"Maureen McHugh - Ancestor Money" - читать интересную книгу автора (McHugh Maureen F)

perhaps she should have worn a hat.

She wasn't afraid—what could happen to her here? She was dead. The bus had left her off in front of
glass doors that opened to some invisible prompt. Across a cool and airy space was a counter for Hong
Kong Air, and behind it, a diminutive Chinese woman in a green suit and a tiny green pillbox cap trimmed
with gold. Her name tag said "Jade Girl," but her skin was as white as porcelain teeth.

Rachel hesitated for the first time since she had walked away from her own gate. This grandchild of hers
who had sent her money, what obligation had she placed on Rachel? For more than seventy years, far
longer than she had lived, Rachel had been at peace in her little clapboard house on the creek, up in the
hollow. She missed the companionable sound of the geese, and the longing was painful in a way she had
forgotten. She was so startled by the emotion that she lifted her hand to her silent heart.

"May I help you?" the woman asked.
Wordlessly, Rachel showed her the envelope.

"Mrs. Ball?" the woman behind the counter said. "Your flight is not leaving for a couple of hours. But I
have your ticket."

She held out the ticket, a gaudy red plastic thing with golden dragons and black. Rachel took it because it
was held out to her. The Chinese woman had beautiful hands, but Rachel had the hands of a woman who
gardened—clean but not manicured or soft.

The ticket made something lurch within her and she was afraid. Afraid. She had not been afraid for more
than seventy years. And she was barefoot and hadn't brought a hat.

"If you would like to shop while you are waiting," the woman behind the counter said, and gestured with
her hand. There were signs above them that said "Terminal A/Gates 1-24A" with an arrow, and
"Terminal B/Gates 1-15B."

"There are shops along the concourse," the Chinese woman said.

Rachel looked at her ticket. Amidst the Chinese letters, it said, "Gate 4A." She looked back up at the
sign. "Thank you," she said.

The feeling of fear had drained from her like water in sand and she felt like herself again. What had that
been about, she wondered. She followed the arrows to a brightly lit area full of shops. There was a book
shop and a flower shop, a shop with postcards and salt and pepper shakers and stuffed animals. It also
had sandals, plastic things in bright colors. Rachel's skirt was pale blue, so she picked a pair of blue ones.
They weren't regular sandals. The sign said flip-flops, and they had a strap sort of business that went
between the big toe and second toe that felt odd. But she decided if they bothered her too much, she
could always carry them.

She picked a postcard of a beautiful horse and found a pen on the counter. There was no shop girl. She
wrote, "Dear Simon, The bus trip was pleasant." That was Speed's actual name. She paused, not sure
what else to say. She thought about telling him about the odd sensations she had had at the ticket counter
but didn't know how to explain it. So she just wrote, "I will leave for Hong Kong in a few hours.
Sincerely, Rachel."

She addressed it to Simon Philpot, Swan Pond Hollow. At the door to the shop there was a mailbox on