“She had a stroke, Palla.”
“What! Is––is she dead!”
“Six weeks ago come Sunday.”
The girl’s knees weakened and she sat down suddenly on the stairs.
“Dead? My Aunt Emeline?”
“She had a stroke a year ago. It made her a little stiff in one leg. But she wouldn’t tell you––wouldn’t bother you. She was that proud of you living as you did with all those kings and queens. ‘No,’ sez she to me, ‘no, Martha, I ain’t a-goin’ to worry Palla. She and 42 the Queen have got their hands full, what with the wicked way those Rooshian people are behaving. No,’ sez she, ‘I’ll git well by the time she comes home for a visit after the war–––’”
Martha’s spectacles became dim. She seated herself on the stairs and wiped them on her apron.
“It came in the night,” she said, peering blindly at Palla.... “I wondered why she was late to breakfast. When I went up she was lying there with her eyes open––just as natural–––”
Palla’s head dropped and she covered her face with both hands.