“Wait for me!” shouted Lily.

Lily’s breath hung in the black cold. She slid down the stoop and caught the railing before she slipped off the icy bottom step. Her hand stung from grabbing the frozen metal. There was no time to race up four flights of stairs for mittens. Lily held her book and ran down Mott Street. If she weren’t so mad at her sister, she would have feared the frozen darkness. Margaret was not in sight. Lily’s coat flapped as she ran on the icy sidewalk.

Flickering shadows scurried on Mott Street’s sidewalk as a bundled form approached a dimming gaslight.

“Margaret, you have to stop!”

The figure turned. Margaret’s head, nose, and mouth were wrapped in her gray shawl. She wore the dark peacoat Papa brought home two nights ago. It had originally belonged to a smaller man. Although not meant for a girl, Margaret claimed the warm coat. Lily wanted to know why the small man no longer needed the coat, but her sister Betta shushed a warning not to ask.

Lily slid to the lamppost and crashed into Margaret, her arms bracing for Margaret’s steadfast catch.

“You have to wait for me, Margaret. Mama said—”

“I know what Mama said.” Margaret tugged on Lily’s coat to close the buttons. “There’s a lot I have to do. Where is your hat?”

“With my mittens,” said Lily.

“You make me crazy,” said Margaret. She sighed a long cold breath and added Lily’s book to the books under her arm. “Put your hands in your pockets.”

Lily obeyed. Margaret hooked her free arm through Lily’s and steered along the sidewalk. Lily slipped over and through puddles to match Margaret’s pace.

“I made up a song for this morning,” said Lily. She worked the rhyme with her best friend, Nelly, yesterday afternoon. They sat on the third-floor landing clapping out the beats and finding words to fit. Lily drew in a frosty gulp of air.

Her voice sang out crystal clear in the frigid morning.

“Lily, you can’t sing in the bakery,” said Margaret.

“Why not?”

“Because baking bread is serious business. The Goldbergs only allow kids who are serious enough and tall enough for the baking table. Because I bake each day, I can buy bread for three cents, not the regular five-cent price. It’s a big help to our family.”

Lily skipped over a splotch of snow but slipped on a patch of ice. Margaret caught her before they fell into a heap.

“Baking bread is not a little kid’s game, Liboria,” said Margaret. She retucked the books, hooked her arm back through Lily’s, and resumed their pace.

Lily cringed at her proper Sicilian name. She was an American and did not like that old-world name.

“I’m not a little kid,” said Lily. “I’m almost as tall as you. And yesterday, when we bought the bread, Mrs. Goldberg said I could come in the morning and watch you bake, Margherita.”

“And yet you are not allowed to walk across the street by yourself,” said Margaret, sighing into the cold again. “Well, I hope you ate something.”

“I didn’t,” said Lily, “I thought—”

“Mrs. Goldberg will not give you a Knot Surprise just for watching. That’s all you are doing—watching. You are not singing. You are not baking.”

Thick clouds blurred the coming dawn. Margaret stomped harder as the sisters turned onto Hester Street.

“And if you are going to be serious about watching me bake, you can’t go home for lunch with Nelly and Tony,” continued Margaret. “You must come back to the bakery with me and watch me pound and shape the dough so Mr. Goldberg can bake it. The bread will be ready after school.”

Lily stepped into a frosty puddle. The water seeped through her shoes. She wouldn’t dare complain—not with Margaret in a sour mood and especially not after last night.

The night before, Lily told Mama that Mrs. Goldberg said she could watch Margaret bake bread. Mama insisted that Lily join her sister. Eleven-year-old Betta was not well enough to go to school, let alone strong enough to bake bread, and Gigi was only four years old. Long-legged Lily was certainly taller and stronger than any nine-year-old girl.

Margaret quarreled with Mama. She didn’t want Lily at the bakery. With three younger sisters, she was always taking care of a little kid, carrying coal, ironing, mending, or stirring a pot. There was barely time to read or figure her arithmetic. The bakery was the only place she could be without a sister or a hated chore.

Mama said Lily needed to learn how to bake bread sooner rather than later. In a few months, the school term would end and Margaret, now twelve-years-old, was smart enough for a girl. Mama wanted Margaret to quit school and work in the factory. Lily needed to learn to bake bread now. Margaret stomped her foot. Mama slapped her daughter’s face. Margaret never cried when she argued with Mama. Lily and Gigi shed quiet tears in Betta’s arms.

Lily knew Margaret didn’t want her around and promised to behave.

“I’ll be ready at lunchtime, Margaret,” said Lily.

“Remember, you’ll be watching, so there’s no Knot Surprise for you,” said Margaret.

“I won’t be hungry,” said Lily. She could feel the polar puddles seep to her feet. She buried her nose into the collar of her coat.

Lily thought of the snow-walking song she made up while watching people walking through slush on Mott Street from her fourth-floor front window.

“No singing!” snapped Margaret.

An icy splash trickled down Lily’s stockings. She quietly hummed her tune. She wasn’t going to let Margaret’s mood sour this happy day.