Chapter 15: Her Choice

Auntie Tang said it was fate. She said it the next morning, the thirtieth, in the tea shed, with her abacus on the table and the kettle going and half of Willow Crossing crammed onto her three benches. A scholar had dreamt a house with a silk tree and a dog with one black ear, and the house was real and the dog was real. If that wasn't fate, said Auntie Tang, she'd like to know what was. She'd made matches for thirty years and never seen a clearer sign. Heaven had as good as written the betrothal letter itself. "Heaven didn't pay the potters," said Mei. Every head in the shed turned. She was standing in the doorway with her arms folded. Behind her on the landing Fish was holding the ferry with the boathook, and beside him, on the bottom step, Yan sat with her knees drawn up…