True to the Law Read Free Page A

gave her away, she thought. She had been told they were a merry shade of green, a color, according to her father, that could not be easily captured by an artist’s palette because the substance of it was a quality of character as much as a quality of light. It was a fanciful notion, but one she brought to mind when she was in danger of taking herself too seriously.
    Now was such a time. She relaxed her spine and leaned forward, unclasping her hands as Finn moved to the stove to add coals. She smoothed back a wayward coil of hair that had been pushed out of place by her brief encounter with the wind. She could not help but notice that Finn’s eyes followed this small movement, and when her hand fell away from her hair, he remained exactly as he was a moment longer, transfixed. She could only guess at what he was thinking.
    “Are you tempted to give my hair a tug?” she asked.
    Finn blinked. “How’s that again, ma’am?”
    “I wondered if you were tempted to yank on my hair.”
    He ducked his head, cheeks flushing, and hurried to the stove. “Uh, no. No, ma’am.” Finn used the sleeve of his shirt like a mitt to open the stove door and tossed half a scoop of coals inside. “Wasn’t tempted at all.”
    Tru watched Finn poke at the fire and warm himself in front of the stove long enough to provide an explanation for his rosy cheeks. “I just wondered,” she said. “After all, my hair is the same color as Priscilla’s.”
    Finn turned his backside to the stove and stared at her. “I sure hope you’ll pardon me for setting you straight, Miss Morrow, but you ever hear tell of a man named Rumple Sticks?”
    “Rumpelstiltskin?”
    “That’s the fellow. You know of him?”
    “I believe I’ve heard of him.”
    “That’s good because I couldn’t explain it all. Rabbit’s better with stories than I am. Well, anyway, I can see you want me to get on with it. It’s like this: Priscilla’s got hair that puts me in mind of the straw that Mr. Stiltskin wanted for his spinning wheel, and your hair is what Mr. Stiltskin spun it into. So you see, one color’s not at all like the other. Yellow. Gold. I got some idea there’s a big difference.” Finn rocked back on his heels. “Besides, you got your hair lassoed so tight to your head that it would be hard to know what thread to pull.”
    Now it was Tru who blinked and blushed. “How old are you again, Finn?”
    “Ten. Or I will be soon enough.”
    “So you’re nine. Maybe you shouldn’t be in such a hurry to grow up.”
    Finn moved away from the stove and shut the door. “That’s what everyone says. Even Rabbit. He’s eleven and thinks he can say things like that now. Sort of like he’s wise. He’s not.”
    Tru knew better than to make any judgment on Rabbit’s wisdom. Finn was certain to carry the tale, and it did not take much provocation to start a war of words between the brothers. She’d seen them use elbows and fists like periods and exclamation points to punctuate their threats.
    “Sit down, Finn, and clean your slate. I trust that given sufficient contemplation you’ll arrive at what you need to write.”
    His shoulders slumped, and he jammed his hands in his pockets. “Suppose I will.”
    “You’ll read it to the class tomorrow morning, first thing after prayers.”
    He grimaced but slid into his seat without a word.
    “And perhaps at the end of the day, you will be so kind as to help me clean all the slates.” She reasoned that if she found small tasks for him to do, he might not choose getting into trouble in order to remain in her company. He would probably tire of that soon enough. This was her first encounter with a boy’s infatuation, and she had been slow to recognize it for what it was. Her sense was that it would pass quickly. She thought she might be a little sorry when it did.
    * * *
    Tru left the schoolhouse ten minutes after Finn shuffled out. He had done everything he could think of to draw out his time. She admired his