“Are you going, Aunt?”
“Are you going, Cousin?”
“Are you going, Yasa?”
Half a dozen little voices called out to me from the schoolhouse, as little heads pressed and pushed to get up higher than the others or closer to the window. Their teacher didn’t call them back.
“Yes, I’m going.” I answered.
“Oh, that’s sad.” They said. “When are you coming back?”
“Next June we will come back,” I said, stepping closer the side of the schoolhouse to look up into their faces. “We will ...