eased his fingers onto Bessie and put his back square between me and his pa. “I, uh, I spooked ’em. Didn’t mean to, Pa. I just cracked a stick and it sent them into some sort of nervous spell. I didn’t mean to, really.”
Mr. Feagans lashed out and smacked Frank Charles full on the mouth. Shag started to rise, but I stopped her. There was no sound at all. Frank Charles put his hand to his cheek and mumbled “Sorry” over and over.
The cows followed Mr. Feagans’s sharp command, and he started behind them. “Come on, boy. Got to get some bags, try and save some of that meat. God a’mighty, but you’re one sorry excuse of a son.”
Frank Charles took one deep breath but didn’t look back. I know he saw me. I know he saw James. And now I’ve told you.
What will happen to us, Miss Anderson? What will happen to us now?
Frank Charles is a surprise.
I had to snatch a minute with him on the way home — no easy feat with that nosy Laura Westover. Of course, she thinks Frank Charles is pretty low on the list of important people, so she doesn’t do much with him for the most part. I cornered him where he cuts off the path to head home.
“What are you going to do?”
He turned to me with a blank look on his face.
“Do?”
“I know you saw me. What are you going to do?”
He shrugged. “Nothing.”
I can’t stand worrying about stuff like that, waiting to see. I pushed it. “I know you’re going to tell. Let’s just get it over with.”
“I’m not doing anything about anything,” he said. “We got most of the meat.”
“And the building?” Shag was circling us and watching closely.
He shrugged again.
“Why are you taking the blame for me?”
He shook his head. “Wasn’t you. I saw your brother and those boys.”
I wanted to lie, Miss Anderson, but you know I’m pretty bad at that. I kept looking at him.
He shrugged
again.
But then he continued talking. “I don’t really know. Seems like things just got out of hand. I’d gone up there hoping to run into Shag, and I heard your brother talking. At first he sounded — I don’t know — sad or something. And then he started sounding mad, and then things got all mixed up. I get mixed up sometimes.
“But my pa wouldn’t understand that, about James. Or me, really. He doesn’t seem to ever get mixed up. He always knows what he thinks.” Frank Charles wouldn’t look me in the eye, but he stared at Shag. His hands were going in and out of his pockets. “He tells me what I should think, what’s right and wrong. And he’s my daddy, you know. But sometimes, I just don’t know what’s right. He’ll do something and it feels, um, ugly or mean or something. I get mixed up then. I just don’t always know what’s right. You know what I mean?”
I knelt and slid my hand down Shag’s warm, soft back. “I know.”
He sat down in the dirt and put his hand toward Shag. He paused and looked at me, his eyes questioning and hopeful. I gave a little nod, and Shag shuddered just a little as Frank Charles Feagans, the boy who made me Moon Child, the boy who’s protecting my brother, the boy who surprised me more than I can say, passed his hand one, two, three times down the length of Shag’s body, drawing comfort from the dog he admires almost as much as I do.
I didn’t say thank you but I should — I suppose you aren’t going to tell on James or me. Your little note in my journal, about all being well, makes me believe you kind of think like Frank Charles. Thank you. How many times will I end up saying thank you to you in this one little journal? And when you thanked me, I guessed you figured that I’m Frank Charles’s friend now and well . . . I guess I am.
James stopped me when Shag and I came back from Mr. McKenna’s. “Went over and helped Mr. Feagans fix the shed today.” He kept stacking wood, but he looked me in the eye.
“I’m glad.”
“Thought a lot, after you jumped in, trying to help. And you didn’t tell.
Mr. Feagans lashed out and smacked Frank Charles full on the mouth. Shag started to rise, but I stopped her. There was no sound at all. Frank Charles put his hand to his cheek and mumbled “Sorry” over and over.
The cows followed Mr. Feagans’s sharp command, and he started behind them. “Come on, boy. Got to get some bags, try and save some of that meat. God a’mighty, but you’re one sorry excuse of a son.”
Frank Charles took one deep breath but didn’t look back. I know he saw me. I know he saw James. And now I’ve told you.
What will happen to us, Miss Anderson? What will happen to us now?
Frank Charles is a surprise.
I had to snatch a minute with him on the way home — no easy feat with that nosy Laura Westover. Of course, she thinks Frank Charles is pretty low on the list of important people, so she doesn’t do much with him for the most part. I cornered him where he cuts off the path to head home.
“What are you going to do?”
He turned to me with a blank look on his face.
“Do?”
“I know you saw me. What are you going to do?”
He shrugged. “Nothing.”
I can’t stand worrying about stuff like that, waiting to see. I pushed it. “I know you’re going to tell. Let’s just get it over with.”
“I’m not doing anything about anything,” he said. “We got most of the meat.”
“And the building?” Shag was circling us and watching closely.
He shrugged again.
“Why are you taking the blame for me?”
He shook his head. “Wasn’t you. I saw your brother and those boys.”
I wanted to lie, Miss Anderson, but you know I’m pretty bad at that. I kept looking at him.
He shrugged
again.
But then he continued talking. “I don’t really know. Seems like things just got out of hand. I’d gone up there hoping to run into Shag, and I heard your brother talking. At first he sounded — I don’t know — sad or something. And then he started sounding mad, and then things got all mixed up. I get mixed up sometimes.
“But my pa wouldn’t understand that, about James. Or me, really. He doesn’t seem to ever get mixed up. He always knows what he thinks.” Frank Charles wouldn’t look me in the eye, but he stared at Shag. His hands were going in and out of his pockets. “He tells me what I should think, what’s right and wrong. And he’s my daddy, you know. But sometimes, I just don’t know what’s right. He’ll do something and it feels, um, ugly or mean or something. I get mixed up then. I just don’t always know what’s right. You know what I mean?”
I knelt and slid my hand down Shag’s warm, soft back. “I know.”
He sat down in the dirt and put his hand toward Shag. He paused and looked at me, his eyes questioning and hopeful. I gave a little nod, and Shag shuddered just a little as Frank Charles Feagans, the boy who made me Moon Child, the boy who’s protecting my brother, the boy who surprised me more than I can say, passed his hand one, two, three times down the length of Shag’s body, drawing comfort from the dog he admires almost as much as I do.
I didn’t say thank you but I should — I suppose you aren’t going to tell on James or me. Your little note in my journal, about all being well, makes me believe you kind of think like Frank Charles. Thank you. How many times will I end up saying thank you to you in this one little journal? And when you thanked me, I guessed you figured that I’m Frank Charles’s friend now and well . . . I guess I am.
James stopped me when Shag and I came back from Mr. McKenna’s. “Went over and helped Mr. Feagans fix the shed today.” He kept stacking wood, but he looked me in the eye.
“I’m glad.”
“Thought a lot, after you jumped in, trying to help. And you didn’t tell.
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