ask her how the move had taken place without her driving here. Or, until she could get around to clearing out the decrepit garage at the rear of the property, who had driven her car, which clearly could be seen parked in the drive.
Hoping to divert that direction of thought, she asked, “Do you live there?”
Actually, she’d been blessed in her move. A number of her teacher friends from school had pitched in to truck hers and the children’s few belongings from the old apartment to the house. Although she’d driven her car, as well, piled high with boxes, they’d done it in one clean sweep.
But she’d counted on running errands this afternoon, and buying groceries. What could she do now? She still had three weeks before regaining her driving privileges.
“Yes,” the judge answered, his gaze riveted on her. “We includes you, the children and…?”
“Just us.” She glanced at Kyle. He hadn’t dealt well with his mother’s death and he wasn’t inclined to use Quincee’s softer explanations of what had happened. But Quincee knew Kerri needed the reassurance of knowing where her mother had gone, and so she’d told them what she honestly believed—that Paula now lived in Heaven.
“Yes, we’re a team. We do just fine on our own.” She finished with a firmness she didn’t always feel.
“Oh?” It sounded like a scoff. One of his pronouncements. His jaw hardened, while the gray eyes continued to study her. She almost shivered in their cool depths as he muttered, “I see.”
There was no help for it, this was going to be a difficult neighbor with which to deal. I can do all things through Him Who strengthens me….
Quincee took a deep breath and plunged. “Um, Judge Paxton, Kerri said something about picking cherries?”
“That’s right. These two were in my cherry tree. I have peach and apple trees, too, in the back corner of my yard. The pie cherries are beginning to ripen. I caught your children eating them right from the tree.”
“Kyle? Kerri?” She turned to look at the children. “What do you have to say for yourselves?”
“Nobody else was there,” Kyle said, defending himself. “We didn’t know they weren’t our cherries.”
“You must have known, Kyle. They were on my side of the hedge.”
“Didn’t know it was your yard,” Kyle challenged, defiance in the lines of his stance. “We thought they were just there.”
“Well, you were trespassing the moment you crawled through the hedge. You must’ve known that was wrong.”
“What’s that?” Kyle asked, looking to Quincee for an explanation.
“Going onto someone else’s property without being invited,” she said to supply the explanation. Both the children’s jeans-clad knees were streaked with mud, evidence of their having crawled through the gap in the hedge.
The children had known their limits when they lived in the apartment. The parks she and Paula had taken them to had been open ground offering pure freedom to run as wide and satisfyingly hard as they wished. A yard of their own was new to them.
“That’s right.” Judge Paxton pursed his mouth. His steady gaze, not really unkind, Quincee noted with surprise, locked onto the boy’s before engaging Kerri’s. “And you took something that didn’t belong to you. Do either of you think that is right?”
“No, sir.” Shame came with Kyle’s solid answer, but Quincee could tell he didn’t like the embarrassment that came with it. She’d have a quiet talk with him later.
“No, sir.” Kerri’s eyes began to tear, and her lip trembled.
Quincee’s pride in the children rose. She placed her hand on Kerri’s head. They may have behaved without thought, but they didn’t lie about what they’d done. They understood what it was to tell the truth.
For the first time in her sketchy knowledge of the judge, she heard his voice soften. “Now that we have that out of the way, what do you plan to do about it?”
The children’s troubled glances turned her way.
“I’d be glad to pay you for the cherries,” Quincee offered. “If you’ll tell me what they’re worth.”
“It’s Kyle’s and Kerri’s debt, don’t you think?”
“But they’re very young. They didn’t intentionally steal the fruit.”
“They may be young, Miss Davis, but they’re not too young to learn to take responsibility for their actions. As a teacher, I’d think you would agree with that.”
“Oh, normally, I would. I do. I agree completely,” she was quick to say. “But right at this time it seems…”
His expression hardened, as though he were reminding her of her own recent irresponsibility. Easy excuses, he seemed to say, wouldn’t stand with him.
Quincee bit her bottom lip. She couldn’t pour out any of her problems to this man, not a one. This man would see any explanation as simply more excuses.
“Well, the children don’t have any money.” She wouldn’t tell him they’d spent their allowance on pizza last night to celebrate their new home. The only alternative had been peanut butter and jam sandwiches. Again.
“I don’t want their money,” Judge Paxton said firmly.
Lord, “Love thy neighbor” might take a stretch here, Quincee prayed. Want to give me some help?
“All right,” she conceded. “What will it take to, um, satisfy the debt?”
She didn’t like being in debt to anyone. Especially, she was discovering, she didn’t want to owe this man anything. It felt too much like the court sentence that hung over her head.
“An apology will do for a start.”
“Oh. Of course.” She cleared her throat as she felt color creep up her cheeks. She’d been so put off by the fact of who her neighbor was that she’d been remiss in offering the first common decency of an apology. And after she’d thought to be neighborly and smooth away the problem. “Children?”
“I’m sorry.” Kerri spoke barely above a whisper.
“Sorry,” Kyle mumbled.
“And I apologize, as well, Judge Paxton,” Quincee said. “I’ll make sure the children…” She let her voice trail as an idea sparked her thoughts in a new direction. “Um, perhaps the children could work off their debt.”
The judge glanced at the children once more, seeming to consider the matter with as much gravity as he carried to his position on the bench. “That’s a concept. What can they do?”
“Well,” she said, glancing at the open denim collar. A few inches of tanned throat showed her he wasn’t a stranger to the sun. She wondered how many hours he spent puttering in his yard. She’d noted how neat it always appeared.
She let her gaze drop to the ground. Only the toes of grungy sneakers showed in the hedge’s gap. The man couldn’t be all poker straight and formal if he could let himself go enough to enjoy puttering in the yard.
“Perhaps they can help you with your yard chores. Say for the rest of this morning?”
The judge weighed the offer, his dark lashes flickering from her to the children. Then he commanded the children’s attention. “Kyle. Kerri. Do you agree?’
Kerri nodded eagerly, her face brightening, while Kyle, trying hard not to show any enthusiasm for the idea, spoke for them both. “S’pose so. What do we have ta do?”
It dawned on Quincee that Kyle may be in need of a man’s company. He’d been very young when his parents split, and the kids’ dad, Mac Stillman, hadn’t been seen since