Like Old Mother, Mrs. Penn was a woman I could learn a lot from. She would definitely be one of my future role models, just like the boys could have more than one. I guess in life we got to pick and choose, selecting the qualities to copy from those we most admired. We could try out styles, mannerisms, and even ideas from those around us and then adapt them to fit our own needs.
I remembered how kind Mrs. Swenson had been. She’d been another role model, not just in showing me how to run a dairy farm and be a good worker with cows and fence posts, but how to wear a heart of gold. I supposed there were lots of people whose understanding and decency could provide such good examples. I guess we just had to look for them on our path to become the person we wanted to be.
I relished that thought. I’d always believed that I’d had little guidance growing up, but perhaps, I’d been absorbing the fine qualities of good folks all along. Mr. Turn had never chased me away. Instead, he’d listened and chatted while he hammered horseshoes and fixed broken tools. Mr. Tully had, too. Of course, I used to work for him, doing chores for free just because I liked him, and because it was fun to talk to an adult. But he always managed to reimburse me for my labors, handing me things from his shop. Best was when he let me pick out books from his shelf of used ones. He kept telling me I didn’t need to return them, but I always did.
And here in Tinkle Town, I’d become very fond of Mrs. Penn and her wisdom. She was like Mrs. Swenson, full of heart as Old Mother would have put it. As if Mrs. Penn had picked up on what I was thinking, she turned to face me. “I’m really fond of you, too, Shama,” she said, surprising me so much that I’m sure I looked like a dolt just staring at her.
“Me, too,” I said like a six-year-old. I wanted to say more, but getting that out was all I could do. Her kind words had caused my face to heat and my breath to catch. I looked away, so she wouldn’t see the tears forming in my eyes. That kindness thing really turned on my eye clouds. A mere hint of praise, and I found it tough to swallow, breathe, and hold back my personal torrent of raindrops.
I spent a moment gaining control and listened into the conversation going on at the table between Frank and Frances while Mrs. Penn continued forming her perfect skillet bunnies. Frank was telling Frances about how he wanted to take the boy fishing. Carlo, too, since the younger boy had suddenly popped into the conversation with an amazing offer like that. There was a heap of good in Frank, too. He had his own strengths and wisdoms. There’d be things the boys and I could learn from him. He was rather like Mr. Tully and Mr. Turn. I smiled, understanding how many people I’d actually met that were full of heart.