Exchange of Souls

Mary always had one thing in common with the leaves on the pine tree...they both moved where the wind wanted them to—adjusting her sitting position on the wooden seat, which seemed to be just in the right place at the corner of the yard far away and hidden from the judgemental eyes of the occupants of the ten-bedroom mansion. The grand splendor of the house couldn’t be denied, built-in details many years back by the first lords of Scotland, the pioneers whose contributions to the growth of the nation’s wealth as they established strong trade relationships with the British empire in the 1700s, conquering gold mines in the Eastern lands of the Arabic nations. The Winstons have held their own.Mary ran her hands through her faded cotton gown, which used to be a vibrant yellow, now only a shadow of itself ...how could she have the blood of the Winstons? a soft sigh escaped her thin pale lips that looked cracked and dry. Mary knew her only redeeming feature was her big baby blue eyes, as told to her by Michael, the son of the gardener who was only ten years of age. People might find it funny that she believed a child, but there was no time she could remember Michael telling a lie.