“Foxy, how much does Mr. Thomas owe for the strawberries?” I hollered, which brought her out from inside the small room of the farm stand in her standard farm outfit of high-waisted jeans, off-the-shoulder shirt, and a printed head wrap. She began counting the trays but Clive spoke up before she got started good.

“You that witch doctor, ain’t ya? I thought these was Foster berries. Not —”

“Nice berries?” Peg interrupted as he limped over, standing between Clive and Foxy like his tiny self could protect her. Even though he was third oldest in a line of seven, it looked like he would end up being the runt of the Foster litter.

“I ain’t wantin’ these nasty berries. Get ’em outta my truck.” Clive’s face turned redder than the berries.

“But, sir, they ain’t nasty. Why you say that for?” Peg asked, tilting his head as if he were confused. He might have only been eleven, but he didn’t think like a kid. His mind had always been years ahead of his age.

“That colored witch done been messin’ with ’em.” Clive wrinkled his bulbous nose like the air was foul.

With an inflection of faux innocence only a child could get away with, Peg pointed to Clive’s face. “But, sir, you colored too. With all them spots you at least half-brown. You know what you remind me of? When two kinds of dogs mix and the puppies come out all different colors. My pa calls ’em mutts. Are you a mutt, sir?”

Clive’s fat, freckly hands balled into fists as he sneered at Peg. “Why you little smart-a —”

“All right now. You watch your language around these innocent ears,” Foxy spoke up in her cool monotone.

“Ain’t nothing innocent about that young’un.” Clive hurled one of the trays to the ground, berries scattered and splattered at our feet. He yelped and held up a bleeding finger that must have gotten sliced on the sharp edge of the cardboard.

Peg hurried over to inspect the minor cut and gasped. “Look, Foxy, he bleeds the same color as you and me. Maybe Clive ain’t a mutt after all. Just a jack —”

Before Peg could finish muttering evidence on how un-innocent he really was, he was plucked off the ground and tossed over Pa’s broad shoulder. “Mr. Thomas, I’m awfully sorry for my son’s rudeness. That’s no way to treat another human being.”

Chin jutted out, full of indignation, Clive bellowed, “You dang right! Shame on him. And shame on you for raising him no better than that.”

“Yes, sir. Shame on me indeed. And shame on you for mistreating that lovely lady.” Pa tipped his head toward Foxy, who was retreating inside the little room.

Foxy hightailing it from any form of confrontation would be something we’d all get used to over time. The woman did it better than anyone I’d ever met.