Dora Lynch sat on the sill of a window, out the back of the main house, the villa where Lady T. had sent her. It was so grand the old lady could not contain herself. Could not stay indoors in such a magnificent place.

She wrapped her long skirt around her legs and left her feet out, toes clinging to the window ledge like a big rangey bird. Dorie stretched her shawl tight over her boney shoulders and looked upwards, to watch the stars and give thanks.

"Look at them little lights, them fireflies. Each one is a happy spirit, lit from the insides, like I feel right now. Full of the goodness that others have passed along to me." She sighed and continued the thought.

"I done the right thing, I hope. Such a fine villa this is and my gardens are going to be right plentiful at harvest time. Yes, I only wish I had me the nerve to tell Missy Tara what I done. Why there ain't room for me inside the house, no more." Dorie looked to the stars and did not see beyond the twinkling fireflies.

"If I was an insect, what would I be? A squashed up, crumple winged little thing, so true. Maybe with a fly swatter pattern all over me. But I would be; I would survive almost anything. I got reason; there be so many kind folks to repay and that will take some doing."

Widow Lynch just sat there on the window ledge until she drifted off to sleep, still wondering if she should tell Tara about the villa. Tell her that it was filled with elderly and homeless folks, all that Dora had taken in from the alley ways and streets of the town. Folks who were fed from the abundant gardens.