*Polly*
I run a hand through my short hair, loving the fact that my head feels light and free. I cropped my hair the day after my marriage fell apart, and I have never regretted it. “What did you say, Mama? I’m afraid I wasn’t listening.”
“May I offer you a piece of apple cake?”
I shake my head, “No, thank you.”
“You must eat,” She says rather sharply, handing me a piece of cake nonetheless. “You do nothing but work, darling. Work, work, work.”
“There’s a great deal of work to be done,” I say reasonably. “And you must admit that it’s all going quite well, Mama. We are producing our very first ceramics sometime this month. And the Ryburn Weavers have fourteen new orders. Fourteen!” I can’t help a triumphant grin at the very thought.
“That’s all very well,” my mother says, “but you lo
