Ruth poured glasses of lemonade for Talley and herself, and both drank greedily. Her father set a fresh bowl of chowder, coleslaw, and corn bread in front of each girl.

“Thanks, Daddy.”

“Eat up, kids. It’s going to be a busy afternoon.”

Ruth tore off a piece of crispy bread and popped it in her mouth. “Did you see that new lady? She’s going to be a singer.”

“She’s real pretty,” Talley said.

He crossed to the sink, his limp noticeable, a sign he was tired. “Your mom told me about her. We haven’t met.”

“She’s pretty different. I have never seen anyone like her.”

Talley buttered a square of corn bread. “Me either.”

“What’s so special about her?” The faded anchor tattoo on his right bicep peeked out from under his white T-shirt as he rinsed dishes.

“The way she dresses, her hair, her painted nails,” she said as she looked down at her own fingers. “Mama says I can’t wear lipstick, but I swear Bonnie Manchester was wearing it today. And I think there was polish on her fingertips.”

The lines over his brow deepened. “Bonnie is about your age?”

“A year younger. But she looks so much older this year.”

Steam from the hot water rose from the sink. “Some girls grow faster than others. You’ll get there sooner or later. And no matter how you turn out, you’re going to be very pretty just as you are.”

“I am not.”

“Yes, you are,” he said clearly.

She reached for the butter and slathered it on her corn bread. “You sure?”

“Yes,” Daddy said.

Talley giggled. “My mama says it’s a blessing when it comes later than sooner.”

“Talley’s mama is right,” Daddy said. “No need to rush life.”

“Why?” Ruth pressed.

Daddy glanced toward the ceiling, shook his head, and mumbled something about payback.

“Payback for what?” Ruth asked.

Daddy cleared his throat. “Never mind. Just take my word for it. Later is better.”

Ruth sat in silence for several minutes as she ate her chowder. The sounds of laughter, splashing water, and a radio blaring “Don’t Fence Me In” by Bing Crosby drifted through the screened door.

“I know it’s hard, girls,” Daddy said. “But you’re old enough to understand that it takes hard work to keep this place working smoothly. All hands on deck.”

“I don’t mind hard work,” Ruth said.

“You don’t see half of what your mother does for this place.”

No matter how late Ruth went to bed or how early she rose, her mother was wearing her starched dress and making chore lists, setting tables, or pushing a broom.

“I know,” Ruth said. “Sometimes I wish she’d slow down a little.”

Daddy set a clean, damp plate on a drying rack. “I don’t think she knows how.”

Ruth grabbed a towel and began drying the white stoneware dish. “Think Carlotta might need a plate of food? I didn’t see her during the lunch service. She must be hungry.”

“I imagine she is.”