I tried to force my voice. “Oh, how wonderful for you, Pocahontas.” I still could not look up. Instead, I focused my attention on brushing the dirt off my petticoat. My ragged, ragged petticoat.

Since I did not rise, Pocahontas dropped beside me and touched my shoulder, asking gently, “Is all well? Something hurts your heart, Joan?” Her English had become so much better yet still had its Indian wording.

I shook my head as tears dropped onto my lap.

“No. My heart…it…it does not hurt.” Liar! I could not brush the tears to hide them because my hands were so dirty. Instead, I took a deep breath, looked over at her, and tried to make my eyes bright. “England!” was all I could say. “Home to England…”

From When the Moon Has No More Silver, by Connie Lapallo