The Walking People by Mary Beth Keane Page B

her good morning. He smiled as she looked around, confused about where he'd emerged from. Coming up behind her that way meant he would have walked through the fields, waded through the stream, marched through the soft and muddy ground between his place and theirs. She looked down at his wellies, which were splattered with fresh mud. He was a small man, not nearly the size of her father, and his shadow barely outstretched hers. The brim of his cap was pulled so low that all Greta could see of his pale face was the ginger-colored stubble on his cheeks and throat.
    "Did I scare you, Greta?" he asked, stepping in front of her so she had to stop walking.
    "No, Mr. Grady. Fine day." She took a few steps to her left, pretending to look at something on the ground. She hoped her mother would glance out the window and see them there. Lily and Johanna were inside, draining the brine, removing the bones that came away easily and piling them in the pot to save for boiling. "What brings you down our way?" she asked. On several occasions Greta could recall, and even more that she couldn't recall but had heard recounted, he'd been angry enough to walk straight down the Cahills' lane and knock on their front door. He'd shouted at Big Tom, demanded payment for use of his property and for taking away business that rightfully belonged to him, but as far as Greta knew, he'd never sneaked through the fields and popped up in their yard with a smirk like the cat who got the cream.
    "Where's your father?"
    "Him and the boys went to the crossroads to meet Mr. Devine's bull." They'd filed off that morning with two young cows that had never calved. Greta knew that they would wait by one of the abandoned cottages until Mr. Devine arrived and Big Tom gave him money for his bull to hop up on the cows' backs. Greta also knew that sometimes they had to wait a long time for the bull to be ready to hop up a second time. Lily had sent her and Johanna to give him a message once, and they arrived as the bull was beginning to twitch and pace. Just as the bull leaped and the cow staggered forward, Big Tom had roared at them to go away. "You know what they were doing, don't you?" Johanna had crowed as they raced home.
    "And your mother is inside?" Mr. Grady asked.
    "Yes."
    "And Johanna?"
    "Inside as well. Well, now that I think of it, they might have gone around front. My mother wanted to have a look at the whitewash. There's mud up to the eaves. Will we walk around front and I'll get her for you?"
    Greta took a few steps toward the front of the cottage, but Mr. Grady stayed put.
    "Is it chores they're doing inside?"
    "It is, of course. Pop and the boys will be back soon."
    "And what kind of work could they be doing that they'd need to pull the curtains?"
    Greta glanced over and saw that the curtains in the kitchen and the back room had been pulled since Mr. Grady had come into the yard. Greta smiled. "Now, Mr. Grady, why don't we go around front and I'll get Mother."
    "No, Greta. I think we'll walk to the back door and you'll tell her I'm here to see her about something." His pale face had become flushed. His voice lost its cheerful, gloating tones and sounded like a chord pulled too tight.
    "Will you wait here while I get her?" Greta lowered her voice and in a volume barely above a whisper said, "She might not be dressed."
    As Mr. Grady looked at her, Greta fought the urge to push her glasses higher on her nose. She realized that she was chewing her lower lip, and she stopped. She smoothed her skirt. She concentrated on staying perfectly still. "She wasn't feeling well yesterday, and she'd be very cross if I—"
    "Go, then," said Mr. Grady. "I'll wait here."
    Greta walked across the yard as if someone else were in charge of her limbs. She glanced around, as if observing different things in the yard, a casual task, off to fetch her mother. When she reached the back door, she pushed it open halfway, then slipped inside.
    "What does he want?" Lily asked. She was