I wind the cord three times around my finger and weave the end through the loops. Silk cord innately has value, but it takes a patient hand to shape it into something better. What is the job of a parent but to teach a child that she has worth so that one day she can transform herself into whatever she wants. Old Gin was that parent to me, mother and father, teacher and friend. One day—hopefully far into the future—he and Graceful Moon will ride the heavens together, faces no longer turned up to the sky, but part of it.
As for Shang, I hope he found what he was looking for, whether that be silver or self-worth. Wherever his journey takes him, as long as the earth is round, may his path lead home one day.
“Ahoy there.” Nathan’s voice tumbles down the listening tube, which is now also a speaking tube.
Bear woofs.
I cross to the desk. “Ahoy.”
“Would you like some tea or a chocolate? Bear is also offering her bone.”
“No, thank you. I am leaving for Buxbaum’s shortly. May I get you anything from there? Quills? Candles? Giddy goobers?”
“I like my goobers relaxed. Makes them go down easier. Are you sure you don’t want company?”
“I shall be fine. Please tell your mother I shall be back in an hour to help her roast the chicken.”
“I look forward to that.”
“Roast chicken?”
“No. You being back.”
Dear Miss Sweetie,
Ever since that China girl ran that race, my daughter wants to race horses, too. I thought it was just a phase, but she and her friends have started their own “Fillies Only” riding club. I even caught her sewing a pair of riding breeches. How do I convince her that the China girl just had a lucky strike?
Sincerely,
Wits’ End
Dear Wits’ End,
A great man once told me that Luck rides a workhorse named Joy. Let your daughter ride.
Sincerely,
Miss Sweetie