I wished that Martha had not decided on this adoption thing. I was too old, for one thing. And for another, I never wanted to cause a rift in her family or to give anyone pain. How had I gotten myself stuck in this situation? I’d gone my whole life without having a last name. Surely being given one now wouldn’t be worth this family strife.
I was also worried about the arguments and other outcomes of bickering families. I couldn’t bear to expose the boys to a screaming tornado/hurricane banshee/potential witch. Perhaps, I should just take the boys out into the woods for a few weeks? We could call it a camping trip.
Unfortunately, when I suggested that to them, the boys began to cry, probably because they could feel the tension in the air and feared it would be the end of good food, toys, books, and being with people who loved them. Their wails brought Martha into the living room. Hearing my scheme to avoid all the drama, Martha put her foot down, saying that she wouldn’t hear of her daughter driving anyone from our house. It was at that moment that Frank came running into the house, perhaps, expecting some kind of emergency had occurred.
I didn’t want to tell him my plans, but Martha spilled out the whole staying in the woods on a camping trip idea.
“In the woods by yourself?” Frank roared. “Over my dead body.”
The sheriff of Tinkle Town was not a person who yelled. He was calm, even in the midst of turmoil like when he had to handle drunks, juvenile delinquents, and liars like the two who’d come from my old town and accused me of stealing my beautiful grey stallion, Frey. Frank was, in fact, normally, a feet on the ground, mild-mannered and even-tempered investigator who dug deep for all the facts before making any kind of judgement.
And besides, the sheriff really had no right to tell me I couldn’t depart for the safety of the woods, but when he added that the boys wouldn’t be allowed to leave Tinkle Town because their father was still in jail, making them wards of the court, then I had no choice but to give in. I’d already promised Carlo and Francis that I wouldn’t leave them.
There was nothing that I could do then to avoid what was coming. The boys had calmed down after Frank told them there’d be no camping trip until he could come along, and then he added that I’d need to marry him before we could do that.
“We want her to marry you,” Francis said.
“Yeah, you’d be our daddy then,” Carlo added.
Feeling pressured, nervous, and frankly scared by such statements, I fled to the kitchen and started dinner, leaving Martha and Frank to talk about, I presume, the upcoming visit.