The spat between Martha and Dr. Stevens, who’d never suggested that I call him by his first name, ended abruptly. I sat down, and we all finished our meal. Then I served a spice apple cake with some vanilla ice cream that the boys and Frank had churned together. Everyone enjoyed that part of dinner. It was too bad our sit down together had been so sour at the beginning.
After Frank and I cleaned up the kitchen, the boys and I went outside in the backyard to spend time with Frey, my best friend, the horse I’d raised from a foal. The moment we stepped out into the yard, Frey nickered, dropped the flattened ball he’d been playing with, and trotted over to me.
Willow, the little gray kitten, had been sitting on the wiggly picnic table watching Frey do his thing with the red flappy ball. The two of them often spent time together in the evening (and at night, I think.) They were good friends. Sometimes, in fact, when I came out to clean Frey’s stall, I found Willow sitting on the stallion’s back as comfy as if that was her favorite spot.
The boys called the kitten over, then took turns having Willow chase a string. Although the cat was my familiar, she’d adopted the whole family — well, except for Dr. Stevens, if he was part of the family. Willow would have nothing to do with him.
Martha came outside to join us. She very gingerly sat down on the picnic table’s bench. I wished she wouldn’t. The whole thing was too wobbly to be safe. Frank had promised to do some carpentry work on it to stabilize it, but he’d been busy and hadn’t yet gotten around to it. I remembered how I’d restored the lean-to back in my old town. Perhaps, if I could locate a merchant that sold lumber, I could figure out how to do the repairs myself.
“It’s a lovely night, isn’t it?” Martha said, watching the boys and the small kitten. She was still rather afraid of my stallion, so when he went nosing over her way, sticking his head into her carefully coifed white hair, I called him back to me, but Martha, obviously feeling super brave, smiled at me and pulled out a carrot from the pocket of her dress.
Although Martha had once fed Frey, that was only to ease the worries of the boys. This was different. She’d come prepared and eager to befriend him.
Frey was always a gentleman, when he wasn’t lipping at someone’s hair. He took the carrot with great care, although, of course, he slobbered all over Martha’s dress. Strangely enough, she just laughed as the carrot drippings and saliva dribbled down from his mouth.
“My daughter’s coming here is not going to change anything, Shama,” Martha said, flattening her hand so that Frey could take the last bite of carrot. “I love you and the boys, and I aim to give you a last name and then make us a real family with or without Frank’s help.”