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‘Little Miss.’ Margaret’s voice. ‘Little Miss…’ from the door opened just a crack. ‘Yes, Margaret.’ Your own voice sounded harsh and grating to yourself. ‘Little Miss, there’s a package for you.’ ‘Thank you, Margaret, I’ll look at it later.’ ‘I — I’ll leave it here for you.’ ‘Very well. Thank you, Margaret.’ You could hear her placing something heavy-ish by the hearth. You heard the door gently close. You could barely move. You ached. You sighed. How would you bear telling me? How could you look me in the eye? You didn’t cry. You heard something. It was a scratching. It was coming from the direction of the hearth. You forced yourself to sit up. You looked over at the box on the hearth. It was open. It was a heavy cardboard box. It had been covered in flowered wrapping paper, but it had no top and there was pale green fabric inside. There came a thumping and scratching from inside the box. You were so alarmed and intrigued, you momentarily forgot about your grief. And then there was a. Sorrel at first was reluctant to let Marion get involved in any gambling games, afraid of what Fletcher’s reaction might be, but she was overruled by the collective suasion of the other three. Chat time revealed very little. Gwyneth was something of a crafts freak, and went on and on about flower baskets, sewing, and, of all things, the new loom she’d bought. Hannah was a health nut, sports like handball, golf, and aerobics kept her free time covered. Marion was the real pistol. There wasn’t anything she didn’t have at least a passing interest in, from lacrosse and baseball, to reading and poetry she dabbled in almost everything and anything. Sorrel figured that made sense. Marion was only fourteen. Everything was new to her. Sorrel acknowledged her only non-business interests had been puzzles like math games and crosswords. Out of small talk the ladies at last agreed to go to the gaming table and try their luck at cards. While Hannah, Sorrel, and Marion collected around the table,.
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