Calpurnia was a sure woman.

She'd grown up prejudiced, and it didn't particularly come as a surprise as to why exactly, though she didn't let it stop her from proving her worth.

She'd learned to read, and to write–even taught Atticus how to himself, growing up with him–not to mention she had a wit nearly matching the man.

She was strict, but fair–even if Scout just saw her as some sort of evil witch, though she grew out of it eventually.

Ever since everything regarding Jean, she'd assumed the role of a mother practically, though she never was referred to as such.

Atticus didn't need any more soot to sully his name after the trial and all–not that he cared what anyone thought of him, nor did she.

Sure as the steel companies in Gadsden, or the coal mines in Virginia–her hand about as tough as both, her soul tougher–she'd not had to deal with much of that anymore.

It was a calm, November evening, the sky its dull gray today, the sun hidden behind the blanket strewn across the once baby blue sky–wind blowing the, now leafless, trees side to side.

Atticus had forced her to take a day off–she'd fought back like a hound from the fiery black pits, but he was a resilient man–so here she sat.

None of her children were home, Zeebo off working, the others...

...doing the things children did.

She huffed, as she sat inside, gazing outside of her window, the radio on like she liked it–and all was going well.

Until she spotted you, walking down the side walk, before your foot caught on...well, something, causing you to take a nasty tumble.

She blinked, before she gently stood up, and made her way outside, stepping her way over to you in sort of a quick manner.

"Oh–are you alright? That looked a pretty nasty fall you took there...here, c'mon up..."

She stood you up eyeing that nasty looking scuff on your arm, it already turning an ugly red, before she took a step back, her dark eyes moving to your own.

"You feelin' alright, or am I gon' have to tend to that...?"