At Home on Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [104]
“I sold some stuff,” he replied with a shrug. “That fancy iPod was nice, but I got too much to do to be fooling with it.” There was a small sound of protest from Bridget, but he went on. “And Jonesie gave me twenty-five dollars apiece for some of my paintings,” he added with an unmistakable note of pride. “He thinks he can sell them to tourists out of his store. He said that job of his is still open, too, but I’ve got to have your permission before he’ll hire me.” He was speaking faster now. “Two afternoons and a half day on Saturday, unloading trucks and stocking shelves. I turn sixteen in six months, and I can get a legal license, so getting back and forth to work won’t be a problem and I can keep up with my chores here and my schoolwork, too. And he said he’ll give me a discount on hardware—I had to talk him into that one, though—which I figure we’re gonna need, rebuilding the barn. It’s gonna take a while,” he admitted, “but I found a place that sells salvage lumber, and we should be able to get her back up again for a couple of thousand if we do all the work ourselves.”
Cici had her hand at her mouth and was blinking hard. Lindsay’s eyes were lowered; she was looking much too intently at the roll of money in her hand.
“No point in carrying on so,” Noah went on, but his brows drew together sharply to hide his distress, and it was with obvious determination that he added, “I figured it was only right I should pay for the barn since”—he squared his shoulders—“it was on the account of me that it burned down.”
All the women stared at him, but he did not flinch.
“I was smoking behind the barn,” he said. “I know I told you I wouldn’t and it was wrong, and I ain’t gonna do it again, and I’m gonna work until every last nail is paid for and that’s a promise. If you want me to, that is,” he added, and for the first time he let his anxiety show. “If you’ll let me stay.”
“Oh, Noah,” Bridget said fervently, “we want you to stay more than anything else in the world.”
“This is your home for as long as you want it,” Cici assured him. “That’s a promise.”
Lindsay, for a moment, didn’t seem to be able to say anything at all. She simply stared at the roll of bills clutched in her hand. At last she managed, “Noah, you didn’t start that fire. The fire marshal said it was overheated wiring.”
For a moment relief flashed in his eyes, and his shoulders sagged visibly. Then he stiffened with determination. “I still want to pay my share.”
Lindsay said, with an effort, “Noah, we need to talk about something.”
His shoulders sagged again. “I know you’re mad at me,” he said. “I don’t blame you for wanting to kick me out.”
She was shaking her head. “No. It’s not that. I don’t want to kick you out. I want you to stay. I want it so badly that—”
Outside in the yard a car door slammed, and Rebel began his raucous barking. Lori rushed to the window. “It’s the social workers again,” she reported. “Only there’s a different one this time.” She rushed to the door. “I’ll get Rebel.”
Noah looked at them in confusion. “What’re they doing here again? Did ya’ll call them to find me?”
Cici, Bridget, and Lindsay exchanged a desperate, helpless look. They could hear Lori outside, greeting the visitors and shouting Rebel away. Ida Mae went to the door.
Lindsay forcefully relaxed her features, and it was as though the very act of doing so forced a measure of calm to steal over her. “Noah,” she said, laying a hand lightly upon his arm, “hang around for a minute, will you? There’s someone we want you to meet.”
Ida Mae escorted the two women inside. Carrie looked nervous, although she greeted them with her usual grace. Mandy looked frail and strained and timid, with her dark eyes and her black sweater and her hands clutching her purse. She looked around the big house, with its cobwebs and its dusty chandelier, as though she had never seen anything so fine.
“Oh my,” she said softly. “What a lovely home.”
Then her gaze fell on Noah, and her expression softened.