8.2 The Witchling Shama
Frances had hesitated a moment, still picking up emotions from the air, but he sprang up then and made his way to my side in a rush as great as Carlo’s. He also flung himself at me, surrounding my body with his arms and practically smothering his little brother as he did so. But Carlo didn’t even squeak. He just fastened his barnacles tighter. “Carlo and I love you,” Frances said. “And I agree with my brother. Mommy’s gone. She can’t ever come back. And like Carlo said, I want you to be our mommy. Please stay with us forever and ever.” Once more I could barely breathe. My emotions were too intense for that. I had people who loved me. For the first time ever! The thought pierced my soul and gave me such a flooding of happiness that I could barely believe in the wonder of it. I was loved! What a joyous thought. What an astounding revelation. In addition to that I still had a temporary home. I wasn’t being kicked out. I pulled Frances up onto my lap beside Carlo and hugged them both, then kissed each of their darling little faces with a noisy pucker. Frances, at the age when such things might be offensive, sighed with happiness, then stretched up to kiss me back. His kiss was slightly wet on my cheek, but I didn’t mind. It conveyed everything I’d always wanted, someone who loved me. “Yes, I’ll stay,” I told them, which came out as croaky as a meadow pond frog’s call. “Yes, I’ll stay with you, and I’ll try to be like your mother. I won’t be as good as your real mommy was because I don’t know that much about being one. You’ll have to teach me sometimes, okay?” “Mrs. Penn, too,” Frances said. “She can teach you. She knows everything.” “Yeah,” Carlo piped up. “She knows how to cook. But you know horses. That’s big.” I laughed, and then I looked up at the two adults still sitting at the table. Mrs. Penn cleared her throat and gave me a thumbs up. I glanced over at Officer Krugle, but his face wasn’t reflecting anything. He abruptly stood up, and without saying another word, left the table. I heard the front door close behind him with a large bang. Strange man, I thought. Couldn’t he have said something, even if merely to bid us a farewell? But my view of the world was limited by the scant contact I’d had with other males. Some of them had been kind, like the blacksmith and the vet, Dr. Peters. They’d never glared at me, then raged off, slamming a door without reason. I had lived in many households with pseudo fathers, but they’d never paid any attention to me, ignoring my presence among their children, unless, as I got older, it was to grumble over the food I’d prepared or to point out a spot they’d noticed on a window that I’d missed. So, what did I know about the male species? Besides, I’d never met anyone quite like Officer Krugle. Maybe he was a one of a kind. I sighed, but then squeezed my boys once again and smiled at Mrs. Penn.
8.1 The Witchling Shama
The boys had been watching this scene with big eyes, eyes full of fear. Their small rolling toys were held firmly grasped in their hands. Neither of them were playing with them or fidgeting in their seats as they usually did. Maybe they’d been finding the air as difficult to breathe in as I had. “You can’t go. You’re our new mommy,” Carlo wailed and bolted up out of his chair to launch himself at my legs, where he clung like a sea barnacle, wailing banshee-like. “Hold it!” Officer Krugel yelled out, his voice almost drowning out Carlo’s, although one was high pitched and heart stopping, while his was deep-throated and panicked. “That’s not what I said. That’s not what I meant! “Carlo, stop that. Let me speak,” he shouted. Maybe the banshee’s wail lowered a decibel, but Carlo’s tears didn’t. He was sobbing bathtub overflow quantities. I had my hand on the boy’s back, trying to soothe him, wondering what I could say that wasn’t a lie, although I was avidly watching the officer’s face, trying to read it to make sense of the words: that’s not what I meant. Resigned to speaking over the full-blown storm going on at my knee, the man continued, again in yell mode. “I only wanted to know if you were happy here. I wasn’t suggesting anything else.” I opened my mouth to take in air, hope breathing for me. My heart slowed from top speed to race worthy. I froze on the man’s face, searching it, trying to figure out what was going on. “Shama, as Mrs. Penn said, you’ve been doing a fine job. The board is meeting this evening, which is the reason I stopped by. I just wanted to know if everything was okay on your end. I needed to ask if we could count on you to stay?” His words sounded rushed and frantic, like he was desperate to undo what he’d unknowingly done. I let out a squeaky breath, drew in a shaky gulp of air, patted Carlo’s head, and then lifted him into my lap. “Everything’s good,” I told the child. “Carlo, it’s going to be okay. I’m not going anywhere. I love you guys too much. They’d have to pry me away from . . .” Whoops, not a good thing to say. I sounded both needy and demanding. I corrected my sentence. “I’m never willingly leaving you and Frances. I promise.” Luckily, the officer didn’t pick up on the unimplied threat flowing from my relief bubble. His eyes scanned Carlo, then me, then glanced at Mrs. Penn. What he saw freed him slightly from the tense moment. He breathed a sigh of relief, and said, “Good, that’s all settled.” Only it wasn’t. Not with Mrs. Penn. She was still glaring at him, her eyes stern, her head a shake of irritation, and her posture looked like she was thinking about throwing something at the officer. “I should knock you on the head with a newspaper,” she issued with a most unladylike hiss of scorn. “You have aged this poor girl’s heart several years with those careless words of yours. And you can see what you did to little Carlo here. You have to be cautious with your words, Frank. Shama’s not one of those criminals or drunkards you usually consort with. Shama has feelings.”