the door. “Be back before the next train,”
she called after them as the click-clacking stopped. “Put on your shoes. Don’t forget
the razor. Make sure the blade is folded in good and tight.”
From a nail by the station door, Raephy unhooked a straight edge razor on a string and hung it
around her neck. Raephy held up her pinky, and Sadie linked it with hers. Freedom! At least
until time for the next train and the next round of chores and lessons.
Outside, sunlight peeked through the clouds, reflecting off the last melting snowdrifts. Raephy
held her hand to shade her eyes and whistled. Except for the glaring white snow, everything was
brown—brown dirt, brown corrals, brown cattle, brown prairie, even the distant trees by the river
were brown.
With a happy “Eerff!”, a patch of brown separated from the rest, and their dog Jinx bounded
toward them, scooping a stick into his mouth, his brown eyes begging. “All right, Jinx. Go get it!”
Raephy tossed the wet stick toward a rock. “Oops!” The rock moved. “Sorry.” The rock
was Harry’s pet turtle.
“What shall we do, Sadie? Hunt arrowheads? Make mud pies?”
© Mary Peace Finley 2012
