two.
Suddenly Merry stood up and began to dance from foot to foot, her humming high-pitched and excited. She pointed a finger, wet with corn juice, toward Poppasquash Point and the gray-shingled mansion that shone brightly beneath the sun.
Bria looked, squinting against the mirror dazzle of the water. With the white shimmer of sky and bay, the house seemed to be floating like a silver cloud. “Why, how like a fairy’s castle it is, surely,” she said.
But then she saw that Noreen was staring up at her little sister with dark brown eyes big as cartwheels in her face. “What?” Bria said. “What is she saying, then?”
Noreen turned those eyes onto her mother. “She . . . she says the angel who came to the mill today lives in that big silver house on the water and . . .”
Merry hummed, and nodded her head so hard her curls shook.
“And she’s going to take you away with her, out to that house,” Noreen finished in a rush, surging to her feet. “Mam, don’t let her! Don’t let the angel take you away from us!”
“What foolishness is this?” Bria tried to laugh, but her throat closed up. I’ll not be leaving you, she wanted to promise. Never, never would I leave you. But the words got tangled up with the lie that lived inside of them.
“Foolishness,” she said again instead, though she could understand what had started her fey daughter off on one of her wild imaginings. An angel . . . aye, an angel the girl had seemed, something magical and extraordinary, standing high above them all up there on the catwalk with the sun streaming down through the high windows, so that the very air around her had seemed to quiver and tremble with showered light.
Bria knelt on the shingled beach so that she could wrap an arm around each of her girls. “The lady who came to the mill today—it’s no angel, she is. A very grand and pretty lady, surely. But no angel. And for certain she’ll not be having anything to do with the likes of us.”
Merry hummed a bright, sweet dreamsong. She began to sway, her eyes fluttering closed, and Noreen spoke for her, the words dreamy as well.
“She says it’s not afraid we should be, for the angel will be making all our wishes come true.”
Noreen turned pleading eyes onto her mother. She’s like me, Bria thought, wanting the miracle, wanting it so very desperately, and yet unable to stop herself from looking always for the tarnish on the silver lining. While Merry took after her da, with the grand and impossible dreams in her.
“Come now, me darlin’s,” Bria said, her arms tightening around them, pulling them close. “We should be getting ourselves home.”
Yet she stayed where she was, kneeling on the cool wet sand.They felt so small and fragile in her arms, her girls, and she wanted to hold them to her like this, safe against her breast, forever.
On the way home they crossed paths with the men who worked in the onion fields. The field hands all carried hoes on their shoulders, and ropes of the prized Bristol red onions swung from their fists. Bria looked for her man among them but he wasn’t there.
As they walked past the Crow’s Nest Saloon, she stopped to stand on tiptoe and peer above the slatted doors, searching for the big, brawny sight of him from among the b’hoys standing hipshot at the bar. But he wasn’t there either.
Their house stood on the water side of Thames Street—a two-room clapboard shack perched on stilts. It had a tarpaper roof, and its walls were stuffed with eelgrass for warmth against the New England winters. So different this house was from the thatched-roof shibeen she had lived in all of her life before this.
Some days she could shut her eyes and every stone hedge and potato ridge of her home in Ireland would rise vividly in her mind. She would feel the loss of her life, of herself, as big and gaping, and forever.
So she would make herself open her eyes wide and look at her girls and her man, all of them dear as God’s breath to
Suddenly Merry stood up and began to dance from foot to foot, her humming high-pitched and excited. She pointed a finger, wet with corn juice, toward Poppasquash Point and the gray-shingled mansion that shone brightly beneath the sun.
Bria looked, squinting against the mirror dazzle of the water. With the white shimmer of sky and bay, the house seemed to be floating like a silver cloud. “Why, how like a fairy’s castle it is, surely,” she said.
But then she saw that Noreen was staring up at her little sister with dark brown eyes big as cartwheels in her face. “What?” Bria said. “What is she saying, then?”
Noreen turned those eyes onto her mother. “She . . . she says the angel who came to the mill today lives in that big silver house on the water and . . .”
Merry hummed, and nodded her head so hard her curls shook.
“And she’s going to take you away with her, out to that house,” Noreen finished in a rush, surging to her feet. “Mam, don’t let her! Don’t let the angel take you away from us!”
“What foolishness is this?” Bria tried to laugh, but her throat closed up. I’ll not be leaving you, she wanted to promise. Never, never would I leave you. But the words got tangled up with the lie that lived inside of them.
“Foolishness,” she said again instead, though she could understand what had started her fey daughter off on one of her wild imaginings. An angel . . . aye, an angel the girl had seemed, something magical and extraordinary, standing high above them all up there on the catwalk with the sun streaming down through the high windows, so that the very air around her had seemed to quiver and tremble with showered light.
Bria knelt on the shingled beach so that she could wrap an arm around each of her girls. “The lady who came to the mill today—it’s no angel, she is. A very grand and pretty lady, surely. But no angel. And for certain she’ll not be having anything to do with the likes of us.”
Merry hummed a bright, sweet dreamsong. She began to sway, her eyes fluttering closed, and Noreen spoke for her, the words dreamy as well.
“She says it’s not afraid we should be, for the angel will be making all our wishes come true.”
Noreen turned pleading eyes onto her mother. She’s like me, Bria thought, wanting the miracle, wanting it so very desperately, and yet unable to stop herself from looking always for the tarnish on the silver lining. While Merry took after her da, with the grand and impossible dreams in her.
“Come now, me darlin’s,” Bria said, her arms tightening around them, pulling them close. “We should be getting ourselves home.”
Yet she stayed where she was, kneeling on the cool wet sand.They felt so small and fragile in her arms, her girls, and she wanted to hold them to her like this, safe against her breast, forever.
On the way home they crossed paths with the men who worked in the onion fields. The field hands all carried hoes on their shoulders, and ropes of the prized Bristol red onions swung from their fists. Bria looked for her man among them but he wasn’t there.
As they walked past the Crow’s Nest Saloon, she stopped to stand on tiptoe and peer above the slatted doors, searching for the big, brawny sight of him from among the b’hoys standing hipshot at the bar. But he wasn’t there either.
Their house stood on the water side of Thames Street—a two-room clapboard shack perched on stilts. It had a tarpaper roof, and its walls were stuffed with eelgrass for warmth against the New England winters. So different this house was from the thatched-roof shibeen she had lived in all of her life before this.
Some days she could shut her eyes and every stone hedge and potato ridge of her home in Ireland would rise vividly in her mind. She would feel the loss of her life, of herself, as big and gaping, and forever.
So she would make herself open her eyes wide and look at her girls and her man, all of them dear as God’s breath to
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