“The only way I would not be set apart is if I had been born here.”
“But not to the same degree,” Fanny insisted.
“I know!” Amelie said, uncharacteristically sharp. “Don’t you think I know this? I am quite as aware as you of our segregation. And I am sure the people in London are not so prejudiced.”
“My dear,” Fanny said gently, “you know better. London’s prejudice is precisely why your father came here with you.”
Amelie shook her head, not about to be persuaded. “He was sick at the time. Mentally overwrought. He saw bogeys and threats around every corner. His illness made him paranoid.”
Fanny thought so, too, but there was no use discussing it. They’d been here before. And they were in Little Firkin for another two and a half years, like it or not. “It is a moot point, anyway,” Fanny said. “You have no special abilities and we are not in London.”
Amelie wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. “Did you see the ravens? I . . . I think I did call them.”
Fanny turned shocked eyes upon her, but before she could speak, Amelie rushed on. “And remember last fall, when Donnie MacKee’s draft team bolted and they were heading for us? Your eyes were shut, but mine weren’t. I was staring at them. I couldn’t look away, and at the last instant they turned. I think . . . I think I turned them!”
Oh, dear God. She had no idea the girl had thought anything of that incident other than that they’d had a near escape.
“They most likely shied away from your costume. You were wearing a shocking shade of crimson that day,” she clipped out in a succinct, brook-no-argument tone. “And as for the ravens, I saw a flock of birds. Hardly a rare sight in the spring. In the sky. In Scotland.”
“But they were silent,” Amelie said meaningfully.
Damn it. A few slips in the course of all these years and Amelie would have to have witnessed them. How was she to come up with an explanation? And then abruptly she realized she wouldn’t have to. She pointed behind Amelie. “You mean like those?”
Amelie spun. Scores of ravens were wheeling through the bright sky, congregating on the ancient oak tree that marked the end of the high street. They did not make a sound.
“Oh.” Amelie sounded disappointed.
“If you waste your life trying to find mystical meanings in odd occurrences, at the end of your days you will find you’ve learned nothing and missed a great deal,” Fanny said.
Abrupt as it was unexpected, Amelie’s good humor returned. “Oh, Fanny. You’re not yet thirty years of age and have spent the last six here in Little Firkin with me, so how is it you know so much about what one will and won’t regret at the end of their days?”
The girl’s amusement nonplussed Fanny. At some point during the last year or so, Amelie had gone from being Fanny’s charge to being her peer, and the transition still startled Fanny.
Amelie regarded Fanny assessingly. “Sometimes I am reminded how little I know about you. You never speak of the past, Fanny. You’re something of a mystery.”
“Nonsense,” Fanny replied shortly. “You are romanticizing. I had an unexceptional childhood and was married young and widowed almost at once. Which you already know. I see no point in dwelling on the past when there is so much future to be had. For both of us.”
Amelie sighed. “If it ever gets here.”
Fanny laughed, glad to have the conversation turned. It always made her uncomfortable to evade Amelie’s questions. If only Amelie were a child again, content to accept things for what they seemed, willing to live in the present. But over the last few months, as Amelie grew more restless with the constraints of life in Little Firkin, her questions regarding Fanny, her mentor’s life before Little Firkin, and the great cities of Scotland and England had grown in number and frequency.
“Well,” Fanny said, “I can’t hasten the future, but I might be able to
“But not to the same degree,” Fanny insisted.
“I know!” Amelie said, uncharacteristically sharp. “Don’t you think I know this? I am quite as aware as you of our segregation. And I am sure the people in London are not so prejudiced.”
“My dear,” Fanny said gently, “you know better. London’s prejudice is precisely why your father came here with you.”
Amelie shook her head, not about to be persuaded. “He was sick at the time. Mentally overwrought. He saw bogeys and threats around every corner. His illness made him paranoid.”
Fanny thought so, too, but there was no use discussing it. They’d been here before. And they were in Little Firkin for another two and a half years, like it or not. “It is a moot point, anyway,” Fanny said. “You have no special abilities and we are not in London.”
Amelie wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. “Did you see the ravens? I . . . I think I did call them.”
Fanny turned shocked eyes upon her, but before she could speak, Amelie rushed on. “And remember last fall, when Donnie MacKee’s draft team bolted and they were heading for us? Your eyes were shut, but mine weren’t. I was staring at them. I couldn’t look away, and at the last instant they turned. I think . . . I think I turned them!”
Oh, dear God. She had no idea the girl had thought anything of that incident other than that they’d had a near escape.
“They most likely shied away from your costume. You were wearing a shocking shade of crimson that day,” she clipped out in a succinct, brook-no-argument tone. “And as for the ravens, I saw a flock of birds. Hardly a rare sight in the spring. In the sky. In Scotland.”
“But they were silent,” Amelie said meaningfully.
Damn it. A few slips in the course of all these years and Amelie would have to have witnessed them. How was she to come up with an explanation? And then abruptly she realized she wouldn’t have to. She pointed behind Amelie. “You mean like those?”
Amelie spun. Scores of ravens were wheeling through the bright sky, congregating on the ancient oak tree that marked the end of the high street. They did not make a sound.
“Oh.” Amelie sounded disappointed.
“If you waste your life trying to find mystical meanings in odd occurrences, at the end of your days you will find you’ve learned nothing and missed a great deal,” Fanny said.
Abrupt as it was unexpected, Amelie’s good humor returned. “Oh, Fanny. You’re not yet thirty years of age and have spent the last six here in Little Firkin with me, so how is it you know so much about what one will and won’t regret at the end of their days?”
The girl’s amusement nonplussed Fanny. At some point during the last year or so, Amelie had gone from being Fanny’s charge to being her peer, and the transition still startled Fanny.
Amelie regarded Fanny assessingly. “Sometimes I am reminded how little I know about you. You never speak of the past, Fanny. You’re something of a mystery.”
“Nonsense,” Fanny replied shortly. “You are romanticizing. I had an unexceptional childhood and was married young and widowed almost at once. Which you already know. I see no point in dwelling on the past when there is so much future to be had. For both of us.”
Amelie sighed. “If it ever gets here.”
Fanny laughed, glad to have the conversation turned. It always made her uncomfortable to evade Amelie’s questions. If only Amelie were a child again, content to accept things for what they seemed, willing to live in the present. But over the last few months, as Amelie grew more restless with the constraints of life in Little Firkin, her questions regarding Fanny, her mentor’s life before Little Firkin, and the great cities of Scotland and England had grown in number and frequency.
“Well,” Fanny said, “I can’t hasten the future, but I might be able to
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