the Heart Approaches What It Yearns

• Floors: check
• Counters: check
• Clutter: gone
• Laundry: in control
• Face: reasonably clear of blemishes
• Underwear: clean
• Hair: washed. (I’ll braid it.)
• 3 dressy outfits: clean and ready-to-wear
• Boys: bathed
• Boys’ bedrooms: tidied
• Chickens: fed
• Groceries: stocked

“I’ll leave when he asks me to,” I told her simply.

“And why should [Monsieur] do that,” she asked me “with a woman there to do,” and then a pause, “his bidding.”

“If you are so worried about him and the boys, why aren’t you down here helping him yourself?” I asked, trying to keep the challenging tone out of my voice.

“You know I can’t leave my work,” she said. “I know it would be hard for him, but he needs time to sort things out for himself. They all do.”

“I’ll leave when he asks me to,” I repeated. “I promise you that.”

She asked me if I was in love with Monsieur.

“I don’t know,” I lied.

“Are you sleeping with him?”

That caught me off guard. “No,” I said. (I hadn’t, at that time.) “But, I won’t tell you that the thought hasn’t crossed my mind. If I do end up in his bed, I promise you that it will be my choice, his problem, and none of your business.”[1]

“All right then,” she said, and that conversation was over.