The Richest Heart

Chapter 26

Peter glanced at Emiline as they worked. She had been studying his face all afternoon, but each time he looked at her, she turned her curious eyes away. She had a good reason to stare. Peter's face was black and blue with bruises and he had scrapes all over his arms. News had been swirling around the town about the boys' fight, but Emma hadn't believed all of the gossiping tales until now. Of course, most of the stories she had heard were all wrong. Mrs. Bufford was convinced that Julian had been a victim and that Peter was a vicious, uncouth bully. Once, Emiline could have believed that, but not now. She knew Peter too well to think that he would do something vicious; unless he had a good reason, of course.

Peter knew that Emma was trying to find a way to ask him what had happened. But every time he thought about explaining it, his pride made him stop. He had heard all of the lies Julian had sobbed and he had been scolded several times the day before. He dug up a cluster of small potatoes and dropped them into a basket that he and Emiline were filling for Mrs. Winston. Catching another glance from Emma, he knew he had to tell her. With a miserable sigh he finally broke his silence.

"You're probably wondering why I have a black eye, aren't you?" he grumbled. Emiline smiled, feeling a little bit awkward. Peter didn't give her time to answer. "Julian was being mean to Benjamin," he explained bluntly. "So I...made him stop." Emma frowned as she thought about how mean Julian had been at school. He had made himself such a villain.

"Well, then," she huffed, "I'm sure he deserved whatever he got. He can't be allowed to be mean all of the time. Someone has to punish him." Her voice lowered to a grumbling whisper. "It's obvious that his parents don't. He has to be the most spoiled, horrible boy I've ever met!" Her angry words seemed to sooth Peter's gloominess slightly.

"He did deserve it," he agreed. "He was pushing Benjamin around and then he hurt Pal just to make me angry! I had to do something." Emma smiled and nodded her head.

"I think it was very heroic of you, Peter," she said.

After a few more minutes of talking, Peter was feeling very good about himself. Deep down inside, there was a bitter seed of guilt in his heart, but he kept ignoring it and justifying his actions. Besides, he had given Julian a fair chance. He had warned him several times to stop bullying his brother. If the evil boy had stopped, Peter wouldn't have lifted a finger to hurt him. For a little while, the boy almost felt proud of his black eye and his scrapes. He had gotten them while defending the helpless. But, by the time he and Emma had finished gathering the last potatoes, he hesitated.

"You go inside, would you Emma?" he asked, pushing the basket toward his friend. "I don't want Mrs. Winston to know about yesterday." Peter had purposely gotten to work late so his old friend wouldn't see him. But to his dismay Emiline looked apologetic.

"I would..." she began. "But it's getting late and I have to be home by seven. Grandma Adler said that I have to help her mend clothes tonight. Besides that, I think she wants me and Lizzy to sew dolls." She said the last words in an irritated voice and rolled her eyes in a rebellious way. "She must think I'm a baby. I don't play with dolls anymore." Then, remembering how pressed for time she was, she told her friend goodbye and hurried away.

Dread froze Peter like a statue. The door of his friend's house was just a few feet away, but he didn't want to open it. What would Mrs. Winston say when she saw him? His guilt began to overpower his pride. He didn't want her to be disappointed with him.

"Oh well," he sighed to himself. "She'll know sooner or later anyway." He forced himself to walk forward and open the door quietly. Mrs. Winston was in the kitchen, making a pot of stew. Without a word, Peter set the basket down on the table, almost hoping he could leave the potatoes and get away before he was seen. But as soon as the basket settled down, the lady looked over her shoulder.