|
"No, no, I'm fine," said Thistle, shooing Ginger away.
"Let me know if you need something, then," said Ginger. So Thistle was left to enjoy her meal alone. Alone and in peace, she thought, but only half-heartedly. With a glance around to make sure no one was watching, she took the raisin cake and set it aside for when Willi came back. More rasins than an anthill has ants, he'd said. Hardly a proper way to describe food, but it did get the message across. She found a smile tugging at her lips in spite of herself.
Presently she became aware that the band had begun playing again. My darling Thistle do not frown. And then she did frown. Were the band members trying to tell her something? She began listening attentively as she ate, wondering if that might be the case.
She realized as she listened that it was an old, familiar song, albeit one she hadn't heard in a while, with the words just altered a bit. A upbeat song, though the undertones were sad. She noticed that Willi, dancing about up near the band, seemed to be taking a special interest in the song. It clicked in Thistle's mind as she realized that it was the little rascal who had put them up to this song. As the last verse rolled around, she found herself tapping her foot and almost wishing she might be young enough to dance again. It was the type of song her Moro would have liked. A wave of regret washed over her. She wished she might have made their married years happier, instead of letting that single chain of events that ended with her marrying Moro instead of the other lad rule the rest of her life. It had all been a misunderstanding, really... but she had not let herself make the best of it. Ah, well, done is done. And she shoved the thoughts out of her mind in annoyance.
As the final chords of the song drew to a close, Thistle caught sight of Willi and found herself touched by his obvious approval of the song. She wondered why Willi liked her so much; most youngsters stayed far away when they saw her coming. How funny, she mused, that the first friend that she should have in such a long time would be eighty-odd years younger than herself. She looked over at the band again, and if she didn't quite smile at least she nodded her approval.
|