At Home on Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [81]
“Well, he’ll recognize the pictures of the house if you try to sell Aunt Lindsay’s photographic plates, and the first person he’ll call to buy them is her.”
He scowled. “I ain’t selling anything that’s not mine. She said I could borrow them to draw from and I gave them back. And if you say different I’ll call you a liar.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s the way to get a ride into town.” She started back toward the pond.
“How come you’re going to so much trouble to get this thing running again, anyway?”
For a moment it seemed she wouldn’t answer. And then she said, with a nonchalance in her tone that wasn’t entirely convincing, “Mostly because nobody thinks I can.”
“I can help.”
She gave him a disparaging look. “I don’t need your help, thank you.”
“Oh yeah? What do you know about mixing cement?”
Frowning, Lori traced the orange cord back to the pond, and to the pump that was waiting there. “I don’t have any cement.”
“Maybe you could trade the chickens for some. And another thing. You’re going to want to—”
She plugged in the pump and jumped back as a geyser of filthy water shot six feet in the air. She stood watching in dismay as Noah finished, “Hook up a garden hose to that pump before you plug it in.”
Lori ducked down and jerked the plug out of the extension cord as she watched the geyser sink, and then disappear. She sat back on her heels, eyeing Noah suspiciously. “Why do you want to help?”
He shrugged, hands in pockets. “Clear to see you can’t do it by yourself. Besides . . .” His eyes shifted away from hers. “I ain’t gonna be here that much longer. It’d be kind of nice to think there was something around here that I’d done. Something that’d be here for a while.”
Lori regarded him skeptically. “Oh yeah? So where are you going now?”
“Don’t matter. Maybe wherever the social worker sends me. Maybe somewheres else. But they ain’t gonna let me stay here.”
“They would if you asked them to.”
He gave a derisive snort. “Shows what you know. Nobody gives a damn what I have to say.”
“You’re such an idiot. Haven’t you ever heard the phrase ‘in the best interest of the child’? You hear it all the time on Court TV. That means the only thing the social workers are supposed to care about is what you have to say. If you’d just stand up straight, and be polite, and stop saying ‘ain’t,’ and tell them where you want to live, they’d have to listen to you.”
He scowled at her. “That’s crazy.”
“It’s true.”
The scowl deepened. “You want me to help you build this thing or not?”
She squinted up at him, the sun in her eyes. “You’re just a kid. You’ll screw it up.”
“You’re just a girl. You’ll screw it up worse.”
Her eyes narrowed further. “I’m the one with the Am-Ex card.”
“Yeah, well.” He rocked back on his heels. “I can make it look like the picture.”
She studied him for a time. “Can you really?”
“I drew it, didn’t I?”
She thought about it another minute, and then stood, brushing off her hands. “Okay, you can help,” she decided. “But I’m in charge. Is that clear?”
“Sure.” He grinned. “Now, how is it you mix cement again?”
She glared at him. “Just shut up and get the garden hose.”
Carrie explained earnestly, “It’s really not so hard to understand how something like this might have happened, although I’m awfully sorry it did. Noah and his father only moved here ten years or so ago, and he told everyone his wife was dead. We had no reason to suspect otherwise. And Noah never really came into the system formally—through proper channels, I mean. When his dad died last winter, you ladies were kind enough to take him in, and the Reverend Holland asked us to expedite the paperwork, so . . .” She spread her hands helplessly and leaned back in her chair. “We did. It’s not an excuse, and I suppose the fault does lie with this office to a certain extent, but this is a small town and it’s not the first time we’ve cut through a little red tape for the well-being of a child.”
Cici said, “We’re not blaming anyone. It’s just . . .” She gave a shake of her head, as though trying to clear a fog. “How can his mother be alive?