Glory was the favorite one—Lucy’s best and only friend. Too old to lay, the speckled duck wandered the yard with nothing to defend. No threatening squawks over buried treasure, she’d measure the little girl’s footsteps with her own, then rest by her seat. In the evenings the duck stood guard at the gate to wait, laughing her foolish quack as Lucy came back, school’s hardships done.
Christmas dinner was good that year despite the war: home-grown vegetables, dark sauce, and fresh-laid eggs enriching the stuffing and dessert. Glory to God! But none for Lucy now. She’s given up meat.