What am I going to do? I can’t tell anybody, I can’t ask advice of anybody. Not even my cousin Heather. I would be sacked for sure if anything ever got out.
A few days ago I was getting ready to return to the Still Room, late in the afternoon. I saw Master Angus and his brother coming down the hallway, and just as we had been trained to do I turned myself to the wall, seeking to be invisible. As they passed I felt him slip something into my apron pocket. No one else saw, for Angus’ brother was looking in the opposite direction. I did not dare let on I had noticed anything. When I returned to the Still Room Agnes was busy, and called me to come and help her at once. It was not until bedtime I had the opportunity to look in my pocket.
The girls I share with are always so tired, poor things, they often are asleep as soon as they lay down. Besides, they know I am a reader, and think I am getting out a book when I reach under the mattress for my diary. I pull the little curtains that separate our cubicles, light my candle and spend a few minutes with my diary. It is only on Sundays I have a chance to write in it, but reading a few entries makes me feel closer to my family.
When I was sure they were all asleep I reached into my apron pocket. It was an unsigned note. It read, “I will be in town with my family on Sunday morning. After church I will tell them I am staying to visit with some old friends. I would be honoured if you would meet me and spend the afternoon with a lonely soldier.” He had named a small tea shop tucked away on a back street.
My head is telling me to ignore the note, forget I ever got it, be sensible. But my heart wants to go! Like my soldier, it is lonely. What would it hurt to have tea with a young man in a chance meeting?
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