It had huge gothic windows that let in a green sunlight, filtered through imposing trees.At the centre was an oak desk. It looked like a fortress. Beside it stood a petite woman in her early fifties. Her dark eyes gleamed like chocolate pralines on either side of an almost beaklike nose. Her mouth was smiling, but in a very thin way. She was dressed as a nun, but did not wear the tall sail hat. And although she looked very small and fragile, somehow an immense force emanated from her figure.Again, like the other woman, she did not seem to notice the girl, only the man. She nodded her head and addressed him with reference, as though he was her superior. Then, only after the man introduced the girl, she took notice. "So you are A. Such a lovely name." Her piercing eyes went from the top of the girl's head down her pale face, soft throat, chest, belly and thighs. She even walked around her. The girl expected any moment to feel her probing fingers.Then both man and woman walked to the. Some of the pennies were bright and shiny new, some were green with age, some were a dull brown. I had begun to collect the pennies, pitching them into an old mug of hers that I had kept. I had bought the mug for her one year for Christmas. I had earned money by shoveling snow and sweeping walks. After carefully shopping to select the perfect present and proudly digging the money out of my shoe, I presented it to her, full of steaming hot coffee. She was so surprised, she used the mug every morning there after. The mug was chipped in spots, but the words were still legible, blue against a yellow background ‘I love you’ they spelled. One day I was bent over picking up a penny when a woman stopped me. She looked down at me from under the brim of her sun visor, her slip was peeking from under the hem of her cheap polyester skirt. ‘You know, those are pennies from heaven,’ she said. I looked up at her, not sure of how to reply. ‘I believe that those who love us pitch pennies down on us.
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