I made my way to the kitchen but the smell hit me first. Not the warm, comforting scent of fresh bread or the rich aroma of simmering broth I remembered being cooked at this time but something heavier, almost a chaotic mix of too many things cooking at once.
My feet echoed a little on the floor as I stepped into the Parkhouse kitchen. It was bustling with activities. Ten women or maybe more, were scattered around, chopping vegetables and stirring large pots.
Then I saw her. A small figure, her back to me, stirring a large pot. My heart leaped happily. It was Ma.
"Ma?" I breathed, the word a soft whisper, but it cut through the clatter of pots and pans.
She spun around, her eyes widening, and a gasp escaped her lips. "Faith!"
And then she was running. Her apron flapped around her as
