Sister Brazil was her name. At least that’s what I remember calling her all those 70 years ago.
“Come and sit here, child,” she would say with her hands.
I left my spot on the grass where I was sitting alone and went over to where she was perched on the bench crocheting while she watched the other little girls playing in the field. I couldn’t play with the other little girls because I wasn’t well enough or strong enough.
“Don’t let her get excited,” was one of the last things I heard my mother say before…
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