Things had been different once. Granny Tu said so. Before Daddy died, Mama had been the first out on the water every day, quick to share a grin and a kiss, to snatch up one of her daughters and spin her around and around, high in the air, until the laughter of little girls pealed like bells across the swamp. But sorrow can spread inside a person, blocking out any light that might find its way in to heal the hidden hurts. And so Mama went more and more often to the chapel at the end of the walkways, and spent more and more of her time at home wreathed in her pious quiet, in her grieving silence. There were small things that could be done to make the sick person’s time a little easier. So when Willow closed her eyes for her morning nap, Luna tiptoed outside. She passed Benny’s hut and tramped along the walkways past the school, past the chapel where Mama had been since early that morning, and over the long bridge that led from the huts to the garden. The trail zigzagged up the hill, and Luna put her hands out to either side to brush the tops of the ferns that lined the path and tickled her shins with every step.
