Unfortunately, that was the switch that restarted the man’s speeches, only this time, he’d halted his swaying body almost at the point where I was sitting. His eyes sought me out. “You’re a real nothing, girl. I’m not going to let you steal my horse. No, siree. You’re one ugly female. You got dull hair and a rope of a body. You aren’t never gonna find a husband. And that horse is mine, right, Judge?”
I shed no tears over the drunkard’s disparagement. It wasn’t anything I hadn’t heard from numerous members of the village elite already.
But Judge Muffett did not accept Mr. Barner’s words as lightly as I had. He hit the wooden hammer on a couple of files atop the teacher’s desk, and said, “I find you in contempt, Mr. Barner.”
I didn’t know exactly what that meant, but I was grateful that the judge’s irritation was not for me, but for Mr. Barner.
We were given a recess, which was kind of funny because I’d thought a recess only happened at school. Except, come to think of it, this whole court session was taking place in the school building, so I guess it made sense to call it recess.
I wanted to go outside and check on Frey, but a policeman at the door said I needed to stay inside. After I sipped water from a small paper cup someone was handing out and returned from my sudden dash to the toilet room at the end of the hall, I heard the announcement that it was time to go back inside. Just like in school, recess was always too short.
I’d barely touched my bottom to my seat before the judge called me to the front.
“Tell me how you got the stallion named Frey,” Judge Muffett ordered.
I explained how I sometimes did chores for Mr. Henderson. Not the free kind, but the trade kind. I’d heard that his mare was due to foal, so I’d been stopping by almost daily to see if maybe the foal had come.
“When I arrived that day, I saw that Mr. Henderson was bent over his prize mare and had just pulled the foal out of its mother. I edged over to take a good look. I’d never seen a new born, and I’d heard that they were able to stand up on their wobbly legs, sometimes in as little as fifteen minutes.”
The judge nodded. He seemed very patient with his listening. Most people weren’t. They wanted a story finished before the person telling it could even paint the picture.
“Mr. Henderson must have felt my presence. He looked up and shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Shama. The little one didn’t make it. I couldn’t get him to breathe.’ ”