So when Mr. Henderson had demanded money in order for me to purchase Frey, I was desperate. I’d pleaded, begged, and promised to trade labor for my beloved colt. Finally, with his wife imploring him to be kind to me, Mr. Henderson had given in. I dug, planted, and weeded the man’s garden for an entire year, but never did I doubt that the job was worth its final reward.
I’ve always been a hard worker. One could say, I’d toiled every day since babyhood. And although, I still didn’t think the arrangement was fair since I’d been given Frey as a dying foal, still, in the end, my debt was paid, and I’d received a legal bill of sale. That receipt was the one thing I made sure to always carry with me, because Mr. Barner wasn’t the only one in the village who thought I shouldn’t have such a fine piece of horse flesh, as they put it.
Several of the villagers, all people who’d been my six month tenders, repeatedly complained to the mayor, saying that I owed them the horse in exchange for feeding me and keeping me safe during my early years. It was an ongoing argument that the major, mostly ignored, but it was Mr. Barner who drew up the legal documents in an attempt to steal Frey away.
A date was set, and the itinerant judge arrived to hear the case. Half the town appeared that day to watch or participate in the session held in the village meeting room, (which was also the village school during most of the day.) Frey stood tied to the rail out front, unknowing that his ownership was in question.
I’d been sick with worry for the weeks before, and it escalated to the point that I could barely eat on my day in court. I had my bill of sale, though. I figured that the law would have to decide in my favor (at least, I thought so, as I crossed my fingers, said a prayer to Gaia, and kissed Frey twenty-seven times for good luck.)
Frey’s former owner, Mr. Henderson and the apothecary who’d sold me the vitamins, as well as Mrs. Swenson, the owner of the cow from whom I’d attained Frey’s baby milk, all attended court to bolster my case. I’d wanted the vet to come, but he was dealing with a sick sow. These pseudo friends told me not to worry as they stiffly sat in the small student chairs where bystanders needed to stay. Yet, when I looked back at them, I saw that each one of them held worry in the crevices of their eyes and in the downturn of their mouths.
The judge introduced himself, asked for those who would speak to stand up, then took his place at the teacher’s desk. My legs shook so severely, I was forced to hold onto the desk in front of me, but I stated my name and named myself the defendant.
“What is your last name, child?”
I had to explain that I had never been given one and why. My tale was nothing new to the villagers, but I still cringed before its naked truth. The dishonor of my lack hung in the courtroom like an old, ragged spider web deserted by its maker.
“You have no parent or guardian? Is there no one who can speak for you?” the judge had demanded.