Free Spirit Eyes by Lynn Hones

reprimanded her in front of her peers. “What were you doing over there? You know you aren’t allowed to leave the pavement unless I tell you.”
    “I…” Remembering that her mother told her not to talk of the people anymore, she lied. “I’m sorry. I chased a butterfly.”
    “Don’t do it again.” The teacher pushed her gently into line and continued her head count.
    Pearl twisted her upper body in the man’s direction. He stood there, once again, his arm going up and then down, his palm rising to his shoulder insisting she come back.
     
    It had been a little over a month since the death of Mrs. Eberstark, and although Ruth and Laura went for visiting hours at the funeral home, they didn’t expect any sort of recognition for it. Thousands of people were paying their respects to a woman who’d done so much for the community.
    However, on a boring, cloudy day, when Ruth lazed about in her yoga pants and a stained t-shirt, there was a knock on her front door. Wearily heading to answer it, she caught a glance of her reflection in the hallway mirror. I look like death. Although she’d broken down and gone to several more doctors, no one could find anything wrong. Yes, she had a fever, and was losing weight and suffered a persistent cough, but after numerous tests, nothing concrete could be found.
    Upon opening the door, Mr. Eberstark and his son the senator greeted her. Shocked, she stared for a moment. “Hello?” Puddles insistently barked at the men, so Ruth put up her finger and asked them to wait. She took him to the kitchen and gated him in.
    “Hello,” Ruth said upon returning. “Mr. Eberstark, how wonderful to see you, please come in.”
    “Thank you, my dear,” he said. The old man, over ninety years old, walked hunched over with a cane. He wore a double-breasted, blue blazer and tie, and Ruth discerned his attempt at maintaining a high level of dignity in his slow, uneven gait.
    “Have you met my son?”
    “Briefly, at the funeral. It’s nice to see you, Senator.”
    “Please, call me Tom.”
    “Okay, Tom,” she said. Pleasantly handsome in a soft, charming way, the senator bore a regal essence much like his father. His blond hair, graying at the temples, added to the sophisticated look.
    “Please, excuse my appearance.” She ran her hand through her hair. “I’ve been cleaning and…”
    “Oh, no need to explain,” Mr. Eberstark said. “We are the ones who should be asking you to excuse us. We have stopped in without calling first, but we were driving home from lunch at the club and I thought I’d stop by and ask you a question.” A hint of an accent dusted his words.
    “Sure. Have a seat and let me get some coffee.”
    “No, really, that won’t be necessary.”
    “Well, at least have a seat.” She directed them to the living room, where they sat on the couches.
    “I don’t mean to be intrusive,” Mr. Eberstark said, “but it appears you’ve been crying. I hope all is well.”
    “Oh, no. I haven’t been crying. My eyes have been bothering me lately. They burn and cause the tears and redness. No, I’m fine.” She quickly changed the subject, mad at herself for not putting her drops in that morning. “I’m so very sorry about your wife,” she said truthfully. “I had been talking to her earlier in the day and it was such a shock. I tried to tell you that at the viewing, but…”
    Tom spoke up. “Yes, you see, that’s why my father would like to talk to you. Someone came to the funeral and told my father that he heard your little girl talking to my mother. He said she seemed to know that my mother had died before anyone else.”
    Stunned, Ruth was speechless. She couldn’t tell them the truth. That would be insane. People would label her daughter any number of things if this came out into the open.
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she answered.
    “A man was sitting very near you, although you couldn’t see him due to the chair he sat in,” Mr.