“What rubbish. The judge isn’t going to kill your father. Surely this town has more mercy than that,” Sheila said, sticking her nose where it had no business going.
I opened my mouth to contest that, but I didn’t really want to add vinegar to open wounds. Besides, maybe the judge wouldn’t order the man’s death. Did they hang people in this town? (Or maybe they stoned them, like my town had tried to do with me?) Would the death of Francis’ and Carlo’s father be a good thing or a bad one? What if the boys’ father was declared not guilty? What if he demanded the boys back? My heart started pumping faster at the thought.
Perhaps Frank felt my tension. He rubbed the back of my hand in a soothing manner. I think he was about to speak, but Dr. Stevens added his own thoughts at that moment.
“I think this conversation is hard on the boys, Sheila. It would be better if we just finished this delicious dinner that Shama prepared and left the matter alone. Boys, it’s some distance off and all this worrying about which way justice will prevail won’t help anyone.”
“Who is Justice?” Carlo, the four-year-old asked. “Is he the judge?”
“Justice is not a person. It’s doing things right,” Francis told his little brother. “Justice is what our father should have done — instead of killing our mother.”
“Oh,” Carlo said. “Then I hope Justice does kill our father. Our father’s mean.”
“Yeah,” his brother said, leaving us all speechless.
Except for Sheila. She didn’t seem to have any compassion in her soul. “I can’t believe I’m sitting at the table with the two sons of a murderer. Thank goodness I didn’t bring my own sweet children.”
Martha suddenly stiffened in her chair. She leaned forward, turned her head, and met the eyes of her daughter fully. “Do you still remember how to get to the house you grew up in?” she asked Sheila.
“Of course, I do,” her daughter said, acting like her mother was half demented.
“Good. It’s not nearly dark yet. I’m sure you can walk yourself home. I’ve had more than enough of your company this evening.”
“What?” Sheila gasped. “I’m not done with the meal. And you and I haven’t gotten to talk privately yet. I was expecting some time with you alone. That’s why I traveled so far.”
“Good evening, Daughter. I hope you sleep well,” Martha said, rising from her seat and slowly walking away from the table. She stopped after a few steps and without turning around continued. “Shama, thank you for the lovely dinner you prepared. Goodnight Carlo, Francis, Frank and Ben.” She sighed heartily, then said, “Shama, I sincerely hope Willow will come visit me. I’m feeling poorly right now.”
“Willow,” I said no louder than a whisper, mainly because I knew she could hear my voice without my saying a thing. The kitten could probably feel Martha’s need. I bet anything Willow would scurry into Martha’s bedroom before Martha herself arrived there.