Five red-headed children burst through the front door of a quaint home and ran toward their grandmother. She greeted each one with a hug, before they ran off to play.
She stooped lower to gather the smallest grandchild into an embrace, trying not to make her favoritism so apparent.
“I had a dream about you last night, little one,” she whispered, past the mass of red curls.
“Really,” Maggie asked, looking up to her grandmother with wide eyes, as if she was about to receive a huge honor.
All the children hung on Grandma Lettie’s words. She was a natural storyteller, given to great detail and even changed her voice to match different characters from her stories.
She was also good at telling the change of the seasons. When most thought the chrysanthemums were about to bloom in the warmth of the spring, Grandma Lettie would shake her head and smile, and then accurately predict a snowstorm. She was more reliable than the mailman and more accurate than the weatherman.
When her grandchildren would mention her accuracy, she would give a good belly laugh and then with a sparkle in her eye, whisper, “Of course children, a woman naturally knows these things.”
Maggie waited to receive this gift from her grandmother with all the patience she could muster in her small body.
“You will have a chance at great love, the type of amaranthine love many dream of, if you choose to accept it and step toward it,” she whispered.
Grandma Lettie blew steam from her scalding black tea.
“Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
Maggie was six, so she was honest.
“No,” she said, smiling.
Grandma Lettie chuckled and patted the child’s head.
“No, you don’t, but you will,” she said with a sigh. “These words will come back to you, but I’m concerned that by then, my little one, it’ll be too late.”
Maggie continued looking at her grandmother, wanting to understand, but Grandma Lettie gently swatted the child off to go play with her siblings and enjoy the simplicity of childhood while she had it.