harder to see Margaret and Celia together, the way Margaret rested her hand on Celia's head or licked her finger to clean a smudge off Celia's cheek, the way Celia would snuggle her head under Margaret's chin when she was tired. But once, when I suggested that Margaret take Celia out alone to explore, Margaret looked at me and slowly shook her head.
“Oh, Aquila, you're as dear to me as she is,” she said softly, and my breath caught ragged in my throat. I'd had a father, mother, and sister, but I'd never had a friend before. I felt guilty for thinking such bad thoughts of her, but I was sad, too. In any other circumstances, we might have been friends.
Nights were long, as sleep did not come easily for me, and I'd slip out to sit on the cliffs, listening to the wind and the groaning sea, and think “if onlys.” If onlyPapa had taken Mama to the doctor. If only Margaret hadn't come to Devils Rock. If only the ship her sister was on had not gone down.… But here I had to stop, for without that shipwreck, we would never have known Celia. It was going to be heart-wrenching to lose her, but I could not imagine those two years without her.
Some nights I'd hear wild geese, too, hurrying south. I thought of Margaret and how she'd soon be moving on, too, like the geese, before the cold set in. Never before had I dreaded a winter on Devils Rock as I did now.
On one of those nights, I rose from the rocks, stiff from the damp chill, and climbed the hill to say good night to Mama. Margaret and I startled each other. She stood silhouetted against the sky, her face bathed in moonlight.
“I miss my sister on nights like this especially,” she said. “Our mum told us the fairies lived in the Land of Light but the door to their land was open only on nights when the moon was full. It was said that if a piece of metal shaped by human hands was put in the doorway to their land, the door could not close, so on moonlit nights, my sister and I stood on the hill nearour home with a horseshoe, waiting for the door to open. I guess I'm still waiting.”
Times like that, it was hard to hate her. That, and when she was singing.
Margaret sang even more than Mama had. She taught Celia Irish lullabies she'd heard her mum sing, and she taught Papa and me some shanty Irish songs she'd learned from her da. Music was as natural to Margaret as breathing. Often I saw Papa pause on the stairs or in the doorway, listening to her, and once he asked her the name of the tune she was humming.
“‘Lovely Leitrim,'” Margaret answered, and sang:
Last night I had a pleasant dream.
I woke up with a smile.
I dreamed that I was back again
in dear old Erin's Isle.
In all the lands that I have been,
throughout the East and West,
In all the lands that I have seen,
I love my own the best.
Papa didn't say anything, but later, as he climbed the steps to light the lamps, I heard him humming it to himself.
Margaret and I were cleaning the clutter from the closet when she found the fiddle case.
“Does your da play?” she asked.
“He did,” I said. “But not since Mama died.”
“'Tis a shame,” Margaret said, “for a fiddle's meant to be played. I could teach you the Irish jig.” I remembered the joy I'd felt when Mama twirled me around the floor and the words flew out of my mouth before I could snatch them back.
“Couldn't you show me anyway?” I begged, and Margaret laughed.
“Sure, and why not,” she said. “To dance, you only need music in your heart.”
Margaret clapped and sang while I shuffled across the floor, but my feet felt as clumsy as rocks. I decided I must not have a musical heart.
“Nothing comes easy at first,” Margaret said. “It just takes practice.”
Each morning, we'd wait until Papa had gone out to check storm damage on the boat landing, or climbed the tower to polish the reflectors, and we'd push back the table and chairs to make room. Celia loved the dance lessons, and she'd stand on my feet while Iskipped
“Oh, Aquila, you're as dear to me as she is,” she said softly, and my breath caught ragged in my throat. I'd had a father, mother, and sister, but I'd never had a friend before. I felt guilty for thinking such bad thoughts of her, but I was sad, too. In any other circumstances, we might have been friends.
Nights were long, as sleep did not come easily for me, and I'd slip out to sit on the cliffs, listening to the wind and the groaning sea, and think “if onlys.” If onlyPapa had taken Mama to the doctor. If only Margaret hadn't come to Devils Rock. If only the ship her sister was on had not gone down.… But here I had to stop, for without that shipwreck, we would never have known Celia. It was going to be heart-wrenching to lose her, but I could not imagine those two years without her.
Some nights I'd hear wild geese, too, hurrying south. I thought of Margaret and how she'd soon be moving on, too, like the geese, before the cold set in. Never before had I dreaded a winter on Devils Rock as I did now.
On one of those nights, I rose from the rocks, stiff from the damp chill, and climbed the hill to say good night to Mama. Margaret and I startled each other. She stood silhouetted against the sky, her face bathed in moonlight.
“I miss my sister on nights like this especially,” she said. “Our mum told us the fairies lived in the Land of Light but the door to their land was open only on nights when the moon was full. It was said that if a piece of metal shaped by human hands was put in the doorway to their land, the door could not close, so on moonlit nights, my sister and I stood on the hill nearour home with a horseshoe, waiting for the door to open. I guess I'm still waiting.”
Times like that, it was hard to hate her. That, and when she was singing.
Margaret sang even more than Mama had. She taught Celia Irish lullabies she'd heard her mum sing, and she taught Papa and me some shanty Irish songs she'd learned from her da. Music was as natural to Margaret as breathing. Often I saw Papa pause on the stairs or in the doorway, listening to her, and once he asked her the name of the tune she was humming.
“‘Lovely Leitrim,'” Margaret answered, and sang:
Last night I had a pleasant dream.
I woke up with a smile.
I dreamed that I was back again
in dear old Erin's Isle.
In all the lands that I have been,
throughout the East and West,
In all the lands that I have seen,
I love my own the best.
Papa didn't say anything, but later, as he climbed the steps to light the lamps, I heard him humming it to himself.
Margaret and I were cleaning the clutter from the closet when she found the fiddle case.
“Does your da play?” she asked.
“He did,” I said. “But not since Mama died.”
“'Tis a shame,” Margaret said, “for a fiddle's meant to be played. I could teach you the Irish jig.” I remembered the joy I'd felt when Mama twirled me around the floor and the words flew out of my mouth before I could snatch them back.
“Couldn't you show me anyway?” I begged, and Margaret laughed.
“Sure, and why not,” she said. “To dance, you only need music in your heart.”
Margaret clapped and sang while I shuffled across the floor, but my feet felt as clumsy as rocks. I decided I must not have a musical heart.
“Nothing comes easy at first,” Margaret said. “It just takes practice.”
Each morning, we'd wait until Papa had gone out to check storm damage on the boat landing, or climbed the tower to polish the reflectors, and we'd push back the table and chairs to make room. Celia loved the dance lessons, and she'd stand on my feet while Iskipped
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