“Nothing any of us said at the table is going to change my mind, Shama. I realize that I’ve destroyed your confidence, your settling in here. I’m sorry for that, but sometimes change needs to clear away the rubbish. Let’s just move on.”
I inhaled and corralled my sobs. “I was honored, Mrs. Penn, by your kind words. I appreciate how you wanted to give me a name, but I can’t . . .”
I heard the back door swinging open and turned to look. The officer came strolling into the backyard like he owned the place. I turned back to Frey and resumed my brushing. Seeing me do so, Frances broke off his embrace, then turned about and raced over to him.
“You’re mean! I hate you!” Frances shouted, then slammed his fist into the officer’s stomach.
“Frances, no!” I yelled, chagrinned because this was my fault. I’d never meant to create a rift between them. Frances needed the officer’s positive attentions. He needed a worthy man. And the officer might not fill that need for me, but he seemed to be doing a good job with the boy.
At least, before I’d gotten in their way. Chalk that up for another point in favor of my leaving.
“See what you did with your lack of faith?” Mrs. Penn said.
She was sitting over in the shade at the rickety old picnic table, the one I wasn’t sure was all that safe. I started to question its stability when the doctor appeared in the doorway.
“Frank, someone’s here from the station. They’ve brought visitors.”
That halted the whole ugly tableau. Frances, wrapped in the officer’s hold; Carlo ready to defend his brother, but not knowing how; me, brush in the air watching the shaky old bench Mrs. Penn was sitting on, and Frank, whose eyes had just completed his circumference of all the activity going on around him — we all froze.
The officer released Frances with a warning about not hitting people. Then he turned and focused on the two people standing behind the doctor. I did, too. Only seeing their identity set off a whole new line of fear. I forgot the unreliable bench Mrs. Penn was sitting on and the horse that I was brushing. I even temporarily forgot the earlier argument.
Everything fastened on the nasty face of the first man standing behind Dr. Stevens. It was Mr. Barner, the drunkard who’d once tried to steal Frey, the same man who’d later taken me to court so he could attempt once again to legally claim a horse that had never belonged to him.