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It was bad enough that she had a too-generous sprinkling of freckles across her nose that even a bucket of lemon juice couldn’t fade.
    Maybe . . . if she could handle Fern, she could manage anything. Maybe things weren’t as bleak as they appeared. Maybe when life became difficult, it only meant one was facing a challenge, an obstacle to be overcome. She was only twenty-one years old, young enough to make changes. She was going to become the kind of person who took no nonsense from anyone. She could do it. After all, even Fern backed down!
    She straightened her back and lifted her chin, a matter decided. How could she overcome Paul’s reluctance to marry? How could she point him in the proper direction? Sometimes, a man like Paul only needed to be convinced of what he truly wanted. She was going to marry him, as planned. This very November. She would simply have to be more forthright.
    Fern opened the one-hinged kitchen door and peered at the rusty hinge, as if wondering how it still remained. She shook her head and called to Julia. “Your Uncle Hank told me to tell you that the Bee Man is due in. Tomorrow or the next day.”
    Julia’s new confidence popped like a balloon. She dropped her chin to her chest, defeated, wondering how an awful stretch of days could turn even worse. It seemed like at some point you’d just run out of awful.

    On her way to school the following day M.K. had much on her mind, as she often did. She made a mental list of Fern’s new house rules. This morning, as she was lightly hopping down the stairs, Fern told her it sounded like a herd of mustangs were galloping on a concrete floor and that there would be no more running in the house. That, M.K. counted, would be Rule Number 436, right behind Rule Number 435: Do not sneeze indoors. She sighed, deeply aggrieved.
    Every school morning, M.K. waited at the crossroads to meet up with her friends, Ethan and Ruthie. Ethan was only nine, but he was brilliant—nearly as smart as M.K. but not quite—so she was willing to overlook his youth. Ruthie was already twelve, kind and loyal, though she had a squeamish digestion that didn’t tolerate anything too far out of the ordinary. Still, Ruthie was willing to hold a grudge against Jimmy Fisher for throwing a black racer snake into the girls’ outhouse while M.K. was attending to business. Acts of such devotion had earned her a spot in M.K.’s heart.
    Jimmy Fisher was a thirteen-year-old blight on humanity, a boy born with his nose in the air. Unfortunately, Jimmy wasn’t bad looking. He was a tall blond, the tallest in seventh grade. Every girl kept one eye peeled on him. They looked at him all day long. It made M.K. disgusted and was added to her growing list: Why Jimmy Fisher Should Be Stuffed into a Rocket Ship and Sent to the Moon.
    That particular list was started when M.K. was only five. Jimmy Fisher, then seven, played a trick on her. He tucked a walkie-talkie under his dog’s collar and told M.K. that he had a talking dog. M.K. believed him and carried on long conversations with the dog during lunch until Sadie found out and blew the whistle on Jimmy. Too late! Jimmy and his friends called M.K. Little Gullie—short for little gullible—from that point on. M.K. wasn’t a girl prone to letting go of her grudges. And Jimmy Fisher topped the list of permanent grudges.
    M.K. sat on the split rail of the fence, swinging her legs, when she spotted a horse and buggy coming toward her. She shaded her eyes from the morning sun and recognized the horse as belonging to the Smuckers. With any luck, Gideon Smucker would be driving the buggy to town. M.K. jumped off the fence and smoothed her skirts, then waved at Gideon. He pulled over to the side of the road.
    “Hey there, M.K.! Need a ride to school?”
    Drat! There was nothing she would rather do than arrive at school in Gideon’s buggy. She’d love to see the look on Jimmy’s face then! But she couldn’t disappoint Ethan and Ruthie.