Free Breaking Matthew by Jennifer H. Westall

goods. And you should know, these times are not made for raising prices. I’d be hurting my own business, just like you’re doing now. Out of respect for my customers, I cannot pay another dime more for advertising.”
    Mr. Adams gave a great big sigh. “But Patrick—”
    “Let’s not squabble over it anymore,” Father interrupted. “You do what you must. Raise the price of the ads. I’ll do what I must. I’ll take my business elsewhere. In fact, I reckon most folks around here know the Doyle name and the quality of our goods without much advertising. I might just cut that out of the budget all together and save my customers even more.”
    There was silence for a good minute. Then Mr. Adams caved, his voice tiny and defeated. “All right, then. I’ll keep your advertising prices the same this year. But only yours. And you can’t go around telling people your price is different from theirs. You do, and I’ll deny it. Then we really will be done doing business together.”
    The chairs scraped across the floor. I figured they were shaking hands, and pictured that look of triumph on Father’s face I’d seen so many times in situations like this. Sliding quietly back across the room, I took a seat in a chair across from Era. A couple of minutes later, Mr. Adams shuffled through the door like a dog with his tail between his legs. He didn’t even look at me as he mumbled a quick “Good day” to Era.
    I hoped with a fresh victory on his plate, Father’d be softened up enough for my request. But in all honesty, I knew what was coming. At least, I thought I did.
    I closed his office door behind me. “Morning, Father.”
    He barely glanced up from the papers he was reading on his desk. “I thought you left for Nashville this morning.”
    “Something’s come up I need to talk with you about.”
    “Oh? What’s that?”
    “The sheriff just arrested Ruby.” I waited for him to look up with some decent amount of concern, but he turned one paper over and started reading another. “Calhoun’s saying what she done was murder, but it wasn’t. It was self-defense. Now the sheriff’s taking her down to the jail.” I paused again. Nothing. “I want to help her out. She ain’t gonna be able to pay her bond or afford a decent lawyer. Surely we can help—”
    “We?” He finally looked up at me. “I thought you said you wanted to help her out. What’s this we business?”
    I’d only asked Father for money once in my entire life. That was enough to know I’d never do it again unless it was an absolute emergency. “Her bond hasn’t been set yet. I figure it might be a couple thousand. I can cover that with my savings. But a lawyer might run more than I can muster. I’d pay you back every penny and interest if need be.”
    “You’d pay me back? What about Ruby? Would she pay you back?”
    “No, sir. I couldn’t ask her to do that.”
    He stood and walked around to the front of his desk, leaning back onto it as he gave me a look that made me feel about four inches tall. “So let me make sure I understand this. You want to use your pitiful savings—the money you been saving up since you were a teenager, money I gave you while working in my stores—to get Ruby out of jail and get her a lawyer? And you have no intention of Ruby paying you back a dime?”
    “That about sums it up.” I rubbed my hands together, trying to wipe off the sweat.
    He crossed his arms and let out a long sigh. “Son, I’ve done the best I can to raise you with a good head on your shoulders, with a sense for smart decisions, but I have to tell you this is the dumbest thing you’ve ever said.” Heat rushed up my neck and face, as he shook his head and kept on going. “Now, I’m going to try to pretend you didn’t just come in my office and say those things, and you get yourself on up to Nashville. You need to concentrate on getting a job and providing for your future wife and family.”
    “Father, I respect what you’re