Free Dear Heart, How Like You This by Wendy J. Dunn Page A

laugh. I felt so entirely happy. Anne was back with me, and apparently still the Anna I remembered with such love and happiness from my childhood. She sat there upon the abundant grass and gazed down at me, as I laid balanced on my side looking up at her.
    “Oh, Tommy! ’Tis so good to see you again!”
    I noticed then that Anne spoke with an enchanting French accent; an accent she was to keep until the very end of her life. Anne reached to gently stroke the side of my face.
    “You have grown into a man, Tommy, but your eyes are still the eyes of the boy I once knew.”
    “And you have turned from a charming girl to a charming young woman,” I replied, resting my hand briefly upon hers.
    Anne smiled.
    “Dear Tommy! I am so glad we have met. George told me you had gained a post with Cardinal Wolsey, but father gave me so little time before I came here that I had no opportunity to write and tell you of my appointment to the Dowager Queen Mary.”
    “George also wrote to tell me that you were at long last home from France.”
    I took possession of her hand, marvelling how small boned it still was. I looked up at her, and asked, “Tell me, Anna, did you enjoy your time in France?”
    Anne’s face suddenly lit, her eyes focusing as if looking upon all her recent memories.
    “France is so very beautiful, coz, and some of their palaces truly defy anything your imagination could conjure up… but I am so glad to be back in England. I had so little freedom while I served Queen Claude. I could hardly ever get on a horse and ride to my heart’s content… I think that is why father sent me so quickly to be maid to Queen Mary. He got sick of all his groomsmen being tired out from following me when I was in the saddle.”
    We laughed together. Then Anne reached out with her free hand, and gently touched my face again.
    “Now tell me, Tom, is your life everything you ever wanted?”
    I snorted, sitting upright. I put my arms around my knees, and looked away from her. All I ever truly wanted in this world was sitting right there, next to me.
    “Is life ever what you truly want?” I asked her in reply, not daring yet to return my gaze to her.
    Anne laughed. A delightful laugh only she possessed. A laugh filling my whole world as if with young gaiety—undisturbed by anything cold or forbidding.
    “Oh, Tommy! Still ever so serious Tommy! I am very sorry you feel like that—especially since I know you’re an old married man, with a son no lest! Surely that must make you happy?”
    “Yea, Anne. ’Tis good to have a son, though he is only a baby as yet and I see him little.”
    Anne laughed at that too.
    “And what of your wife? What is she like? Or do you see her little too?”
    “Elizabeth is with child again, coz, so I suppose that means I have seen her recently… What is Elizabeth like? Very pretty, I deem, but… she does not like me writing poetry.”
    Anne reached out to briefly touch my hand.
    “Tom! I am truly sad for you! I would have thought that any woman worth her salt would love to have a poet for a husband.”
    We were silent together for a moment. Then I took her hand again in mine, and gazed long at her. Anne still sat on the grass, her ebony hair mostly hidden by the fashionable headdress, yet to me her spirit appeared to be as gypsy as ever.
    “And you, Anne. What of your own life—is it what you want?”
    “Oh, yes, Tom.” Anne took away her hand from mine to clasp both of hers together. “Oh, yes! My life is what I want, Tom! I am so very happy, coz. Life is so unbelievably wonderful, so utterly marvellous! I want to sing out aloud with joy. Dear Tom. Dear cousin Tom… I am in love with the best of men, and he with me. Is that simply not miraculous?”
    My heart sunk down to my shoes. I’d fantasised for years that Anne would come back home from France to be my love, despite all the hindrances the world could and would put in our way.
    Swallowing my true feelings, I asked her, “And who is this