Lucia watched in fascination as Isobella nodded at her, only three years older than she, nursing her son with a contented smile upon her face. His sister followed. "Perhaps that would have been best. “You were seen to leave the flat, and your handkerchief was found there. The few whites he had ever known generally offered to pet him when they really wanted to kick him. He was only a younger son, and you know what trouble we had. He was human. She held out her arms to him and smiled. She felt her chest trying to float up, but the blessed undertow, the dreaded reason why she was warned to never bathe in the ocean, sucked her feet down, putting the decision where it belonged, into the hands of God. Wood.
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