licked at the wood as though savoring the taste. Mary moved the rocker over to the table and invited the preacher and Judd to sit down.
Then she bustled around the stove, arranging cookies on a plate and carrying them over to the table.
âDonât wait for me,â she said, offering the cookies. âYou start and Iâll catch up in a minute.â
The preacher took one and passed the plate to Judd. The boy shook his head, trying still to be as inconspicuous as possible.
âTake one,â the preacher whispered. âYouâll hurt her feelings if you donât.â
The boy tentatively took one cookie and hid it beneath the table.
âTry it,â Mordecai whispered again. âTheyâre good.â He punctuated his words by taking a half-moon bite from his own.
The boy studied him for a moment, and then lifted his cookie and bit off a corner. The cookie was crunchy and sweet and goodâreally good. He stuffed the rest of it into his mouth and reached for another.
The preacher put his hand on Juddâs. âSlowly.â
Mary sat down, waiting for the teakettle to whistle. âWhat city land is this, and what do you need it for ⦠for what do you need it?â she corrected herself.
âWant to put in a garden down by the dump,â the preacher said. âMake a farmer of the boy here.â
Mary studied Judd. Her first impression was the ragged state of the boyâs clothing, and the second was his eyes, black and impervious as the obsidian his people once used for arrow points.
âWhere do you go to school, Judd?â she asked.
Judd turned his eyes to the preacher, hoping Mordecai would speak on his behalf. But the preacher was silent.
âHe speaks English, doesnât he?â Mary asked.
âSometimes,â Mordecai said.
âWhere do you go to school, Judd?â
âDonât,â he said, his voice little more than a whisper.
âWhy not?â
âNo school for us.â
âNo school for Indians?â
âNo school for sinners,â Judd whispered, his voice tight as his face.
âWhy are you a sinner?â Mary asked, her voice soft as the rustle of aspen leaves in a spring breeze.
âThe people are heathens,â Judd explained, laying his shame before the teacher. âI am of the people.â
Rage flared across Maryâs face, hotter even than the fire in the stove.
âHow could you do that to him?â she hissed, fixing the preacher with a withering stare. âHow could you teach him something soâso hateful?â
The preacher threw up his arms and leaned back from the force of her words. âIââ
Judd interrupted, âNot the preacher â¦â
As quickly as Maryâs temper flared, it changed direction.
âThat ugly little man,â she said through gritted teeth. âI should have known. It was the Reverend Eli, wasnât it?â
Judd nodded.
Mary stood so fast her chair almost tipped over backwards. She stalked back and forth across the room, her face black with anger.
âThat ⦠that man!â Mary hissed. âThere is no limit to the hate he spews around him.â
âHe is a man of the cloth,â Mordecai said.
Mary turned to glare at the preacher. âHe may be a man of the cloth, but he is not a man of God.â
âThere is a difference?â
âThere is a difference.â Mary sighed, the anger draining from her. âI didnât mean that as any reflection on you.â
Then her temper flared again. âHow could he do such a hateful thing to this boy?â
Mordecai shrugged. âMaybe a better question is how could he so control a woman like you?â
âControl me?â Mary raged. âHe doesnât control me.â
âHe isnât even here,â the preacher replied, âand still youâre dancing on his string.â
Mary glared at the preacher and then sighed.