"What do you know of my type, little sister?" Johnny asked, one eyebrow raised.
"Oh, I watch. And, I learn," Teresa said, lightly, reaching for another roll from the platter in front of her.
"Is that so?" Johnny challenged.
"It's so," Teresa verified. "You're not as transparent as you think, brother dear."
"I didn't know as I was tryin' for being transparent," Johnny began.
Murdoch cleared his throat. "Let's move to another topic," he said, eyeing them both, and looking somewhat amused. "This seems as though
it could lead to something that may not be the best."
Teresa gave Johnny a smile that was more of a smirk. "Alright, Murdoch," she said, agreeably, and held out the platter of rolls to Johnny. "More rolls?"
Johnny took one, still giving her the 'eye', and after that, Teresa met Charlie's eyes with her own. An unspoken message floated between them. Teresa was letting Charlie know that she'd done her best to veer Johnny in another direction from Charlie herself. Charlie felt too upset to smile at her, but she let her own eyes
say that she recognized and appreciated the effort.
When the meal was finished, and Teresa began clearing the table, she said, quietly, "Want to help me, Charlie?" as an invite.
Again, Charlie knew that Teresa was trying to ease some of her discomfort and awkwardness that she was feeling, by giving her an out to
being around the Lancer menfolks.
Charlie nodded, and began to gather dishes up as well.
When they were doing up the dishes together, Murdoch came thru to pour himself a cup of coffee from the pot on the stove.
He paused, cup in hand, and Charlie would have known he was there even if she hadn't seen him walk in. Murdoch seemed to simply fill up a room
somehow. With his very size. And also with his presence. He was, Charlie thought, larger than life sometimes.
"You did a fine job on supper," he told Teresa, who turned to smile at him.
"Thank you," she said.
Charlie kept from turning around, and kept on with her job of wiping the plates dry with her cloth.
"When you're finished here, would you like to come and sit with me?" Murdoch asked. "And draw for a bit?" And then, as clarification as to who
he was speaking to, he added, "Charlie?"
Charlie felt her face get hot, just from his invitation. She did not want to go into the library and sit with Murdoch, drawing in their
sketchbook, as though everything was just as usual. Scott would be in there, too, probably, and Johnny. Charlie felt reluctance wash over her
like a wave. She knew it wasn't right, that it was on the cusp of being rude, to not turn to look at Murdoch to answer him. Still, she just couldn't. She kept her back
to him, wiping one of the plates with the pattern of sunflowers dry, and said, very quietly, "No, thank you. I have to do my handwriting homework."
Teresa was shooting Charlie a look that encouraged her to accept Murdoch's invitation.
There was a moment or more of silence from Murdoch after Charlie's reply, and then she felt his big body just behind her. He didn't force her to
turn and look at his face. But he said, to the back of her head, "I'd really like it if you would." His tone of voice was kind. Not as though he
was angry, or demanding.
And, then, he laid a big hand on Charlie's shoulder. Only for the smallest of moments. Then he walked on, returning to the direction that he'd
come from.
Into the next minutes of silence in the kitchen, Teresa spoke. "You should go with him. You'll feel better if you do."
"He probably just wants to holler at me, too," Charlie said.
"Did he sound as though that's want he wanted to do?" Teresa countered. "He's just-reaching out to you, trying to help."
"So you don't think he'll say anything at all about what I did?" Charlie challenged, laying down the dish cloth.
"I didn't say that he wouldn't say anything at all," Teresa said. "I just think-if you talk to him, you'll find him more understanding than
what you're thinking."
"Well," Charlie said, accepting that Teresa might be correct, "Maybe so."
"It's not that Scott's not understanding, either," Teresa said. "He understands-he just has to take a different role about it, that's all."
"That's all?" Charlie echoed, keeping her voice low. "You make it sound as though it was nothing, and it wasn't nothing, Teresa! It was so horrible-"
Charlie's voice broke off, and her eyes filled with fresh tears.
"Ah, Charlie, don't," Teresa said, reaching out to wrap an arm around Charlie. "It will all blow over in a few days. If you talk to Murdoch, and then
have a good talk with Scott, a really really good talk, then you'll see that things will get back to normal."
"Things won't be normal, ever again," Charlie denied. "Scott doesn't want to understand me. He didn't even listen, and he spanked me
too hard. He was mad when he did it, and he always said that he wouldn't punish me when he was angry. He broke his promise."
"Charlie, of course he was angry," Teresa said, sounding as though her patience was waning. "You did a very, very dangerous thing. He was
scared out of his wits-"
"I'm going out to my swing," Charlie interrupted, brushing off Teresa's arm. "Will you tell any of them if they ask where I am? I don't want
to be in trouble for anything else."
Teresa looked vaguely disapproving, but she only sighed, and said, "Yes. I'll tell them if they ask."
Charlie realized that she should show her gratitude to Teresa for her help at the supper table earlier. She needed an ally in this house
of Lancers. She paused. "Thank you, Teresa."
"You're welcome," the older girl said. "Go on and swing. It will make you feel better."
Charlie doubted that, but didn't say so. She went out the back door, and across the yard to her blue swing. She eased herself up into the
seat of the swing. It didn't hurt quite so much now to sit down.
She pumped herself, higher and higher, closing her eyes against the sky. She kept swinging, not sure how much time had passed by.
When she opened her eyes, it was to see Johnny standing there, leaning against the other side of the tree that the swing was
attached to. He was just standing there, silently, his arms crossed.
Charlie felt her throat tighten and her heart pound. She stopped pumping until the swing slowed down, and then put out a foot,
slowing herself to a gradual stop, dirt rising around her shoe.
Charlie thought to say 'hi, johnny' or some other way of greeting. But, she lost her nerve at his intense expression, and stayed
quiet.
"You've had an eventful week or so, I hear," Johnny said. He said it matter-of-factly, not raising his voice. Just more flatly.
Still, Charlie said nothing. She didn't respond with a nod of her head. She only kept her eyes on his face.
Johnny pushed himself off of the tree, and came to stand in front of Charlie, and then he crouched down, picking a strand of grass
between his fingers. In this position, he was nearly level with Charlie as she sat in the swing, so that they were face to face.
"I'm real disappointed in you," Johnny said.
Charlie, who'd thought she couldn't feel much worse, felt her heart constrict with pain.
"I knew you would be," she said, so low he had to strain to hear.
"It didn't keep you from doin', though. Did it?" Johnny countered. "The thought of me bein' disappointed?"
"I guess it didn't," Charlie admitted.
Johnny took the blade of grass between his hands and tore it in two. Gently. As if he was concentrating on the task itself.
"I wanted to help the animals," Charlie said. She knew it wouldn't alter his feelings, but she still said it.
Johnny didn't outright respond to that comment. Instead, he said, "Goin' the rest of your life without toes or a foot would have
been somethin' you have no idea about."
Charlie couldn't help the shudder then. The image of that mother fox, all mangled and bent was unnerving. There was no response to his
statement that would help her, or make him feel differently.
So, she said, "I guess you won't want me 'round you after this," very quietly.
Again, Johnny didn't respond to her exact comment. For a long few moments he seemed to consider the split blade of grass in his hand
as though it held true meaning. Then he tossed it to the side on the ground.
"I told ya not to go where the baby foxes were, after that first time," Johnny said. "Ya didn't listen. And that's even knowin' what you did
about the danger you put yourself into."
"I'm sorry, Johnny," Charlie said, nearly a whisper.
Johnny's vivid blue eyes met her brown ones. He gave a brief nod, so brief that Charlie wasn't sure she hadn't imagined it. He stood up,
brushing his hand on his pants.
"We'll talk about this some more, another time," Johnny said.
Now Charlie had to look up at him.
"Will you still let me hang 'round with you?" she asked, hearing the plaintive note to her own voice. "Sometimes, Johnny?"
Johnny turned at the sound of the back door opening and then slapping shut. Scott was stepping out, though he didn't approach the two
of them right then.
"You let me down," Johnny said, in a tone that seemed as though it made him sad to have to say it. Charlie was sure that was it. He was getting
ready to say that he didn't want her hanging around him, dogging his boot steps, asking him questions-
Her heart dropped in preparation for that.
"That doesn't mean that I won't forgive ya. Or still spend time with ya," he said.
A sense of relief washed over Charlie, and she felt her eyes prick with tears again.
At her look of relief he added, "That also doesn't mean that I don't think you need punishin'. I'll have to give it some thought."
Now Charlie looked at him with horror. "You mean you're gonna spank me?" she asked, feeling panicked. Two spankings?
"I didn't say spankin', necessarily," Johnny said. "Like I said, I'll have to give it some thought."
His gaze drifted over towards Scott again.
"I think Scott's wantin' to talk to ya," he said.
"No. He doesn't," Charlie said swiftly, very low.
Johnny's expression was one of surprise. "What's this?" he asked.
"He doesn't want to. He's-" she hesitated. "Finished," Charlie added, so low that Johnny didn't catch the word.
"He's what?" he questioned.
"Nothing," Charlie said, turning her face from his his, to look up into the tree above.
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