Frances placed his sandwich down on the plate and leaned forward. “Really? Shama’s going to teach us to read?” he said. “Mom started to do that, but Dad said it was a waste of money to buy books. Mom used to write the alphabet in the dirt, but we never learned all of it. Dad kept telling Mom it was time for her to do something whenever she sat down to teach us. Carlo doesn’t even know the first three letters, but I learned ten of them. Except the b and d. They’re really tough.”
All the adults smiled. That was a story, common to most children. I’d always thought it was poor planning on the part of the person who’d invented writing. I would have given those letters completely different characters, like an H with bars at the top and bottom or a W with a pole in the middle. But then, maybe the crossed H and the poled W might also cause a muddle of confusion.
Anyway, I told Frances that I couldn’t wait to get started. “I love to read,” I said. “And soon, that will be you, too, having adventures in books. You get to go anywhere you like, even to fly like a bird, if you can find a book like that. And you want to know a secret? Once you learn your letters, you can even make up stories in your head and write them all down. I saw some paper in the attic. We can use that to make books! If that’s okay with Mrs. Penn and Officer Krugle,” I added.
“Just for a while,” the woman told me. “Once the boys get caught up, then they can attend school with the other children. Well, Frances can. I’m afraid that Carlo is too young yet. But he can work with you during school hours.”
I nodded, taking note that my new job would only be temporary.
Our sandwiches were chicken, and we had fresh asparagus and apple slices. Mrs. Penn said it had all come from the town’s restaurant.
The boys didn’t comment. They probably didn’t know what a restaurant was. I’d never been to one, unless washing dishes in the back counted.
“Can you cook?” Mrs. Penn asked me.
I wasn’t a great cook. I’d never had much training, but the house mothers had shown me the basics so that I could help them out in the kitchen. In the last house, I’d cooked all of Mrs. White’s meals because she was always feeling poorly, although she had a good, strong appetite when the food was ready. Sometimes, I wondered how she got along without me, but after I left her house, I was living in the termite-invested lean-to, and I wasn’t willing to go back, even if she’d asked me to.
After eating, I asked if Mrs. Penn had been able to get some hay for Frey. She said that Mr. Beanie, who sold food for pets and livestock, had agreed to bring over a few bales later in the evening.
Officer Krugle, meanwhile, was discussing favorite foods with the boys. Both of them shouted out, “Candy.”
I smiled at that and continued conversing with Mrs. Penn. “I found a shed in the backyard that will be great for keeping Frey’s hay and my tack.”
“Officer Krugle.” I rather rudely interrupted his probing about what else the boys liked to eat. I hadn’t meant to. It just slipped out the moment the thought hit me. “Sorry, but will you be able to bring over my saddle and bridle, or do you need me to go get them?”
“Sure,” he said, which left me confused. He clarified. “I’ll bring your tack. Right now, it’s in my house, since I returned the buggy. I’ll be glad to get my couch back.”
I thanked him and returned to Mrs. Penn. “Do you think Mr. Beanie might have some kind of tub for Frey’s water? The one I’m using now is too shallow. In fact, I need to go out and check on him and fill up the basin again.”
Because I’d brought up Frey, the boys wanted to go out and see him. “Yes, but no more riding today.” When I explained that working with horses meant lots of baths, their smiles turned downward.
“We only had to take a bath once a month,” Frances said. “Dad said baths weren’t good for our skin.”
“But Mommy said that wasn’t true,” Carlo piped up. “Dad didn’t like that. He hit Mommy when she said that.”
The little boy’s face paled. I see his mind running through the facts. I guessed even a four year old could start to see such associations. His face was reflecting that not only did he understand that his mommy was gone, but that his father had been the cause.
“Yeah, we had to be careful. Dad got mad a lot. We couldn’t make noise either,” Frances said, as he stretched out his hand to place it on his brother’s shoulder. He seemed to realize that his little brother was pondering things that weren’t happy thoughts. I don’t think he knew quite how to pull his brother back to happiness. That would have been a tough goal for even the adults around him.