7.8 The Witchling Shama
Frances gingerly stuck out the bread, his hand trembling again, but still flat as I’d showed him. Once more Frey mouthed the bread, wrinkled his upper lip, then took it. In a moment the piece of bread had been chewed and swallowed without dropping a single piece. Frances’ face glowed, and standing next to him felt like being beside a capped pan full of boiling water. He seemed ready to jump into the air, cry out in a high-pitched and excited voice, and run around the yard in his excitement, but he didn’t. He simply let out a long breath of wonder and looked up at me like I’d done something marvelous, like I’d fulfilled some long unexpressed dream or given him the present of a lifetime. I felt that same sparkling energy rising up inside me. I suddenly believed I could belt out a song and inexplicably sing in tune. But I was an adult. I knew such miracles didn’t exist. I only offered a mutual sharing of joy with Frances held within a teeth-grinning smile. “Me, too,” Carlo said, stepping closer, pushing against me in his eagerness. His small hand clung to my arm, entreating me with such earnestness that I felt a compulsion to sweep up the child and hug him to me. Was this what a mother felt like whenever she looked at her child? Was this the essence of love? Carlo had already taken a couple of bites from the apple I’d given him, but four-year-olds have small bites, and it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. Frey never turned down an apple core. Yet, the apple was still pretty whole, and I knew that Frey would be quite content with such a treat. He hadn’t had an apple since we’d left the village. Once more I went over the routine, stressing hand flatness, but trying to avoid scaring the child with the threat of Frey’s big teeth.
7.7 The Witchling Shama
Frey was excited to see us. He bugled, then did a head nodding stunt until I walked over and took his whole face in my arms and hugged him. What a baby! When I gave him a big loud, smucking kiss right above his muzzle, Frances made a face and said, “Yick. He’s not your boyfriend.” Where had Frances gotten such a thought? It wasn’t like I was doing the stop breathing and suck on a tongue business with Frey. That would be disgusting. I mean, not when I’d done that with Frank. Oh, my. Where had that thought come from? I wiggled my mind away from that memory and focused on how it might just be a little strange to be kissing a horse. Probably nobody else did such a thing, but Frey was my baby. I’d raised him. Didn’t that count for making him half-human and deserving of kisses? Mothers always kissed their children. The kids continued to watch, probably hoping I’d do something else utterly ridiculous, but then Carlo wanted to know if he could feed Frey the apple, and Frances chimed in about giving the horse the bread treat he was holding. Okay, time to move on. I couldn’t get lost in my thoughts, especially not when Frank was staring at my lips, almost as if he was thinking the same thought about the kiss we’d shared back at deserted house in the middle of a dusty corral. I shook my head figuratively to stop such musings, or any other reveries that involved one extremely handsome, highly muscled and very firm-bodied officer, who was still staring at me with an attentive look on his face, only a few feet away . . . and showed the boys how to do flat hands for safe horse feeding. Frances went first with the slightly mushed piece of bread I’d given him. (Not that the piece of bread had been flattened and mauled when I’d given it to him.) Frances’ hand was perfectly flat but kind of shaky, especially when Frey opened his mouth. The teeth of a horse are not only numerous — a stallion can have as many as 44 teeth — but they’re big. They make a young child’s teeth look like play toys. A horse’s teeth never stop growing, a fact that I didn’t offer up to young Frances as he shut his eyes and hoped he’d still have fingers after Frey took the bread. I soothed Frances, telling him how brave he was. Of course, I didn’t inform him that a horse can’t actually see someone’s hand stretched out like that. A horse truly can’t see directly in front, so Frey is more or less almost blind at the point where he’s lapping up a treat. But horses have other senses. Frey lipped at Frances’ stretched out hand, took the piece of bread in his big yellow-green teeth, flipped it out of Frances’ hand and waved it up and down like a toy he was shaking. Then my sweet stallion handed the half-broken piece of bread back to Frances. “Why did he do that?” Frances asked, his small face wrinkling up with confusion. “He’s playing with you,” I explained. “Hand him the bread again and see if he’ll eat it this time. If not, I’ll give you one of my carrot sticks.”
7.6 The Witchling Shama
After eating, I asked if Mrs. Penn had been able to get some hay for Frey. She said that Mr. Beanie, who sold food for pets and livestock, had agreed to bring over a few bales later in the evening. Officer Krugle, meanwhile, was discussing favorite foods with the boys. Both of them shouted out, “Candy.” I smiled at that and continued conversing with Mrs. Penn. “I found a shed in the backyard that will be great for keeping Frey’s hay and my tack.” “Officer Krugle.” I rather rudely interrupted his probing about what else the boys liked to eat. I hadn’t meant to. It had just slipped out the moment the thought hit me. “Sorry, but will you be able to bring over my saddle and bridle, or do you need me to go get them?” “Sure,” he said, which left me confused. He clarified. “I’ll bring your tack. Right now it’s in my house, since I returned the buggy. I’ll be glad to get my couch back.” I thanked him and returned to Mrs. Penn. “Do you think Mr. Beanie might have some kind of tub for Frey’s water? The one I’m using now is too shallow. In fact, I need to go out and check on him and fill up the basin again.” Because I’d brought up Frey, the boys wanted to go out and see him. “Yes, but no more riding today.” When I explained that working with horses meant lots of baths, their smiles turned downward. “We used to only take a bath once a month,” Frances said. “Dad said baths weren’t good for our skin.” “But Mommy said that wasn’t true,” Carlo piped up. “Dad didn’t like that. He hit Mommy when she said that.” The little boy’s face paled, remembering that maybe his dad had caused their mother’s death. “Yeah, we had to be careful. Dad got mad a lot. We couldn’t make noise either,” Frances said, as he stretched out his hand to place it on his brother’s shoulder. “Okay, let’s go check on Frey,” I said, forestalling any more dark tales. I knew that talking about such things might help the boys in the long run, but for the moment, I thought they’d had enough trauma. We needed to move in positive directions to help them get started with a happier life. Mrs. Penn, watchful of our discussion, nodded. “Yes, I want to see that beautiful stallion again. He’s really quite magnificent. Where did you get him?” I paused a moment to tell everyone about Frey’s beginnings, how nobody had wanted an orphan foal, and how I’d raised him, feeding him nightly bottles just like a baby.” “And then when he grew up and turned out so well, the farmer wanted him back. I couldn’t do that. Frey was my best friend. I had to work for the man for an entire year so that I could keep Frey.” “But that’s not fair. You did all the work raising the horse,” Frances said. “Yeah. I thought it was unfair, too, but there’s a lot of unfairnesses in life. You just have to shrug and get on with making the best of it. Besides, I was willing to work hard to make up for having Frey in my life. He makes everything worthwhile.” I left out the whole law suit thing and how the village had turned against me because of it. The fact that I’d won and the judge and said Mr. Harrington owed me for that year seemed unimportant. Since I’d never seen any of the money awarded me and had needed to flee the village, that was all back in my past now, to be forgotten, so that bitterness didn’t suck out my marrow, as Old Mother used to say. But justice’s inequity was definitely too much for little boys to process, even though Frances nodded like he got it. Carlo was too busy taking a bite out of the apple he’d been given to feed Frey. Frances had a piece of bread, which wasn’t Frey’s favorite, but he’d happily take most goodies from someone offering him a treat. I’d crammed a couple of carrot sticks in my pocket. We’d also had leftover asparagus, but I wasn’t sure Frey would eat that when cooked. Carrot sticks were always a sure thing.
7.5 The Witchling Shama
Frances placed his sandwich down on the plate and leaned forward. “Really? Shama’s going to teach us to read?” he said. “Mom started to do that, but Dad said it was a waste of money to buy books. Mom used to write the alphabet in the dirt, but we never learned all of it. Dad kept telling Mom it was time for her to do something whenever she sat down to teach us. Carlo doesn’t even know the first three letters, but I learned ten of them. Except the b and d. They’re really tough.” All the adults smiled. That was a story, common to most children. I’d always thought it was poor planning on the part of the person who’d invented writing. I would have given those letters completely different characters, like an H with bars at the top and bottom or a W with a pole in the middle. But then, maybe the crossed H and the poled W might also cause a muddle of confusion. Anyway, I told Frances that I couldn’t wait to get started. “I love to read,” I said. “And soon, that will be you, too, having adventures in books. You get to go anywhere you like, even to fly like a bird, if you can find a book like that. And you want to know a secret? Once you learn your letters, you can even make up stories in your head and write them all down. I saw some paper in the attic. We can use that to make books! If that’s okay with Mrs. Penn and Officer Krugle,” I added. “Just for a while,” the woman told me. “Once the boys get caught up, then they can attend school with the other children. Well, Frances can. I’m afraid that Carlo is too young yet. But he can work with you during school hours.” I nodded, taking note that my new job would only be temporary. Our sandwiches were chicken, and we had fresh asparagus and apple slices. Mrs. Penn said it had all come from the town’s restaurant. The boys didn’t comment. They probably didn’t know what a restaurant was. I’d never been to one, unless washing dishes in the back counted. “Can you cook?” Mrs. Penn asked me. I wasn’t a great cook. I’d never had much training, but the house mothers had shown me the basics so that I could help them out in the kitchen. In the last house, I’d cooked all of Mrs. White’s meals because she was always feeling poorly, although she had a good, strong appetite when the food was ready. Sometimes, I wondered how she got along without me, but after I left her house, I was living in the termite-invested lean-to, and I wasn’t willing to go back, even if she’d asked me to. After eating, I asked if Mrs. Penn had been able to get some hay for Frey. She said that Mr. Beanie, who sold food for pets and livestock, had agreed to bring over a few bales later in the evening. Officer Krugle, meanwhile, was discussing favorite foods with the boys. Both of them shouted out, “Candy.” I smiled at that and continued conversing with Mrs. Penn. “I found a shed in the backyard that will be great for keeping Frey’s hay and my tack.” “Officer Krugle.” I rather rudely interrupted his probing about what else the boys liked to eat. I hadn’t meant to. It just slipped out the moment the thought hit me. “Sorry, but will you be able to bring over my saddle and bridle, or do you need me to go get them?” “Sure,” he said, which left me confused. He clarified. “I’ll bring your tack. Right now, it’s in my house, since I returned the buggy. I’ll be glad to get my couch back.” I thanked him and returned to Mrs. Penn. “Do you think Mr. Beanie might have some kind of tub for Frey’s water? The one I’m using now is too shallow. In fact, I need to go out and check on him and fill up the basin again.” Because I’d brought up Frey, the boys wanted to go out and see him. “Yes, but no more riding today.” When I explained that working with horses meant lots of baths, their smiles turned downward. “We only had to take a bath once a month,” Frances said. “Dad said baths weren’t good for our skin.” “But Mommy said that wasn’t true,” Carlo piped up. “Dad didn’t like that. He hit Mommy when she said that.” The little boy’s face paled. I see his mind running through the facts. I guessed even a four year old could start to see such associations. His face was reflecting that not only did he understand that his mommy was gone, but that his father had been the cause. “Yeah, we had to be careful. Dad got mad a lot. We couldn’t make noise either,” Frances said, as he stretched out his hand to place it on his brother’s shoulder. He seemed to realize that his little brother was pondering things that weren’t happy thoughts. I don’t think he knew quite how to pull his brother back to happiness. That would have been a tough goal for even the adults around him.
7.4 The Witchling Shama
I turned back to meet Mrs. Penn’s eyes. “I am sorry for my rudeness in coming downstairs barefoot, but my boots are filthy. I need to clean them.” She waved her hand in a manner that said it wasn’t important. “I’ll take you and the boys to the shoe shop tomorrow. We can get you some new ones.” “No. I can’t . . .” I said, as I took a seat in the spare chair. Mrs. Penn refilled her coffee, then offered me a cup. I shook my head, but Officer Krugle raised his cup for another round. “You will. No excuses. Frank will back me up on this. We can’t have you going about barefoot or in old, dirty boots.” I sighed, then drank half the water in my glass. “Thank you. I’d be happy to pay you back if there’s someone who needs a house cleaner or . . .” Mrs. Penn wagged her finger at me, as if I’d said a swear word or something. “Nonsense, your work is here. You can read, can’t you? You’ve had some schooling, right?” I nodded, embarrassed. I hadn’t finished, though. I’d left when I was ten to earn enough money to pay for food for myself and, then later, Frey, but I was lucky that Mr. Sullivan, the sheriff, had insisted I attend school with the other children in my earlier years. His firmness had apparently caused a rumpus in the village, because the others thought I should do chores during school hours so I could labor more hours to pay for my room and board. “Good, then you can do some instructing in your spare time,” Mrs. Penn said. “That should provide you with some additional wages that will allow you to buy incidentals. But the boots and your clothing will be paid for by the town’s orphanage endowment. As well as your food and the needs of your horse, because I’d already said that was part of the deal.” I’m afraid to say that my mouth was jaw dropping then. It was all too remarkable to believe. In fact, my good fortune left me breathless. “I will be happy to teach the boys, Mrs. Penn. You don’t have to pay me, and I can use Mrs. Smith’s teaching materials that I found up in the attic,” I told her with a big smile. She shook her head and one more wiggled her finger in the air, but she didn’t say anything more. We were busy eating the sandwiches she’d brought us. I’d pulled the meat out of mine and buried it under a heap of cabbage slaw. I wasn’t fond of that anyway. I disliked anything that had mayonnaise in it. Most people made the gooey stuff with raw eggs. Mrs. Bellows had gotten food poisoning from hers. My sandwich, which unfortunately had mayonnaise on the bread, was still plump with chunks of lettuce, a thick slab of cheese, and a couple of slices of tomato, so it was perfectly tasty despite the mayonnaise. I enjoyed the apple slices and carrot sticks, also, which were a real treat, because mostly, when I got them, they went to Frey. After the sandwich, there was even an oatmeal cookie. Wow! I savored mine, nibbling at the edges until every bit of it was gone. Then I wanted to lick my fingers, but, of course, I didn’t. Frances placed his sandwich down on the plate and leaned forward. “Really? Shama’s going to teach us to read? Mom started to do that, but Dad said it was a waste of money to buy books. Mom used to write the alphabet in the dirt, but we never learned all of it. Dad kept telling Mom it was time for her to do something whenever she sat down to teach us. Carlo doesn’t even know the first three letters, but I learned ten of them. Except the b and d. They’re really tough.” All the adults smiled. That was a story common to most children. I’d always thought it was poor planning on the part of the person who’d invented writing. I would have given those letters completely different characters, like an H with bars at the top and bottom or a W with a pole in the middle. But then, maybe the crossed H and the poled W might also cause a muddle of confusion. Anyway, I told Frances that I couldn’t wait to get started. “I love to read,” I said. “And soon, that will be you, too, having adventures in books. You get to go anywhere you like, even to fly like a bird, if you can find a book like that. And you want to know a secret? Once you learn your letters, you can even make up stories in your head and write them all down. I saw some paper in the attic. We can use that to make books! If that’s okay with Mrs. Penn and Officer Krugle,” I added. “Definitely, but just for a while,” the woman told me. “Once the boys get caught up, then they can attend school with the other children. Well, Frances can. I’m afraid that Carlo is too young yet. But he can work with you during school hours.” I nodded, reminding myself that my new job would only be temporary. Our sandwiches had been chicken and we had fresh asparagus spears and apple slices as well as the carrots. Mrs. Penn said it had all come from the town’s restaurant. The boys didn’t seem to care. They probably didn’t know what a restaurant was. I’d never been to one, unless washing dishes in the back counted. “Can you cook?” Mrs. Penn asked me. I wasn’t a great cook. I’d never had much training, but the house mothers had shown me the basics so that I could help them out in the kitchen. In the last house, I’d cooked all of Mrs. White’s meals because she was always feeling poorly, although
7.3 The Witchling Shama
I just couldn’t bear to put the boots back on, not when I was clean and fashionably attired. The other option was to go downstairs barefoot. Would Mrs. Penn send me straight back to my room with a sharply worded rebuke for my impropriety? I glanced once more at the dirty and worn out boots that looked ready for the trash heap and shook my head. No matter the gamble, I just couldn’t put those shoes back on. Resolute, I corrected my posture, something the school principal had always harped on, and made my way down the stairs. I followed the sound of voices into the kitchen, where I found them sitting at the old oak table. Four heads swung around. Officer Krugle gasped. The boys’ eyes practically popped out of their eye sockets. Mrs. Penn merely smiled. “Mommy, you look beautiful,” Carlo said. Frances, who always corrected him when his little brother said that, didn’t utter a word. He was too busy doing a speechless jaw drop. “Thank you again, Mrs. Penn,” I said, sighing from the pleasure of wearing something new (and being clean.) “The dress fits perfectly, and I’ve never had anything so lovely. The trim around the collar and cuffs is marvelous. I would love to meet the person who embroidered the blue daisies. She’s an artist!” “It looks like it was made for you — both the color and design. And yes, Corinne is superb with her handwork. I shall introduce you to her. And I agree that everything about that dress is just right for you. Don’t you think so, Frank?” Officer Krugle had copied Frances’ jaw drop and the boy’s glazed look of astonishment, but he recovered when Mrs. Penn said that. He sighed inwardly, as if he’d just eaten a piece of chocolate and was recalling its deliciousness. “She looks marvelous,” he said, then reddened as if he shouldn’t have chosen that wording. “I mean it’s amazing that she cleaned up so well. Not a speck of dirt on her now.” It was a good save, but I could see that Mrs. Penn was chuckling over both his expression and his clarification.
7.2 The Witchling Shama
I found myself once more admiring the dress in the mirror. Mrs. Penn had found a dress that fit me perfectly. The hem reached clear down to my ankles, and the sleeves cupped at exactly the right spot at my wrists. The tiny blue daises around the collar and sleeves gave the dress a gentle touch, one most of the girls in my houses back in the village had never been lucky enough to have. Embroidery was something that cost extra, and my village hadn’t been known for its wealth, nor had parents been willing to add such frills to a dress, figuring it might make the girl overly proud or vain. But even if the girls had been given such a wondrous gift, I would never have been its recipient. When they outgrew it, they would have removed the collar and cuffs and transferred them to another dress. The dainty blue trim was that special. Besides, I’d never been given a new anything. Even my shoes were hand-me-downs. Speaking of shoes, I looked down at mine. They were serviceable boots, the leather aged and cracking, and right now they held layers of encrusted mud. The boots had once been my pride and joy because they were hard toed, which made them good for riding Frey. They’d been comfortable, too, when I’d purchased them, but I’d outgrown them a while back and hadn’t earned enough money to replace them. Maybe in this new town, I would find a job, something to pay for things like a new pair of boots, a currycomb, brush, some fly spray and some sweets for the little boys. But meanwhile, I was stuck with the overly tight boots. I’d need to get a rag to wipe them off. Some saddle soap would be good, too. I’d add that to my wish list of items to buy.
7.1 The Witchling Shama
I don’t remember ever having such a pleasant and relaxing bath. The water temperature was just right. The soap was sweet-smelling and felt good on my skin, and the shampoo that Mrs. Smith had made, or at least purchased from the local apothecary, not only served its purpose but I was sure had been blended with rosemary and chamomile, and maybe even some nettle, which made hair extra shiny. When I had thoroughly dried myself off, I slipped into my new dress. It fit perfectly in every way, from the length of the hem to the sizing of its long sleeves. The seamstress had even decorated the collar at the neck and the cuffs at the wrists with embroidered blue daisies. It was the most beautiful dress I’d ever worn. I admired it in the mirror and was surprised when I looked at my reflection. The dress made me looked almost pretty. I’d never been called ugly, but in the cast-off dresses I’d worn, no one had ever taken a second look at me. The only attention I’d ever received from the boys in school had been of the negative sort. Several of the children at the various houses I’d lived on had mocked my braids and given them painful tugs, but I wore them primarily that way so that my hair didn’t fall in my face while I was scrubbing floors, tending to babies, or pulling weeds. Thus, few people had ever seen my hair down. In fact, I hadn’t given much thought to the way my hair looked or to its length. Since it was wet, I left it down, wanting it to dry faster. As I brushed it, more to civilize it than anything else, I noticed how long it had gotten — almost touching my waist. It was thick, too. My hair was a rather drab color, not blonde like the admired girls. My locks were a mixture of browns and blacks with a touch of red thrown in for oddness. But beggars can’t be particular, and this is the way I’d come.
6.30 The Witchling Shama
I was still holding the two teddy bears. I turned back to hand them to Mrs. Penn, but she shook her head. “You give those bears to the boys. I think it’s just what they need.” Officer Kruger hadn’t said anything since the moment we climbed down from the attic. I glanced at him, but his face was as uncommunicative as it had been back at the boys’ shack. Up in the attic, I’d felt a moment of closeness with him. Perhaps this was the return of his normal taciturn expression. Maybe he’d just slipped into human for a moment. I smiled at Mrs. Penn and thanked her, then headed for the boys’ rooms. As I’d predicted, both brothers were in Carlo’s room. I knocked. Carlo was the first to get to the door. “Mommy,” he said. Frances corrected him, telling his brother to call me Shama. “Our mother is in heaven.” Carlo’s eyes filled with moisture. He stared at the floor, but then he noticed that I was wiggling something out from under the dress. “What’s that?” he asked. “This one is for you,” I said. “And this one is for Frances’ bed. It will look nice there.” Just as I’d hoped, when Carlo grabbed onto his bear, Frances accepted his, as well. He stared at it a moment. “What do I do with this?” “They first need names. Then?” I shrugged, leaving the matter up to him. “I’m heading for the bathtub. Do either of you need to use the toilet first? I may be in there a long time. I need to soak,” I told them, laughing. They placed their bears on the bed, then ran for the bathroom. No tripping in clothes that didn’t fit them. I smiled as I picked up the nightgowns they’d worn and carried the gowns to my room.
6.29 The Witchling Shama
“We shall strive to draw out more of those smiles,” Mrs. Penn said. “And now, I think it is time for you to take a long bath and relax a bit. I bought you a dress. I hope you like it.” I froze. She’d bought something for me? Again, my eyes glanced at Officer Krugle. Had he authorized that? Would I be beholden to him? Mrs. Penn took out another parcel and unwrapped a full length, baby blue dress. It was beautiful and NEW. I’d always worn hand-me-downs, most of them faded and badly treated. Like the boys, the shock of Mrs. Penn giving me such a present, made my jaw drop, and my mouth gape open. Embarrassingly, my eyes watered. “It’s lovely, Mrs. Penn, but I can’t take it,” I said. My voice cracked, and I swatted at tears. My nose started running, and I was wishing I’d taken one of the rags I’d found in the basement, so I’d have something for such a moment. I remembered how several house owners had scolded me for not carrying a hankie, never realizing that I didn’t have one, and it was my fault for spending every coin on Frey’s needs instead of something practical like that. Officer Krugle handed me a small cloth, the kind meant especially for dealing with sniffles. I took it and thanked him, even more discomfited. Why were they being so nice to me? I used the cloth, then wadded it up in my hand. I hadn’t reached out for the dress, as much as I’d wanted to. Neither of them, apparently understood such things. I guessed I’d have to explain. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Penn, but I don’t have any money. I can’t afford a dress like that, well, any dress, at the moment, and I don’t have any idea when I could pay you back.” I turned to make my escape before they said something that would shame me further, but Mrs. Penn’s hand flew out to grab my elbow. “Nonsense, girl. We have more or less hired you to take care of those boys. You have to have something suitable to wear. I will not hear any more excuses. Now, go get cleaned up. Frank and I will fix something for all of us to eat. You take your time, Shama. When the boys come out, we’ll watch them.” “There are books and toys up in the attic,” I offered, hoping the officer would volunteer to bring them down. “Frank will get them,” Mrs. Penn said, as if the man was a servant she could order around.