Patricia Falvey Read Online Free PDF Page A

could make his hands better. Didn’t she understand the real wound was in his heart, not his hands?
    “We’ll see,” was all she said.

    THE NEXT MORNING , Ma hitched Rosie to the cart and jumped up to take the reins. I had never seen her like this before. Her face was set as firm as granite.
    “Get your coat, Eileen, and come with me,” she commanded.
    Frankie ran out of the door, his face dark. “What about me?” he cried.
    Ma hesitated for a moment. Then she said, “No, Frank, stay and help your da mind Lizzie.”
    “But that’s
her
job,” spat Frankie, pointing at me.
    “It’s your job now,” Ma said, her voice cold, “and that’s enough back talk. Get in, Eileen.”
    “Where are we going?” I whispered.
    “To the bank,” she said. “We’re going to get this house back.”
    I climbed into the cart and Ma chucked the reins. Rosie began her slow trot out through the broken gate and down the hill toward the village. It was a blustery spring day. Young buds emerged on trees, holding their ground defiantly against the strong breezes. Pale clouds mottled the sky, and a weak sun shone through their scrim. I wondered why Ma had brought me with her instead of Frankie. It would have been natural for her to bring him since he was the oldest and, as I believed deep down, her favorite. So I was delighted that she had chosen me instead. I stole a glance at her. She sat erect in the cart. She wore her best hat, the one she always wore to mass on Sundays, the one I was told she had worn when she married Da. It was made of brown velvet with silk flowers sewn on the side of it, a brown grosgrain ribbon around the brim. When Ma wore this hat, her back straightened up, as it did now, and she grew an inch taller. The hat transformed her into the person she used to be: the daughter of a prosperous landowner—a person who deserved respect.
    I thought we were going to the bank in Glenlea, but Ma drove straight through the village main street without stopping. We passed Kearney’s pub at a trot, then Quinn’s Chemists and Mary Moloney’s grocery shop. Mary was sitting on a chair outside the shop door, and she waved as we passed. I waved back, but Ma paid no attention. Some of my schoolmates, off for the Easter holidays, leaned against the wall, and they waved up at me, too. I waved back and smiled, proud to be seen sitting beside my beautiful mother. Some of the village men doffed their hats, but the women just stared, as they always did. No matter how long she had lived in Glenlea, the villagers still treated her as an outsider. It didn’t occur to me then that she was an outsider not because she was not born there, but because she was different. My ma was a lady, and they recognized it. I smiled and moved closer to her.
    We drove on to Newry, the biggest town in the area, which sat on the border between Counties Armagh and Down. I had been there only a few times before. The streets were filled with people, carts, and bicycles. It was market day, and people were enjoying themselves. Ma turned off the main road and crossed the bridge over Newry Canal. Bright boats and barges were tethered against the banks, their flags fluttering in the breeze. I craned my neck to look at everything. We drove on into the main part of the town, a large square with a clock in the middle. A big golden teapot hung from a wall above one of the shops. I looked up at it in delight, remembering it from past excursions. I had always loved it. I smiled up at Ma, but she paid me no attention. She slowed the cart to a stop and stepped down. I followed her. She called to a young boy and handed him Rosie’s reins along with some coins. He led the horse and cart away. I was amazed at Ma’s command of things.
    The Royal Bank of Newry seemed to my young eyes as big as Newry Cathedral and just as frightening. It was built of granite, with stout stone columns standing on either side of its heavy oak doors. Ma took my elbow and led me up the steps and in