A young woman, looking barely older than her teens – if that old – stooped to pull a long white bedsheet from the woven wicker basket beside her on the short grass. She raised her arms, covered in black silk sleeves, to wave the wet cloth in the air and to sweep it over the clothesline she had stretched between two slender pine trees. The whiteness billowed higher in the air, caught up by the breeze, and she let go of one corner to take a clothespin from her laden, firm mouth and clip the airy, rolling fabric to the thick, rocking line. Pinned, and soon pinned again and a third time, it was fastened to a source point that held it in place, but still found a way to flap and billow out from its new grounding.

The woman turned away and back to her basket, but as she began to pick the next piece up out of the basket, her attention was caught by a small voice shouting over the lawn and garden. She turned to look, her wavy red-blonde hair blowing over her face as she moved, and her sad green eyes lit up with a small smile.

“Verene, Angela,” she called, standing up and waving. The small girl caught sight of her and took off at a run, dragging her mother along behind, but she quickly had to stop to keep up with her much slower pace. The woman smiled slightly and set the laundry back in the basket to head over to the two.

“Hello,” she greeted them, putting a hand on her sightless friend’s shoulder to let her know where she was, “What brings you two out here?”

“We’re giving you these,” Veri said, taking a small wrapped package from her mother’s hold. “They’re the little strawberry cakes you like! See?” She proudly presented the parcel to Mrs. Alison.

“Oh...” She winced almost imperceptibly but forced her face to raise back up into a smile. “Thank you, you’re so kind.” She patted Veri on the head.

The little girl beamed. “You’re welcome! Can I play with Tristan now?”

Both women laughed. “If you can find him, sure. Though he might be busy,” Mrs. Alison replied. Veri nodded and let go of her mother’s hand to run off in the direction of the barn.

But then she stopped and looked back, a momentary tint of questioning in her expression that was quickly replaced by a grave, yet balanced, sadness. She stared into the taller woman’s eyes, her own deep brown ones seeming deeper than normal.

“Mrs. Widow, I’m sorry I didn’t know they weren’t your favorite,” she said quietly, her young face unusually solemn. Both women were silent. Then just as suddenly as the seriousness had come over the girl, it vanished again – her face beamed once more and she skipped away to find the field hand that lived and worked at the Alisons’ place.

Veri’s mother involuntarily turned to her friend whose guiding hand was still on her arm, a concerned and confused look on her face. “Luci, I’m so sorry about the… name,” she apologized, obviously aware of how much the reminder hurt her friend. “But not your favorite? What did she mean by that?”

Mrs. Alison couldn’t seem to get any words to come from her mouth at first, but after a moment of choking silence she was able to make something out.

“I—I don’t—she couldn’t have known—"

“Known what?”

Luci turned her eyes straight to her friend, staring at her with a memory in her heart and suspicion on her mind. “It was my husband who liked these. I’ve always hated them.”

“Verene,” called a voice. Veri looked up expectantly as she passed the tall barn and found a familiar face poking out of the hayloft window. Grey jade eyes and a small mouth that pulled to one side, half-hidden by unkempt hair just slightly more red than the flaxen-colored straw he was working in – that was Tristan. She gave a bounce and waved up at him, signaling for him to come down.

He nodded and disappeared altogether for a moment. She heard footsteps from the back of the barn and ran inside to meet him at the bottom of the ladder, and as soon as he reached the ground she leapt on him in a hug.

“Tristan! You’re back!” she cried happily. “You were gone for so long!”

“It was only a couple of days,” he answered. His nature was serious, but even so the little girl made him smile with her enthusiasm. “What have you been up to?”

“The usual,” she answered, trying to sound grown-up by using one of the phrases she’d heard around. “But I did find a kitten. I think he’s maybe blind like Mama, ‘cause I’ve never seen his eyes the whole time I’ve had him, which is almost two whole days. He sure can get around when he wants to, though. This morning, before we left, he was walking all over the windowsills without even looking.” She looked eagerly up into the tall boy’s face. “Isn’t that amazing?”

“Sure is,” he answered. “What’s his name?”

Veri’s mouth twisted up into something between a frown and a question mark. “I’m not sure yet. Nothing I’ve come up with seems to fit him… but I’ll figure it out sometime!” She suddenly giggled slightly unnaturally. “I have his whole life to think about it, right?”

Tristan’s small smile faded back into the serious line it usually was. “Sure, but…”

The girl cocked her head up at him as his voice faded out. “But what?” she asked.

He sighed. “Would you like it if you didn’t have a name your whole life? Just to be called ‘cat’ or ‘kitty’ instead of someone actually taking the time to think about a name for you?” His eyes looked a little faraway behind his intent stare at Veri’s small, innocent face, though maybe it was just the cloudy color of his eyes that made them seem that way.

“I guess not,” Veri shrugged. “I’ll think about it. But anyway, how was your trip? Where did you go? What did you see? You have to tell me all about it!” She was holding tightly to one of his hands with both of hers and jumping up and down.

Tristan laughed a little again. “You know where I went, Verene. To visit my family. Like I do every month.”

“Used to do every month. Now you’re too busy here,” Veri corrected.

“Right. Well, I saw one of my brothers again, but the oldest is still gone to the—” he caught his own mistake this time, but wasn’t quite sure how to fix it “—to the…”

“He’s gone because he got married, right?” Veri remembered. Tristan nodded quickly.

“Right. You have such a good memory for being only six,” he answered.

Veri smiled up at him. “You have a really bad memory for being eleven.”

Tristan took the tiny insult with another pretended smile that made it all look like a joke. Veri’s mother had asked him very specifically not to say anything about the ongoing war. Not that this was unusual. Most children Veri’s age and even a little older didn’t know anything about it. Mrs. Deynan just sometimes seemed a little extra careful about what her daughter saw and heard, though who could blame her? The world was disturbing. The longer children could live in happiness, the better. Besides, Verene seemed different from other children in so many ways. Who knew how she’d change if she really knew what was happening.

Tristan shook his thoughts off quickly. “I guess I do. So, is your kitten here? Can I see him?”

“No, he’s at home somewhere. He disappeared after breakfast,” Veri answered. “When are you going back to visit your family again?”

“I…” Tristan stopped and bit his lip, then shrugged. “I’m not sure. Whenever I can catch a break here. There’s a lot to do to prepare for the summer harvest, you know. Hey, maybe you could help me?” He was hopeful but not very confident that this would distract her.

But thankfully it seemed to work after all. Veri’s eyes grew wide with excitement. “Yes! And we should start right now! What can we do?” she demanded.

“Well, we could—”