“She dismounted, grabbed Enna’s hand so tightly that she drew blood with her fingernails, walked straight into the nearest cottage, and plopped down on a bed. Enna nodded to the startled cottage dwellers.
‘It’s the queen, you see,’ said Enna. ‘She’s going to have a baby in your house. You don’t mind?‘”
“I’d never known it was like this for a woman. Never. We’d always been sent to Aunt Josie’s when Mamma’s time was near. We would stay there overnight, and when we came back, there was Mamma smiling with a new baby in her arms.”
She was strong from endless hard work, and not old: She’d given birth to me before she was seventeen, and when she held me I could see we had the same skin, although in other ways we were not much alike she having broad, placid features, while mine, I’d been told (for we had no mirrors in the remote mountain village of Mino), were finer, like a hawk’s.