She burst into the room, exploding with the news that she had won the scholarship, and watched their faces turn to stone.
"Scholarship?" her father asked.
"I auditioned for the music school," she said. "I sang 'Blue Bird of Happiness', and when I had finished, one of the admissions panel members actually had tears in her eyes. There were five of them, and each of them gave me a ten!"
Their expressions did not change. "Ten, Poppa," she coaxed. "That's the best you can get. They rate you one to ten. Poppa, everyone of them gave me a ten!"
Her father's look remained stern. In desperation, she glanced at her Aunt Betty's face, hoping to find a glimmer of sympathy there. There was none.
"I wasn't told nothing about any audition," her father said. "Well, too bad; you won't be taking no scholarship!"
"But, Poppa...."
"Your mother in the ground less than two weeks, and all you think of is going off to some school to learn how to sing. Well, there'll be no more school for you, girl! Who did you think was gonna keep house now that your mother is dead? Who did you think was gonna help me raise your baby brother? You're selfish, girl. Do you know that? Selfish!"
"He's not my brother!" she said. "And she was not my mother! My mother died ten years ago! Why can't Aunt Betty help raise him?"
"I got my own little ones to worry about," her aunt said. "And he is SO your brother!"
"Half brother," she said. "Why do I have to sacrifice MY life? What's in it for me?"
"What's in it for you? I can't believe I heard you say that!" her father said. "There's no reward paid out for doing what's right. Virtue is its own reward. Remember that, Miss Sassymouth!"
She never sang again, and by the time her brother was grown, her voice had long ago lost its lyrical lilt. She never even considered picking up her dream and running with it. It would have been too late anyway. Instead, she continued to keep a neat, clean house for her father and to cook his meals. They rarely spoke to one another, and when he died just at the onset of World War II, she shed not a tear.
Her half-brother went off to make the world safe for democracy, and still she stayed in her father's house, locked into a dull routine of scrubbing and cleaning.
After the war, having seen only stateside service, he returned, worked his way through college, and used the GI Bill to go through medical school, a wish he had expressed since childhood. She hated him beyond belief. He was ingratiatingly ambitious and handsome, and married the daughter of one of the town's first families.
He held his stethoscope now against the bend of her arm and pumped the cuff tighter, then slowly released it. "One-ninety-two over a-hundred-eight. That's dangerously high blood pressure," he said. "We'll get some blood work done as a starter, to see if we can find the cause. In the meantime we'll give you some pills to bring it down. Your health would greatly improve, though, if you tried to be more serene -- less negative. Try to enjoy life. Count your blessings. I know it embittered you to have to stay home to raise me, and it was good of you to do so, but sister dear, life owes us no reward just for being good. Virtue is its own reward. Besides, haven't you always been well provided for, first by Poppa and then by me? You haven't had to work a day in your life."
She felt the blood pounding in her temples. Her heart raced. "'Virtue is its own reward'," she thought, "is what those who have never had to sacrifice their dreams say to fools like me so that we will sacrifice ours for their benefit."
Aloud she said, "I have wanted to say something for years -- to all my kin, but mostly to Poppa. I never gathered up the nerve, though, and the opportunity to tell him is past, so I will say it now to you, dear brother of mine."
He smiled at her indulgently. "What's that, Sister?"
"To put it politely, may the blue bird of happiness fly up your nose," she said and watched his face turn to stone.