“Sashenka!” Annie pointed through the open back door. “He was going toward the parlor.”

With a Russian curse, Pela hurried back into the house. Olenka, who looked like a child at a maypole, kept hold of Raj.

“I got to take him now.” Annie gently pried him from Olenka’s grip.

“A run before he feeds?” Olenka said.

“Quick.” Annie tugged Raj’s shirt. They sprinted the length of the garden and out through the gate.

When they got back onto the road, she said, “Now I’m glad Lew wasn’t with us.”

“They’re his grandparents?”

“Kind of, I guess. Lew’s mom came on one of the orphan trains. The sisters adopted her.”

“Orphan trains?”

“Trains full of orphans from New York, because of the influenza and stuff like that. They’d just stop at towns and people would adopt one.”

“Why doesn’t Lew want to see them?”

“They were mean to his mom. Used to be three sisters. The one who died was the meanest. They’re refugees from Russia. They were rich over there.”

“So how they end up in Pisgah?”

“Used to live in KC with their brother, but they got scared of the city, so he bought them this house out here. Every time you go near them, they want you to do something. Sucked in pretty much everyone in town, one time or another. Can’t stop thinking of people as servants.”

“Why don’t they hire someone?”

“Too cheap. And the more you do the worse they treat you. I helped them a couple times when I was little, and one time they walked right into the back of our house and dragged me out of my bedroom in my nightie to help them get a stain out of a linen tablecloth. They made me stand on a stool and pour boiling water from this really heavy kettle onto the stain from as high as I could get. Jeez, I burned myself so badly. My mom went over there—I guess she speaks some Russian—and told them if they ever came near me again she’d smash their precious horse.”

Raj hurried a little way ahead of her and wiggled his butt. “You like it, the way my rumps move?”

“Makes me think of ocean,” she called.

Ten minutes later they joined the long line at the entrance to the county fairgrounds, which wasn’t due to open for another half hour. They were right behind Aaron, Walter, and Seamus. The Olsens, who were with Widow Snyder, were just behind them, Mrs. Olsen hugely pregnant with her sixth child. The others stood beside her, from oldest to youngest, like Russian dolls, each one a slightly smaller replica of the last, two boys and three girls, with white-blond hair and eerily sad blue eyes. At the far end of the field, Tad Messinger was hitting fly balls for his own three sons. He once played Triple-A and wanted his boys to make it to the majors.