Solomon Nassim El-Charif grunted as he pushed the heavy wheelbarrow down the garden path.
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“Mac and Joseph wrote to us!” Susannah breathlessly handed her brother his letter and took the rest inside to her mother.
Solomon bobbed his sock-covered hand up and down and said in a high, silly voice, “Hey, everybody, my name is Mr. Sheep, and I am going to visit a sheep farm! Baa, baa!”
“Well, let’s spend the rest of our class time making cards for Mr. Fontaine, and for others in the nursing home. Then you can ask your parents if you may go this afternoon. Let’s say at four o’clock,” Ms. Kimoto suggested.
Michael Arthur Patterson was thinking so hard he didn’t hear his dad come into the room. He jumped when Dad said his name. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you ready to learn the new layout?”
Susannah May Farmer frowned as she picked her way down the street. “It’s April!” she grumbled. “April! You know, daffodils, singing birds, blue skies, breezes . . . rain, maybe. Not ice storms!” She slipped as she rounded the corner onto Main Street, and grabbed a telephone pole to keep from falling.
Mommy looked up from her computer screen. “I know it’s hard to understand,” she said. “But lots of people are getting sick from a virus. Everyone is trying to stay home so that we don’t get the virus and spread it to others.”
When the primaries had walked into class last Sabbath, their eyes had opened wide in surprise. Ms. Kimoto was dressed in a long., beautiful, red gown with a fancy design embroidered all over it.
Ms. Kimoto waved her hands. “Class, class!” The hubbub quieted a little. Kenya clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from squealing. “Are you all ready? Does everyone know what to do?” She looked around. “Good. Then let’s go quietly upstairs.”
Susannah May Farmer flopped on her bed and read her letter again. Mac Evans had sent pictures of herself, Joseph, all their friends, and G. M. Susannah thought that was a funny thing to call a grandma. But then, it seemed G. M. was a funny grandma.