(Frank)
“No, you’re wrong, Ben,” I said, giving him an amused smile. “If you married Martha, Grumpy Toes would become your daughter.”
The man let out moan deep enough almost to shake the house in its wake. Then, he shook his head, rose up, and said, “Yeah, you’re right. Good thing Martha won’t have anything to do with me.”
I was still chuckling as he saw himself out. I gathered our dishes, retreated to the kitchen to wash them up so Shama wouldn’t have to do it, then walked out of the house, locking the door with the key Martha had given me.
Strangely, I was whistling as I made my way to the sheriff’s station. I’d spent the evening with Shama, and despite the sourness of the Sheila nastiness, I’d had a pleasant evening. Anytime I was near my future wife it was a good evening, I figured, and with that note, I changed the song to a happy tune about lovers working out all their problems.
Shama
The next morning arrived quickly, as it was prone to do. I clad myself in jeans and a tee and spent time with Frey, as was my habit first thing. There was always fresh manure in the backyard which I shoveled up twice a day to keep the neighbors from complaining.
Frank and I still hadn’t figured out a good way to deal with the filled garbage cans since Tinkle Town’s only dump collector had retired and moved away. The small backyard had no room for a compost pile, so Frank and I were still filling up the garbage cans and hauling them away. When we did that, borrowing a truck from Mr. Beanie who owned the hay store, it took a good twenty minute’s drive to get to the unclaimed lands north of the town. There, Frank and I, with the help of the boys, spread the manure out thinly so it could fertilize new trees without bringing flies to Tinkle Town.
But that wasn’t one of Frey’s worries, of course. My stallion was just always glad to see me and to get his morning carrots and apples. He enjoyed our grooming sessions, too. He loved having his whiskers brushed, the only horse I’d ever known that favored that. But then, Frey was unique. I’d raised him from a day-old foal, and I think he thought he was human. Without a doubt, he believed he was my best friend, which was absolutely true.
That morning, Willow didn’t pop out like she usually did. The kitten liked to sit on Frey’s strong back and watch proceedings. I assumed she’d stayed inside to be with Martha or was greeting the boys, kissing their faces to waken them. I missed her company, but I had little time to give her attention anyway.
My actions were always quick in the morning, because I needed to get inside and get cleaned up before the others got out of bed. Then I’d start the coffee and prepare breakfast. Having a routine helped. It meant that there were few moments lost in contemplation or admiring the wondrous orange and gold sky of sunrise.
I started the bacon frying, but couldn’t keep myself from worrying about Martha. I hoped the stress of the day before hadn’t sent my dear friend back into an invalid state. I wondered if Ben’s letter to Sheila had mentioned how sick her mother had been a couple of months ago.