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his face paler than usual.
“You can’t,” Minnie answered. “Believe me.” She stood,
hands tugging on the front of her blouse, then walked to the
door. “Come on. My mother will know. It’s time I asked her for
the truth.”
“Will she tell us, too?” Thom asked. He doubted very much
that if Mrs. Johnson had kept Arthur’s past a secret from her
own daughters she’d be willing to release it for two new boarders.
Minnie rolled her eyes. “She won’t know you’re in the room,
dummy.”
After making tea and explaining that her mother would be
in the kitchen in precisely three minutes, Minnie shut both
boys in the pantry.
“I’m getting tired of this spot,” Thom muttered.
“Oh, hello, Minnie,” Mrs. Johnson said, right on time. “I
didn’t expect to find you in here. You girls haven’t been inside
much these days.”
“No need to get the tea. I made it for you.”
“Aren’t you sweet! Thank you.”
There was a creak as someone settled into a chair at the
small, worn kitchen table, so unlike the polished one in the din-
ing room.
“Mother, I need to know about Arthur.”
There was a sputtering sound. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I need to know about Arthur. We’ve never asked,
and you’ve never told us, and I’ve tried to be respectful of that.
But I need to know: Is he my brother?” Her voice cracked with
the emotional urgency of her question. Thom had to hand it to
her — Minnie was a superb actress.
Mrs. Johnson started laughing, and for reasons Thom
