“My belly hurts. She socked me.”
“I saw the whole thing. You started this.”
“But she—”
Her father held up his hand and Graham shut right up.
Kirsty was amazed. She had to pinch her brother or grind her heel into his foot so he’d shut up.
“Boys do not hit girls.”
“But she’s not a girl, Father.” Now Graham was whining. “She’s my sister!”
Boys always whined, Kirsty thought with disgust. Grown up men did too. The arithmetic master whined whenever the class didn’t understand what he was trying to teach them and the school janitor whined when Chester Farriday had pulled his soaked head out of the mop bucket and messed up his clean floor. The pastor even whined when they didn’t know their Bible verses.
She wondered if God whined, then remembered the Bible story about the creation they’d read in Sunday school. Adam had whined to God that it was Eve who had given him the fruit. Considering that, Kirsty figured God probably whined too, since He made Adam in His own image and since men whined in the Bible and the Bible was God’s own word.
Kirsty just stood there very calmly watching her father’s face while he stared down at her brother, who blinked a couple of times before he slowly looked directly at their father and swallowed so hard Kirsty could almost hear the gulping sound of his Adam’s apple. She actually felt a wee bit sorry for Graham. She did play a trick on him after all. It was just so very hard for her to pass up on such a perfect chance to best someone, especially her brother, who so often called her a troll under his breath.
She sighed.
Her father turned to her, his face unreadable, but he ran a hand through his golden hair. He looked away and stared at the floor for a long tense second while he rubbed his forehead like Miss Harrington did when she had one of her many headaches that seem to happen whenever Kirsty was in trouble.
“I will leave you to reacquaint yourself with your children, Mr. MacLachlan. Their belongings are packed and by now should be waiting at the front doors. Good day, sir.” Old Miss Harrington stuck her pointy chin in the air. She turned and “perambulated”—one of last week’s spelling words—out the door with those fragile-looking porcelain bluebirds still clutched to her chest like she was one of those mid-evil knights who had vowed to save holy relics from the heathens. Kirsty always remembered the story of those knights ’cause she never understood why evil men, even if they were only halfway evil, would make a vow to save things for God.
Her father watched the door close, then finally and slowly turned back and looked from her to her brother, who was still sitting on the floor.
“Get up, Graham,” was all he said.
As her brother got up, Kirsty stepped forward before he could do or say something dumb. Besides, she supposed she owed him. And he was her brother.
“Father?”
“What?”
She smiled as brightly as she could, held it for a second or two, then said, “I didn’t drop that brick out of the window onto Mr. Appleby’s head.”
Her father didn’t say anything, but watched her as if he were trying to see the lie or the truth on her face. She was telling a little of both, as usual, so she figured she was safe.
“And Graham didn’t do it either.” She stepped a little in front of her brother and covertly pressed her elbow into his ribs. “Did you, Graham?”
Her brother’s eyes grew wide from the jab of her elbow and shook his head perfectly. He wasn’t as dumb as some boys.
“I suppose that brick fell right out of the sky.”
“Well, not exactly.”
Looking into her father’s eyes was not easy. He seemed to know more than most adults and more than she wanted him to.
After a minute, he gave a bark of laughter that was not at all humorous. “I think for once in his meddling old life, Fergus was right.”
“Right about what, Father?”
“About what I need,” he said distractedly.
There it was: the perfect opportunity for her to change the subject. “What do you need?”
He just stood there for a long silence that to her seemed to stretch endlessly. The whole time he stared at his hands and absently twisted the gold ring he wore. His thoughts weren’t with them. She could see that. He had a faraway look, the same look people got when they were lost and trying to figure out which way to go. She wondered what Fergus had told her father he needed, and if it had to do with them, Graham and her.
