It was the old woman’s turn to consider. Did it make her sad? To look back, back. To stare down the years, as Kezia had seen her doing. To look after them as a woman does, long after they were out of sight. Did it make her sad? No, life was like that.
“No, Kezia.”
“But why?” asked Kezia. She lifted one bare arm and began to draw things in the air. “Why did Uncle William have to die? He wasn’t old.”
Mrs. Fairfield began counting the stitches in threes. “It just happened,” she said in an absorbed voice.
“Does everybody have to die?” asked Kezia.
“Everybody!”
“Me?” Kezia sounded fearfully incredulous.
“Some day, my darling.”
“But, grandma.” Kezia waved her left leg and waggled the toes. They felt sandy. “What if I just won’t?”
The old woman sighed again and drew a long thread from the ball.