her, and she would make herself think of this country she had come to. This America, so big and grand, so full up to bursting with life and dreams and promise. Och , it could break your heart with its promises, this America.
By the time Bria turned up the dirt path, she was walking so fast the girls had to trot to keep up with her. She hardly felt the tired ache in her legs anymore as she climbed the steep stairs of the front stoop and threw open the door. But the kitchen was empty, and his name and the smile she always wore just for him died on her lips.
The house smelled of the bacon and cabbage she had cooked for supper last night, and so she left the door open to the salt breeze.
While the girls washed up, Bria put on her apron and made them soda bread and bacon sandwiches. “There now,” she said as she set the heaping plates on the table. “You’ll really have to use your jaws to get around that.”
Noreen made a face at her, for she said that very same thing every Saturday-off when she made them sandwiches. But Bria only laughed.
She bent over and kissed the top of her daughter’s head, where the part shone white in the brown hair. “Why don’t you go on back outside and enjoy the rest of the day, what with the sun fit to burst in the sky?” She gave the girl’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Go on, then, love, and take your supper with you.”
Noreen cast a look full of yearning out the open door, yet leftover fears held her still. Then she snatched up the sandwich with both hands and ran out into the sunshine.
Bria followed her to the door, watching and smiling. But when she looked around for Merry a moment later, she saw that the child had sat down at the table and fallen asleep before she had taken the first bite from her sandwich. Sometimes the little ones fell asleep standing up at their ring spinners, they got that tired.
Bria gathered her up and carried her into the bedroom. So weightless did she feel in her arms, light as gossamer silk. And so heavy did Bria’s heart feel at the sight of her darling baby’s face, so thin and tired and pale.
Bria laid her down between the feed-sack sheets, which were rough but clean. She smoothed back Merry’s bright curls and kissed her forehead. Tomorrow, Bria promised herself, she would take them for a proper picnic at Town Beach. She’d buy them a jelly roll as a treat, even though it would cost a whole nickel.
Tomorrow . . . She felt the despair smash into her like a breaking wave and she shook beneath the force of it. Tomorrow—what a grand and sad word that was. So full of hope and wonder andpromise. But only if you were sure of having one, sure of having a tomorrow.
Bria gave her daughter another kiss, soft as a whisper, and went back out into the kitchen. She looked at the sandwich sitting there on the chipped enamel plate and thought she ought to eat it. It was just that she had so little appetite anymore, yet still the babe grew big and heavy in her belly, while the rest of her looked like a bundle of twigs tied together with string. And with herself out of a job now and her man back to working the onion fields, they would be living on carrots and turnips and swamp apples soon enough.
But even the smell of the bacon was making her ill. She wrapped the sandwich up in a scrap of paper and put it away in the pie cage for later.
She set about baking up a fresh batch of soda bread, pouring a scuttleful of coal into the potbelly of the black iron stove. In Ireland she had cooked over an open hearth, boiling potatoes and turnips in a big pot. She’d had no wood or coal to make a fire, but plenty of peat bog for digging up lay right outside the cottage door. No smell was so loamy sweet, she remembered with a sigh, as that of burning peat.
Bria shook her head hard, trying to tear her thoughts away from home. She might as well get her heart settled on it—she was never going to see Ireland again.
As she reached for the flour tin, Bria glanced out
By the time Bria turned up the dirt path, she was walking so fast the girls had to trot to keep up with her. She hardly felt the tired ache in her legs anymore as she climbed the steep stairs of the front stoop and threw open the door. But the kitchen was empty, and his name and the smile she always wore just for him died on her lips.
The house smelled of the bacon and cabbage she had cooked for supper last night, and so she left the door open to the salt breeze.
While the girls washed up, Bria put on her apron and made them soda bread and bacon sandwiches. “There now,” she said as she set the heaping plates on the table. “You’ll really have to use your jaws to get around that.”
Noreen made a face at her, for she said that very same thing every Saturday-off when she made them sandwiches. But Bria only laughed.
She bent over and kissed the top of her daughter’s head, where the part shone white in the brown hair. “Why don’t you go on back outside and enjoy the rest of the day, what with the sun fit to burst in the sky?” She gave the girl’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Go on, then, love, and take your supper with you.”
Noreen cast a look full of yearning out the open door, yet leftover fears held her still. Then she snatched up the sandwich with both hands and ran out into the sunshine.
Bria followed her to the door, watching and smiling. But when she looked around for Merry a moment later, she saw that the child had sat down at the table and fallen asleep before she had taken the first bite from her sandwich. Sometimes the little ones fell asleep standing up at their ring spinners, they got that tired.
Bria gathered her up and carried her into the bedroom. So weightless did she feel in her arms, light as gossamer silk. And so heavy did Bria’s heart feel at the sight of her darling baby’s face, so thin and tired and pale.
Bria laid her down between the feed-sack sheets, which were rough but clean. She smoothed back Merry’s bright curls and kissed her forehead. Tomorrow, Bria promised herself, she would take them for a proper picnic at Town Beach. She’d buy them a jelly roll as a treat, even though it would cost a whole nickel.
Tomorrow . . . She felt the despair smash into her like a breaking wave and she shook beneath the force of it. Tomorrow—what a grand and sad word that was. So full of hope and wonder andpromise. But only if you were sure of having one, sure of having a tomorrow.
Bria gave her daughter another kiss, soft as a whisper, and went back out into the kitchen. She looked at the sandwich sitting there on the chipped enamel plate and thought she ought to eat it. It was just that she had so little appetite anymore, yet still the babe grew big and heavy in her belly, while the rest of her looked like a bundle of twigs tied together with string. And with herself out of a job now and her man back to working the onion fields, they would be living on carrots and turnips and swamp apples soon enough.
But even the smell of the bacon was making her ill. She wrapped the sandwich up in a scrap of paper and put it away in the pie cage for later.
She set about baking up a fresh batch of soda bread, pouring a scuttleful of coal into the potbelly of the black iron stove. In Ireland she had cooked over an open hearth, boiling potatoes and turnips in a big pot. She’d had no wood or coal to make a fire, but plenty of peat bog for digging up lay right outside the cottage door. No smell was so loamy sweet, she remembered with a sigh, as that of burning peat.
Bria shook her head hard, trying to tear her thoughts away from home. She might as well get her heart settled on it—she was never going to see Ireland again.
As she reached for the flour tin, Bria glanced out
Similar Books
