The Walking People by Mary Beth Keane

through their pants and touched their skin—and two on one side, two on the other, the four walked downstream. Then, when they reached Big Tom's favorite blackwater pool, Big Tom took hold of one end of the net and threw the other end across. Once the two across the river had hold of the net, they were able to circle the pool of fish, catch them in their beds. Jack's job was to keep his back turned on his father and brothers and stare out into the fields and the dark riverbanks, the shotgun clenched in both hands. Johanna had seen it once. Greta had heard them describe little bits and pieces of the scene so often that she felt she had seen it too.
    Greta also wondered if she, Johanna, and Lily would be punished for taking care of the salmon once the men got it back to the house. It was their job to clean and salt the fish. Too much or too little salt and
the fish would go rotten; just the right amount and they could last for weeks. Lily always took a few out of each haul and hung them inside the chimney to soak up the smoke of the fire. These were Big Tom's favorites, but to Greta, the chimney fish always tasted of turf.
    During the spring, summer, and autumn they ate fish at every meal. Salmon and eggs, salmon and toast, salmon and potatoes, salmon stew, salmon chopped up and mixed with flour and eggs and fried into little cakes. In addition to stuffing themselves full of it, Johanna and Greta also had the job of delivering the salmon in and around town. It was a somber operation—Johanna as the bearer of the fish, Greta as the companion charged to make conversation, keep everything light, swing her arms alongside her sister and appear to the world as two girls out for a walk. Johanna stowed the fish in the bag she used when she went in to sell eggs, and they went only to the houses Lily trusted. There were two bed-and-breakfasts in town, and one small hotel with a restaurant; the girls delivered salmon to these places as well. Jack and Padraic took the horse and cart to deliver to places farther away, places miles down the coast road, where people from England came in the summer and stayed in the single large hotel in the area or the private bungalows that lined the beach. Greta wondered if people could smell the salmon in their hair and their clothes, just as she had smelled earth and animals on the shawl of dead Julia Ward. Big Tom insisted that fresh fish didn't give off any odor, yet their cottage was swollen with the smell, and each night they cleaned little flecks of pink flesh from under their nails and off their jumpers. Lily put fresh wildflowers in every room. She grated orange peels and boiled cloves. They slept with the windows open and took turns watching out for Mr. Grady on the road.
    In town, even the people who didn't buy from the Cahills knew what they were up to. Greta heard it in their voices when people said hello, good morning, what a wonderful day for a walk. Most seemed happy to see them, as if she and Johanna were just after playing a big joke and everyone was on the verge of applauding.
    "Them eggs have a strange shape to them, Johanna Cahill," Mr. Doherty said with a wink as they passed one day, and then he laughed
and laughed as they quickened their pace. "You must have very unusual hens at your place."
    "If you're interested in buying these unusual eggs," Johanna shouted back, "speak to my mother."
    Greta had also noticed that there were one or two who were not amused to see them, who stood at the half doors of their homes, arms folded, to watch them and see whose house they'd visit next. Mr. Cox, whose wife was sick with a disease that made her tremble so much her daughters had to hold her down during Mass, said quietly one morning as they passed, "Tom Cahill is a thief and will go the way of thieves."
    Greta felt her legs go weak and her heart begin to beat very fast. "What did he say?" she whispered to Johanna, though she'd heard perfectly well. Without answering, Johanna took her by