Her chin lowered in embarrassment. But how she preferred embarrassment to humiliation—similar emotions, yet so different.
Hemming squatted down to her level and set a wooden dog on top of her book. “For you.”
“For me?” She scooped it into her hand, and a wobbly smile rose. The little dog sat on its haunches, with perky ears and a tilt to his head as if listening. “Oh, Hemming, he’s adorable. Thank you.”
He peered at her with brilliant blue eyes. “What happens if you kick him?”
Else clutched the pup to her chest. “Kick him?”
One nod of that beard of gold and red. “What happens?”
How could anyone kick a sweet dog? But Hemming’s gaze didn’t relent, so she needed to answer. “He—he’d yelp. He’d back away.”
“Bite?”
“He might.”
“Is he still a good dog? A friendly dog?”
She studied his face, the sharp nose and the intensity in his deep-set eyes, and she unraveled his meaning. “I—I can’t bite Mortensen.”
Hemming rested tree trunk arms on his knees. “What do you do when he kicks you?”
Assurance stretched her spine. “He wants me to throw a hysterical fit so I’ll lose standing. But I refuse. I hold my tongue.”
“You are silent.”
“Yes.”
He pushed up to standing, a great unfolding of long torso and long limbs. “Sometimes silence takes much courage.”
A grateful smile rose. Yes, it did.
Hemming returned to his chair and picked up wood and knife. “Sometimes silence is nothing but cowardice.”
Else gasped, and the little dog’s ears poked her fingers.
Hemming glanced her way, grunted, and jerked his head to the side. “I’m sorry. That was ... mean.”
“No, you weren’t mean.” Her mind whirled around his words, around the truth. “I have to figure out which one it is—courage or cowardice.”
“I think you already know,” Laila said in a soft voice.
Else’s eyes slammed shut. She thought she was acting in courage, in humility. But what if failing to confront Mortensen was nothing but cowardice? What if she’d spread false humility over her cowardice—a glossy sheen on an ugly lump of pride?
“I—I’m sorry.” Hemming’s voice sounded strangled.
“Oh, don’t be sorry.” She waited until he met her gaze. “Sometimes telling someone a harsh truth is the kindest thing you can do.”
His expression—she couldn’t decipher it. Shock. Understanding. Disbelief. All in one. As if her words had struck him as hard as his words had struck her.
“I hate seeing you miserable,” Laila said. “It’s getting worse.”
Laila was right. Hemming was right. Nothing would change unless she changed. She gave Laila a feeble smile. “I don’t know how to yelp.”
Laila wrapped her arm around Else’s shoulders. “If I know you, you’ll learn to yelp in a kind and polite manner.”
She leaned into the hug. “You’re a good friend.”
