nothing to her whether the little fraud drank or not.
But Anna opened her mouth for the spoon and swallowed without difficulty.
âO forgive me, that I may be refreshed,â
she murmured.
Talking not to Lib, of course, but to God.
âAnother?â
âNo, thank you, Mrs. Wright.â
Lib wrote down,
1:13 p.m., 1 tsp. water.
Not that the quantity mattered, she supposed, except that she wanted to be able to give a full account of anything the child ingested on her watch.
Now there really was nothing left to do. Lib took the second chair. It was so close to Annaâs that their skirts were almost touching, but there was nowhere else to place it. She considered the long hours ahead with a sense of awkwardness. Sheâd spent months on end with other private patients, but this was different, because she was eyeing this child like a bird of prey, and Anna knew it.
A soft knock at the door made her leap up.
âMalachy OâDonnell, maâam.â The farmer tapped his faded waistcoat where it buttoned.
âMr. OâDonnell,â said Lib, putting her hand into his leathery one. She would have thanked him for his hospitality except that she was here as a sort of spy on his whole household, so it hardly seemed fitting.
He was short and wiry, as lean as his wife, but with a far narrower frame. Anna took after her fatherâs side. But no spare flesh on any of this family; a troupe of marionettes.
He bent down to kiss his daughter somewhere near the ear. âHow are you, pet?â
âVery well, Dadda.â Beaming up at him.
Malachy OâDonnell stood there, nodding.
Disappointment weighed on Lib. Sheâd been expecting something more from the father. The grand showman behind the scenesâor at least a coconspirator, as prickly as his wife. But this yokel⦠âYou keep, ah, shorthorns, Mr. OâDonnell?â
âWell. A few now,â he said. âI have the lease on a couple of water meadows for the grazing. I sell the, you know, for fertilizer.â
Lib realized he meant manure.
âCattle, now, sometimesâ¦â Malachy trailed off. âWith their straying and breaking legs and getting stuck when they come out wrong, seeâyou might say they do be more trouble than theyâre worth.â
What else had Lib seen outside the farmhouse? âYou also have poultry, yes?â
âAh, theyâd be Rosaleenâs, now. Mrs. OâDonnellâs.â The man gave one last nod, as if something had been settled, and stroked his daughterâs hairline. He headed out, then doubled back. âMeant to say. That fellow from the paperâs here.â
âI beg your pardon?â
He gestured towards the window. Through the smeary glass Lib saw an enclosed wagon. âTo take Anna.â
âTake her where?â she snapped. Really, what did the committee men think they were doing, setting up the watch in this cramped and unhygienic cabin and then changing their minds and shipping the child off somewhere else?
âTake her face, just,â said her father. âHer likeness.â
REILLY & SONS, PHOTOGRAPHISTS, the van said on the side in pompous type. Lib could hear a strangerâs voice in the kitchen. Oh, this was too much. She took a few steps before remembering that she wasnât allowed to leave the childâs side. She roped her arms around herself instead.
Rosaleen OâDonnell bustled in. âMr. Reillyâs ready to do your daguerreotype, Anna.â
âIs this really necessary?â asked Lib.
ââTis to be engraved and put in the paper.â
Printing a portrait of the young chancer, as if she were the queen. Or a two-headed calf, more like. âHow far off is his studio?â
âSure he does it right there in the van.â Mrs. OâDonnell jabbed her finger towards the window.
Lib let the child go outside in front of her but tugged her out of the way of an uncovered bucket,
Danielle Steel
Theo Marais
C. C. Gibbs
Chris Ryan
Ryan Graudin
Max Dane
Louis - Sackett's 08 L'amour
Robyn Peterman
Chris Bunch
Nancy Holder