On my knees and trying to prevent you from tearing them from the ground with your eager hands, I heard a familiar voice behind me. “Well, look who it is!” “Mrs. Thomas!” I smiled up at her as she came toward me with her basket, ready to collect the vegetables she’d need for dinner that night. “I’d heard you were back here, Miss Anni. Tilly said she saw you in the village only last week, but I told her she was seeing things.” “I’ve been here since the winter, but the snow was deep on the moors and I haven’t been well,” I explained. “I’d heard that too, and that your husband died. I’m sorry, my love. It must have been tough on you with a little one. But he’s a fine young fellow,” said Mrs. Thomas, fixing her gaze on you. You turned around, stared at Mrs. Thomas, then waved at her sociably. “Oooh, he’s got blue eyes,” commented the cook. “Bless my soul, I never knew Indians could have blue eyes!” “His father had blue eyes; some Indians do,” I replied, concealing my sudden wave of panic.
