“But after I’d worked off my debt to her, the vet, and the apothecary where I bought Frey’s vitamins, I wanted to move back home. I think Mrs. Swenson understood that. I lived in an old, restored lean-to. I’d done that all by myself, replacing termite-infested boards with new ones and propping up places where the lean-to needed fixing. I was proud of my efforts, and I’m sure you understand that home means the place you hold inside your heart.
“Frey and I had become best friends. I know people would say that makes no sense, but he listens when I talk to him. He rumbles deep inside, purring like a cat at times, because I tell my worries and my dreams, and he patiently endures my tears when I sob into his glossy coat because sometimes life gets me down. Please don’t take him away from me. I couldn’t bear that. Please, your honor.”
I broke down then, weeping like a toddler who has an ouchy on her elbow. I knew it was childish. I was trying to stop. After a moment someone brought me a second cloth, and I stifled back my tears and brought myself back under control. Then I apologized to the judge and waited to hear if he would ask me anything more.
“I need you to continue, child. Tell me about the deed of sale that you showed me,” he said with the soft voice of someone truly compassionate.
“I raised Frey, as I was telling you. We went everywhere together. When I worked at people’s houses, he waited out in front. I never needed to tie him up, as he is now. He didn’t wander.
“Apparently someone told Mr. Henderson about my handsome stallion, and Mr. Henderson came to see me at my lean-to. He seemed surprised that the foal had survived, and he did what most horse people do. He admired Frey with his hands and eyes. But then Mr. Henderson told me that I couldn’t own the horse unless I paid for him.”