Frank:
This wooing of Shama was going overly slow. I knew it was my fault. All of it, but I wanted to return to the easy camaraderie we’d had before. I wanted to put my arms around her and sprinkle kisses across her forehead, nose, and lips. Fates, did I ever want that. But there was a huge wall between us that hadn’t been there before. A stubborn wall, perhaps, although I’d badly earned its presence.
I loved the boys. I wanted to claim them as mine as much as the sweet woman I loved. I hoped we could go before the judge and request that. But it would be difficult. How could the boys be given to us when their father remained alive? Would he ever allow them to be adopted? In my dealings with him, from his jail cell, I’d seen no interest in the boys’ fate. The man absolutely had no tender feelings for them, but yet, I would bet that he wouldn’t let them go. They were his property, to do with as he pleased.
Would the judge order the prisoner’s death? He had murdered his wife, their mother, sneaking into the hospital to finish her off. That would be considered pre-meditated. But justice was fickle. A good acting job could put off the death sentence. Besides, public hangings weren’t good for the town’s citizens. Perhaps the judgement and the rendering could go elsewhere? I’d suggest that.
My mind was wandering, as it did so often. My coffee was gone, as was the doctor’s. Was it time to call it a night?
“So you took Sheila home.” I said. Duh. I knew that already. Ben had already said it, but it was an opening to the road I wanted to walk down. “Sheila’s going to be difficult, going to cause Martha problems.”
“Yeap. You’ve sure got that right. I expect there will be a big cat fight before this all gets settled. Maybe it will make Martha see that what she wants to do is wrong.”
I picked up my mug and tried to inhale another drop. It was empty. I set it back down. There might be more coffee in the kitchen. I wondered if I should check.
“I don’t want Shama hurt by that,” I said, forcing my voice to come out even and calm.
Ben’s eyes scanned my face. “You’ve got it bad, don’t you. Just sweep the girl up in your arms and carry her off.”
I laughed. “You think she’d ever forgive that?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head with a soft chuckle. “If I thought that would really work, I would have done it years ago with Martha. You know, If you married Shama, and I married Martha, we wouldn’t have to deal with Grumpy Toes.”
I’d never known Ben to name call folks. He didn’t believe in that, but Sheila had gone way past what was cordial. She deserved the name. I grinned.