“It’s the same kind of blanket Fergus wears.”
“I expect it’s good then. But wouldn’t you like to go inside?”
Geoffrey looked rebellious. “Tom ripped at me,” he replied. “But I had to go out.”
“You know you’re not allowed to go riding alone.”
“Ihadto,” the boy insisted.
He sounded so vehement, as if this was more than simple disobedience. “Why?” she asked.
“Papa said, ‘An honorable gentleman makes things right,’” Geoffrey replied.
As far as Jean knew, it was the first time he’d ever called BenjaminPapa. Her throat tightened at the sound of the word in his high, little voice. “Indeed, that’s a good rule.”
“That’s why Ihadto.”
“You had to go out this morning to make something right?”
Geoffrey nodded, seeming pleased that she’d understood at last.
“What thing was it?”
He looked away, not a good sign.
“Was it something you’d done?” Jean asked.
“No! I wouldn’t ever be vin-dic-tive.”
The words he picked up were a constant amazement, Jean thought. She couldn’t imagine where he’d heard this one. And then she remembered a recent conversation and came wholly alert. “Vindictive,” she repeated. “People shouldn’t be vindictive.”
“It’s sneaky,” said Geoffrey.
“How do you know what it means?”
“Tom told me. They wait till you forget all about them and then do something to hurt you. Before you can even stop them. So I had to make sure she couldn’t.”
“She?”
The boy looked chagrined at his slip, then fierce. “I won’t let her do anything spite-ful,” he declared.
“Who, Geoffrey?”
He gazed up at her, his face a pale oval in the low light.
“Do you mean Mrs. Wandrell?” Jean felt a chill that had nothing to do with the looming branches.
“She can’t be vin-dic-tive now,” the boy added in the tone of one who’d solved a knotty problem.
“Where is she?” Jean struggled to keep her voice even.
“I locked her up. Like a criminal in a jail.”
“But she’s not a criminal.”
He looked uncertain.
“She’s an innocent neighbor who has done nothing to hurt us.”