It had to.
Emma straightened her shoulders, and he wanted to applaud the way she gathered herself together, despite the trauma still lingering in her eyes as she focused on Tonya’s project. “I’m not sure. I can’t tell.”
They both eased sideways several paces until they could see around her bent head, still hunched over her painting as she did detail work at the bottom. The top of Tonya’s easel was covered in pastel stripes, representing a sunset or sunrise.
“I still can’t see the rest. It looks like a self-portrait, maybe? Those look like her black braids.” Emma craned her neck as she spoke.
Max did the same. The painting held promise, what he could see of it—much less amateur in style than the others. Tonya was either a natural or had taken classes at some point. The eyes on the figure she was painting appeared nearly alive, while the cheery background hinted at a lighthearted mood that well complemented the young girl in the drawing.
Then Tonya leaned back, paintbrush lowering, and studied the portrait, allowing Max and Emma a full view—of a beautiful, African-American girl with braids, vivid eyes...
And a distorted, wide-open jaw that yawned and swirled off her face.
He shot a startled glance at Emma, whose eyes widened in recognition. When she finally spoke, it was to confirm what Max already knew.
“Tonya has a secret.”
Chapter Fifteen
Emma never thought she’d ever seek solace in a dusty barn stall, but the repetitious motion of running a currycomb through Remington’s mane somehow brought as much relaxation as her last spa trip.
Maybe more.
Remington shifted his weight, bobbing his head slightly and leaning into her smooth stroking. Maybe the extra attention was just what the horse needed, too.
Emma slowed as she worked through a tangle. Tonya’s painting from yesterday weighed heavily on her spirit, almost as much as Cody’s did. She whispered to Remington. “Did Tonya tell you her secrets before she fainted?”
Remington’s ears flicked forward at her voice, and then he snorted through his nose.
She kept brushing, trying not to dwell on the fact she had just resorted to talking to animals. “I understand. Confidences are confidences.”
Sort of like how it seemed evident Stacy knew something about Tonya that she wasn’t telling. Did the older girl know Tonya had been faking her illness the other day and was holding it over her? It seemed a valid possibility, but Emma couldn’t reconcile with the idea that Tonya would care so strongly about pretending to be sick. It’d be easier to just admit the truth now and take the consequence than cater to Stacy’s whims.
Or would it? Emma sure wasn’t taking that advice herself.
She pushed the uncomfortable thought aside, finishing the tangle before moving to the next portion of mane, the dark strands wiry between her fingers. The girls were finishing up breakfast, and she’d excused herself to start chores early and have a minute to de-stress—before the constant chatter, brooding and occasional whining from her charges began. Even after the optional Bible study that morning before breakfast, they seemed grumpy, as though they sensed something in the air. Maybe because only half the kids had attended the study.
She felt disgruntled herself. Sitting across from Max and listening to him read the Bible for fifteen minutes left her breakfast lodged in her stomach like a rock, heaping guilt in generous dollops on top.