Abra reached across the table and touched the back of his hand with floury fingers. The yellow skin on his hand was tight and glazed. He looked down at the white powdery smudges her fingers left.

Abra said, “My father wanted a boy. I guess he hates turnips and girls. He tells everyone how he gave me my crazy name. ‘And though I called another, Abra came.’ ”

Lee smiled at her. “You’re such a nice girl,” he said. “I’ll buy some turnips tomorrow if you’ll come to dinner.”

Abra asked softly, “Is she alive?”

“Yes,” said Lee.

The front door slammed, and Cal came into the kitchen. “Hello, Abra. Lee, is father home?”

“No, not yet. What are you grinning all over for?”

Cal handed him a check. “There. That’s for you.”

Lee looked at it. “I didn’t want interest,” he said.

“It’s better. I might want to borrow it back.”

“You won’t tell me where you got it?”

“No. Not yet. I’ve got a good idea—” His eyes flicked to Abra.

“I have to go home now,” she said.

Cal said, “She might as well be in on it. I decided to do it Thanksgiving, and Abra’ll probably be around and Aron will be home.”

“Do what?” she asked.

“I’ve got a present for my father.”

“What is it?” Abra asked.

“I won’t tell. You’ll find out then.”

“Does Lee know?”

“Yes, but he won’t tell.”

“I don’t think I ever saw you so—gay,” Abra said. “I don’t think I ever saw you gay at all.” She discovered in herself a warmth for him.

After Abra had gone Cal sat down. “I don’t know whether to give it to him before Thanksgiving dinner or after,” he said.

“After,” said Lee. “Have you really got the money?”

“Fifteen thousand dollars.”

“Honestly?”

“You mean, did I steal it?”

“Yes.”

“Honestly,” said Cal. “Remember how we had champagne for Aron? We’ll get champagne. And—well, we’ll maybe decorate the dining room. Maybe Abra’ll help.”

“Do you really think your father wants money?”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“I hope you’re right,” said Lee. “How have you been doing in school?”

“Not very well. I’ll pick up after Thanksgiving,” said Cal.

[2]

After school the next day Abra hurried and caught up with Cal.

“Hello, Abra,” he said. “You make good fudge.”

“That last was dry. It should be creamy.”

“Lee is just crazy about you. What have you done to him?”

“I like Lee,” she said and then, “I want to ask you something, Cal.”

“Yes?”

“What’s the matter with Aron?”

“What do you mean?”

“He just seems to think only about himself.”

“I don’t think that’s very new. Have you had a fight with him?”

“No. When he had all that about going into the church and not getting married, I tried to fight with him, but he wouldn’t.”

“Not get married to you? I can’t imagine that.”

“Cal, he writes me love letters now—only they aren’t to me.”

“Then who are they to?”