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He pointed at our location on the map. “Just a few more minutes and we’ll be at the Shimla railway station!” He grinned. “Did you hear that, Madho Singh?” On the seat next to him, the parakeet was grumbling under the satin cover of his cage.

Radha had fallen asleep with her head in my lap, but now she sat up and rubbed her eyes. She looked out the window of the train, where deodar cedars and Himalayan pines dotted the rocky mountains across the valley. The first snows had fallen, leaving the treetops decorated with bluish-white icing.

“Is there always snow here, Radha?” Malik asked. He had only ever lived in the Rajasthani desert.

She smiled. “Only in the winter. But wait another month. The ground will be completely covered in snow. Then we will build a snow-woman who looks like Mrs. Iyengar!”

They laughed. EvenIfound the image of a stout snowman in a sari amusing. I hid my smile behind the letter I was rereading.

Dr. Kumar had been sending me letters every few days since I accepted his offer to come work with him. This one had arrived just before we left for Shimla.

November 1, 1956

Dear Lakshmi,

I have found a three-bedroom house in Shimla for your family. Radha and Malik will each have their own room! It is close to Lady Bradley, so you can walk. Or, if you prefer, I can arrange a car and driver.

I’ve also taken the liberty of arranging a few appointments for you when you first arrive. Already I feel I must apologize for putting you to work so quickly. You’ll be sprinting the moment you step off the train!

Mrs. Sethi, the headmistress of the Auckland House School, looks forward to meeting with you regarding Radha’s enrollment. I would be happy to accompany you and Malik to Bishop Cotton, my alma mater, for his first day. Unless, of course, you’d rather reserve that pleasure for yourself. (My old headmaster is still there, but don’t believe any of the stories he tells about me!)

Samir Singh had offered to pay for Radha’s education. His note to me had come as a surprise. He said he hoped my sister would continue studying Shakespeare. I accepted that for the meager apology it was, though Radha deserved better. I had asked that he pay her fees anonymously; I wanted no further contact with him. Nor did I want Radha to have any reason to communicate with the Singhs.

Jay Kumar knew about this financial arrangement but not the history, and when I explained it to him, he had not asked any questions. He seemed focused only on our shared future. In his letters (which came frequently), he told me what he was learning about the hill people and their age-old medicinal cures.

A part of the rhododendron bush, they tell me, is used as a cure for swollen ankles. Have you heard of this? Yesterday, an old Gaddi woman brought a bowl ofsik(made from the dried fruit of theneemtree) for one of our cleaners who is pregnant. She says it ensures a healthy body before and after delivery. Out of curiosity, I tasted it—much to the delight of both women!

The thought of Jay Kumar eating a bowl of porridge meant for a pregnant woman made me smile.

Every day the people ask me when you’re arriving. Many remember you from the clinic. You left an impression on them—a good one—judging from the way they talk about you. They, and I, look forward to welcoming you back.

Till we meet,

Jay

The train’s whistle brought me back to my present surroundings.

“We’re here!” Malik was out of his seat before the train had even stopped.

I returned the letter to my handbag. Radha and Malik gathered our things. The train slowed, and as we came around the curve of the mountain, I saw the Shimla railway station.

Jay Kumar was the tallest man on the platform. He was wearing his white coat over a green turtleneck sweater; he’d probably come directly from the hospital. The Himalayan wind was blowing his curls about. Funny how I’d forgotten the streaks of gray in his hair. Or the way he stood with his head tilted to one side, as if he were listening for something important.

When he spotted me at the window, his eyes locked on mine, and his expression changed—a slow smile of recognition. I noticed, too, the gray of his eyes, and, for once, he did not look away.

I felt myself blushing, the heat on my neck like fire.

Radha tapped my arm. “Jiji, look!”

Now I noticed the crowd of people assembled beside him, their bright wool skirts, embroideredtopas, colorful blouses. There was the woman to whom I had recommended bitter melon and garlic when her pregnancy had given her severe indigestion. She was holding her new baby, proudly, in the crook of her arm.

To her right was the grandmother who suffered from arthritis, smiling with her toothless gums, holding the reins of her mule.

And over there—the sheepherder! Jay had written me that the diet I’d suggested had saved the shepherd from having his goiter removed. He held up a hand in greeting, his eyes crinkling in pleasure.

A thousand miles from the tiny village where I’d started, I was finally home.

Behind us, from his cage, Madho Singh called out again: “Namaste! Bonjour!Welcome!”