She is tested constantly, little things such as doing up her sandals or turning a white feather black. For a stretch of time she finds her hands useless. She flips book pages, dips and guides an ink-covered quill, pours multiple cups of tea. She opens chests and doors and stubbornly stuck hat boxes until her head aches like an overused muscle. Sometimes she wraps extra scones in a white lace handkerchief at tea time, smuggling them into her pockets to enjoy later, or to distribute among students who have sacrificed their tea time for scholarly pursuits. Without the use of her hands, they go unmissed. Her father tells her she is beyond such "mundane practices" and that she would do well to prepare for more difficult tests. She cannot fathom what he might mean.
Text by Lucie MacAulay
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