The Great Grey

When Della first met Timothy, he was an artist alone in the park. He had given his name and had not shied away when she gave hers. All that felt like another lifetime ago. Molly was just a pup then, and now she was learning the ropes of her breed. The collie could not have been happier running a large field and herding sheep. Her absence was felt more than most. What would she think to find Timothy not acting entirely himself on the wrong end of town? Perhaps she would wait to see how he took to the presence of a nun taking residence on a nearby bench. Then again, she might not think much of it because Della was that nun. Her uniquely small size and finer clothes made blending well on the east end difficult. No one thought twice about the stature of a nun. Few paid them to mind other than to steer clear of the living reminder that they should remember to confess or say their prayers. What were the odds that two unlikely acquaintances would meet again while playing tricks on the ton?

“Begging your pardon, do you have the time?”

Even if Della could dress common and visibly blend with her surroundings, she would reveal herself the first time she spoke. Everyone would question a maid with perfect diction. No one questioned a nun’s education. They had to be well educated to study the good book and put its lessons to the best use. It was hard to say if the small blessing of her chosen costume was so carefully thought out or a happy accident. It worked, right down to the wimple that hid her gold curls and the long dress that hid her favorite white boots that were too fine for any nun to own. So much for abandoning worldly possessions, but then Della was never really a nun. And suddenly she cringed, trying to place the face of the man nearest her. They had met before, but the circumstances were very different. Did he recognize her face or her voice? Or was her disguise so disarming he might never care to notice?