“Of course, I was here when the good folks I work for finally came back from India to live in this place that had been vacant except for the serving folk for several years. Amala was quite a shock to the household and especially to folks about the county. The mister and missus, being the good folks they are, didn’t pay any attention to what others thought or said, and they made it clear to those working here that any ill words toward Amala would see them dismissed immediately. They tried to keep Amala from knowing about any of that, but children are sharp, you know; and she was always sharper than most. She never wanted to hurt her parents by getting upset—her new parents, I mean; those that brought her into the world had gone to their Maker, of course. That’s why she came here. But she never wanted to hurt anyone, so she’d hide when she was upset. And I guess she’d not been here very many weeks when she figured out there were lots of places to hide in the carriage house, and no one but me was ever here. Sometimes I tried to give her some words of comfort. Mostly I just let her cry. People need to cry, you know. Men and women, both. I think we’d all be better off for crying more, but who am I to say? I’m just a simple man. But a sensitive little thing like Amala, she especially needs to cry. If she held all those tender feelings inside, she’d likely die from all the hurt eventually. It’s my thinking that all the crying when she’s alone helps her stay strong when she’s around others.”

Henry lowered his head as Everett’s candid opinions—and his insights into Amala’s heart—tempted him to start crying again himself. Everett’s belief that crying was good for people only made it more difficult to hold back the temptation to do so. But he was afraid if he got started he wouldn’t be able to stop. There were a great many things in his life he’d never cried about, things that had nothing to do with Amala. And he feared that crying over the way he felt right now would eventually tap into a wellspring of unshed tears that had been accumulating for a lifetime.

“You know her well,” Henry managed to say with a fairly steady voice.

“I’d like to think so,” Everett said. “She’s as kind and good-hearted a person as anyone I’ve ever known. She brings her laughter and joy to the carriage house as much as her tears. We’ve had many a good talk.”

“And did she tell you why she felt the need to be alone and cry today?”