There are days when she does not want to feel anything at all, but this particular sentiment sneaks upon her despite her wishes. It shows up, without fail, on her birthday even though she is surrounded by presents of all shapes and sizes. The feeling tugs at her heart whenever she passes in her splendid carriage a skinny figure dressed in rags digging through a rubbish bin.

Today she finds herself subconsciously pocketing her bread roll at dinner time to the amusement of Donald and Nora. The Carmichael family had come from across the square to dine with the-Little-Girl-Who-is-Not-a-Beggar. Janet, who's older and knows better, does not comment and shushes her younger siblings. Carmichael pats Sara's hand in his fatherly way, while Mr. Carrisford looks into the fire to hide the emotion in his eyes.

She eats slowly of the hearty stew, savoring each bite as if it would be her last. It might well be. She still remembers that last taste of birthday cake before her life was upended. Sara excuses herself early from dinner, despite the protests of the others around her. She walks past the splendid library with its tiger skin rug, filled to the brim with books of every nature to appease her voracious appetite for knowledge. Down the hallway and past the tea room, she takes each step up the grand staircase slowly, remembering the two exhausting flights up to the right hand attic after she had had a long day's worth of errands.

Sara enters her room, as richly decorated as the one she lived in when she attended the boarding school on the other side of the wall. It was stocked with pictures and books, little ornaments and decorations that reminded her of India. Emily, of course, was elevated to her rightful place, reigning over the room on her own chair.

With all that she has – the diamond mines, her adoptive family, her dear Uncle Tom, wise Ram Dass, and loyal Ermengarde and Lottie – Sara knows that she could lose it all, and had lost it all once. Uprooted from her childhood in India, the death of her Father and the seizure of all of her possessions, fate could turn its wheel again.

She glanced over at the shining grate that housed a cheerful fire. This was not recently lit by Magic, like that glorious night after the failed banquet, but instead had been lovingly stoked recently by strong, work roughened hands. Hands which currently awaited her mistress' commands in the silent room.

Hands that knew the loss of a father and mother, to know what it was like to work until you had no energy to spend yet were scolded and beaten into performing more weary tasks. To have your ears boxed by a tyrant and be reprimanded by a hard, worldly mistress. To understand, most of all, what it was like to be hungry and poor.

Sara walks directly to Becky, grasps the girl's worn hands in hers, and says nothing.

This came about because Burnett seemed to have Sara have this profound unspeakable connection between her and Anne at the end of the book. I always thought she would have a better relationship with Becky. Hope everyone enjoyed it. Please leave a review.

Grignard