Miss Emily by Nuala O'Connor Page B

only being friendly.” I wave at Crohan, andhe waves back, and I wonder if there isn’t something mocking in the slow way he moves his hand.
    Uncle Michael comes into the room, and I smile at him; Cousin Annie links him, and she has a pious, put-upon look to her. She seems to revel in the glory of her mourning, in all the attention it gets her. Annie and Maggie were cut from the same cloth, and they couldn’t be more different from their parents.
    I kneel and pray for Mammy, Daddy and the girls; for Auntie Mary and Uncle Michael; I pray for Miss Emily and all the Dickinsons. I place my face in my hands and close my eyes. I am a little homesick. I imagine Mammy getting the bigger girls to hang stockings on the bed and the mantelpiece, ready for the nuts, fruits and gewgaws she will put in them when all are asleep. It was my custom to help her on Christmas Eve, and we would stay up late stitching the last few dollies that we made from scraps and old clothes. I hope she misses me tonight as I miss her, but I am sure Rose has taken my place and that their two heads are bent by the fire now, sewing button eyes into flour-sack faces.
    Daniel kneels beside me, and I wonder if he is thinking of his poor dead mother. Or of his grandparents at home in Ringsend. Being with him here makes it easier to hold up under the yearning that threatens to topple me tonight. I glance at him, and he turns his head sideways and winks. Daddy says that only corner boys wink at women, but Daniel is no corner boy. No, he is not that way at all. I know that Daddy would like Daniel, and that is saying a lot, because Daddy doesn’t take easily to anyone.
    The lamp oil and tallow make the air in the room thick and comforting. The Slaters have put up a proper crib with plaster statues like you would see in a church. When Father Sullivan gives the final blessing, we all line up to say a prayer in front of the Holy Family.
    â€œNo baby yet, of course,” I say, looking at the waiting manger and the Blessed Virgin’s sweet face.
    Daniel reaches down and pulls a piece of straw from the crib. “Keep that with your money, Ada, and you’ll have a prosperous year.”
    I take it and thank him. He puts one finger on the pearl brooch at my throat.
    â€œA birthday present from Miss Emily,” I say.
    â€œShe’s the best of them.”
    â€œShe is.”
    Outside, we wish Uncle Michael, Cousin Annie and the Crohans a happy Christmas and they wish us many happy returns. Annie sweeps Uncle away, and Patrick Crohan lingers as if he means to walk with us, but his aunt calls sharply to him and he skulks off. We say good night to the rest of the congregation, and I begin to walk back toward Main Street. People call “Merry Christmas” to one another, and my breath fizzes in the air. Daniel steps in beside me and presses a small pouch into my hand.
    â€œHappy Christmas, Ada.”
    I look up at him, mortified that I have nothing for him. I did go to Cutler’s and touch every pair of wool socks in the store, and I even looked at caps, but nothing felt right to me, and I didn’t buy a thing.
    â€œOh, Daniel, and here’s me with one arm as long as the other.”
    â€œI don’t expect anything from you, Ada. It’s only that I saw this and thought of you. And anyway, I missed your birthday somehow.”
    We follow the lamplighter, who is turning dark to light all along the street with his tall staff. Stopping under one of the lamps, I open the pouch and fish out a tiny mirror with a red rose painted on its back.
    â€œIt’s beautiful,” I say, taking Daniel’s gloved hand in my own. He puts his other hand on my cheek.
    â€œWould it be all right if I kissed you?”
    I glance up and down the street; the rest of the Mass-goers have scattered, into sleighs and away on foot. “It would.”
    He leans down and I stretch up, and our lips meet for a few seconds. His mouth is so soft