PEARL June 1919
“Mother?”
I stirred. I heard my daughter"s voice in my dreams.
“Mother, wake up.”
I stirred more, my body rolling back and forth in my bed. But it wasn"t a dream. It was my daughter.
I opened one eye, squinting at her in dawn"s murky light. At fourteen, Mary had stepped over many a line that changed one from a girl to a woman, and yet she still rose early, as young children are wont to do, much too early for me. I might have missed the baby she once was but oh how delighted I was that she had become enough of an adult that I need not wake with her anymore. We were taking those first steps from mother and daughter to best friends, though one"s child is always one"s child, no matter their age, no matter the depth of the friendship.
“Are you all right, Mary? Are you hurt
