from this life much too soon.
“You’ll come home with us for a cup of tea,” urged Aunt Bridey. “You and wee Padraig. It’ll not do you any good to go home to an empty house just after bury’ your poor mother—my dear sister.”
Sitting in Bridey’s cozy kitchen a short time later, Tara did feel a little better. The noisy babble of her cousin’s voices tugged at the outer edges of the melancholy that enclosed her like so many layers of gauze. Padraig was outside climbing trees with his cousins. She wondered what he made of it all. His father had disappeared from his life when he was a wee baba. Now his mother was snatched cruelly away. Padraig must feel overwhelmed by events he could barely comprehend.
Tara sipped at the tea Bridey poured for her, not really tasting it.
Bridey put some potatoes on to boil for supper then sat back in a chair.
“You and Padraig will come and live with us,” Bridey sniffled. “It’s the least we can do for poor Kitty, God rest her soul.”
Bridey’s invitation was sincere, but it would be unimaginable to accept it. Bridey and her husband were even poorer than the McLaughlins. Their paltry fields produced such pitifully scant crops that Kevin had to work a job in town, as a laborer, in addition to toiling on his farm. And all those mouths to feed, with another on the way! The strain of two more people on this household would be intolerable.
“Thank you, Aunt Bridey. It’s very kind of you, but we can’t impose on you like that.”
“But what else can you do? You can’t keep the farm goin’ by yourself. You’ve worked like a mule these last few years and you’re barely gettin’ by. And now, with your mother gone…”
The truth of Bridey’s words made her head ache. There were decisions to be made, but she couldn’t think of them just now.
• • •
“Are you mad? America! A girl of your age boardin’ a boat and goin’ off to America? And what will you do with Padraig, if I might ask?” Uncle Kevin didn’t bother to hide his displeasure and astonishment. Usually a man of a few words, he was finding plenty of them at this moment.
“Tara, darlin’, you can’t really mean it.” Aunt Bridey was even more flustered than usual. “What would your poor mother think of it?”
“She’s not here,” Tara said calmly. “It’s up to me now to decide what’s best for meself and Padraig.”
Bridey was unconvinced. “But we offered—”
“I know you did. And I’m more grateful than you can know. But we couldn’t put you out like that, with your own family so large. Surely you can see that.”
“And what will become of the farm?” Kevin demanded. “Have you given no thought to the farm your father worked so hard to buy?”
“I have. I’ll sell it for passage money. Brady’s been wantin’ it for a long time. I’ll get a decent price for it.”
Bridey seemed on the brink of hysteria. “You’re not thinkin’ clearly, Tara. You’re distraught over your mother. You know nothin’ about America. It may be full of wicked people and dangerous animals!”
Tara shook her head stubbornly. “I’ve made up me mind.”
Uncle Kevin sighed. “You always were a willful child. Your father was too free with you. If your sainted parents were still alive…”
“I’ll sell the farm and most of the animals to Brady,” Tara told him, “but I thought I’d give Maggie to you. She’s a fine milker.”
Kevin brightened considerably. “Aye, she is.”
“On one condition.”
“What is it?”
“That you take Molly as well, and keep her comfortable in her old age. She’ll not go to the knacker’s. She’ll die peacefully, when her time comes.”
“Are you mad? I’ll not waste good hay on a cow that’s dried up!” The very idea incensed him. He was a farmer, rooted in practicality.
“Then you’ll not get Maggie.”
Kevin took a deep pull from his pipe and tried to calm himself while glaring at his headstrong niece. She was looking him
“You’ll come home with us for a cup of tea,” urged Aunt Bridey. “You and wee Padraig. It’ll not do you any good to go home to an empty house just after bury’ your poor mother—my dear sister.”
Sitting in Bridey’s cozy kitchen a short time later, Tara did feel a little better. The noisy babble of her cousin’s voices tugged at the outer edges of the melancholy that enclosed her like so many layers of gauze. Padraig was outside climbing trees with his cousins. She wondered what he made of it all. His father had disappeared from his life when he was a wee baba. Now his mother was snatched cruelly away. Padraig must feel overwhelmed by events he could barely comprehend.
Tara sipped at the tea Bridey poured for her, not really tasting it.
Bridey put some potatoes on to boil for supper then sat back in a chair.
“You and Padraig will come and live with us,” Bridey sniffled. “It’s the least we can do for poor Kitty, God rest her soul.”
Bridey’s invitation was sincere, but it would be unimaginable to accept it. Bridey and her husband were even poorer than the McLaughlins. Their paltry fields produced such pitifully scant crops that Kevin had to work a job in town, as a laborer, in addition to toiling on his farm. And all those mouths to feed, with another on the way! The strain of two more people on this household would be intolerable.
“Thank you, Aunt Bridey. It’s very kind of you, but we can’t impose on you like that.”
“But what else can you do? You can’t keep the farm goin’ by yourself. You’ve worked like a mule these last few years and you’re barely gettin’ by. And now, with your mother gone…”
The truth of Bridey’s words made her head ache. There were decisions to be made, but she couldn’t think of them just now.
• • •
“Are you mad? America! A girl of your age boardin’ a boat and goin’ off to America? And what will you do with Padraig, if I might ask?” Uncle Kevin didn’t bother to hide his displeasure and astonishment. Usually a man of a few words, he was finding plenty of them at this moment.
“Tara, darlin’, you can’t really mean it.” Aunt Bridey was even more flustered than usual. “What would your poor mother think of it?”
“She’s not here,” Tara said calmly. “It’s up to me now to decide what’s best for meself and Padraig.”
Bridey was unconvinced. “But we offered—”
“I know you did. And I’m more grateful than you can know. But we couldn’t put you out like that, with your own family so large. Surely you can see that.”
“And what will become of the farm?” Kevin demanded. “Have you given no thought to the farm your father worked so hard to buy?”
“I have. I’ll sell it for passage money. Brady’s been wantin’ it for a long time. I’ll get a decent price for it.”
Bridey seemed on the brink of hysteria. “You’re not thinkin’ clearly, Tara. You’re distraught over your mother. You know nothin’ about America. It may be full of wicked people and dangerous animals!”
Tara shook her head stubbornly. “I’ve made up me mind.”
Uncle Kevin sighed. “You always were a willful child. Your father was too free with you. If your sainted parents were still alive…”
“I’ll sell the farm and most of the animals to Brady,” Tara told him, “but I thought I’d give Maggie to you. She’s a fine milker.”
Kevin brightened considerably. “Aye, she is.”
“On one condition.”
“What is it?”
“That you take Molly as well, and keep her comfortable in her old age. She’ll not go to the knacker’s. She’ll die peacefully, when her time comes.”
“Are you mad? I’ll not waste good hay on a cow that’s dried up!” The very idea incensed him. He was a farmer, rooted in practicality.
“Then you’ll not get Maggie.”
Kevin took a deep pull from his pipe and tried to calm himself while glaring at his headstrong niece. She was looking him
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