Anger? I was furious to the point of homicide. "He did it..." But I let..." Repeat after me, 'It is not my fault.'" But..." Say it, please, for me, for yourself." It's not my fault," she whispered."Say it like you mean it, again, and again, and again."She did, over and over, until it became a mantra as I repeated it with her, changing the "my" to "your."With every repetition I could feel her relaxing a little bit more, sounding a little bit more confident, stronger, angrier. I took her hands and slapped the water with them with every "not," with every "fault," over, and over, and over, harder and harder and harder as we chanted it, until we were splashing water all over the place and she was doing the swinging, not me. I could only hope her mom was downstairs and couldn't hear us, or she'd think we were both nuts.I don't know why I did what I did, but it seemed to help. She began to slow down, finally stopped, probably exhausted, and I was cradling her, enjoying the feel of her body. "I followed her to the back door, watching her hired man mount a shaggy horse, make a rude gesture and leave, slowly."Don't think he'll be back," I said, stepping into the neat, fresh-smelling house. Two women were at the gate-leafed table, shelling peas. "This is my sister, Louisa," Helen said, waving at a striking, dark-eyed woman with white streaks in her black hair. She looked up and raised an eyebrow at me, measuring me. "She an' her five heathens live with us, and Cousin Nan, who's just come to stay. Her husband deserted her, poor girl, ran off. We don' know where he's gone, wasn't much use anyhow. Louisa's a widow, has been for almost two years. Her man was with Morgan, then set out with his own with a band. Tarleton got him and most of his, took no prisoners."I sat where Helen indicated, and she produced some corn bread and thick slices of ham and then a jar of pickle relish. She brought me a glass of water, and I ate and drank while Helen told the other women about the short.
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