Mary says. Me neither. She rests a hand on my arm. “I’m here, dear, if there’s anything I can do for you.” I think of mother, the peaceful look on her face before I helped Charles bury her. We carried her body away from town and found a quiet spot in the forest. She would have liked it. Though she’s not suffering under Father or any other male, I wish she was here. With me. The pain of her death is still a sharp, frayed edge. But I will do everything I can to live up to what I've learned and discovered because of the things she taught. “Thank you,” I tell Mary. “I will. I hope things will eventually be well.” She rests a hand on my shoulder. “I hope in time they will be.” Tears threaten, but I’ve cried enough the past week since mother died. There’s sure to be more later, but they will wait. “There’s something we need to take care of first,”
