Kathryn
11
An old Flora made her way to the door of her home. A distraught villager woman waited there for her. Flora handed her a small fabric bag and gave her instructions on how to use what was inside. Kathryn couldn’t hear but saw her lips move. The woman held the parcel to her chest—her relief palpable. Flora smiled with warm eyes and squeezed the woman’s arm in compassion.
When the woman left, Flora clopped to the fireplace—her cane aiding her, but in the way at the same time. She stooped to poke the fire. She spoke, as if to the flames, but turned her head to look at Kathryn.
“This is why,” she said.
And Kathryn, once again, saw the villager’s relief.
“This is why.”
Another rerun. Kathryn rolled over and went back to sleep, questions embedded in her slumber.
Why was Flora se
