Patricia Falvey Read Online Free PDF Page B

toward Craig. “This is the minimum amount I will take per acre,” she said.
    Craig reached for the pad, read it, and raised one thin eyebrow.
    “I, I, er, don’t know if we can get close to this. This is a large amount,” he said. Then he leaned back in his chair and bared his small teeth in a smile. “Would you not do better to go to your father? I’m sure if he knew the circumstances…” He let the words hang in the air, but Ma ignored them.
    “I’m sure you can find a suitable buyer, Mr. Craig,” Ma said, smiling at him with no humor at all. “I have great faith in you.”
    Craig barked at the woman behind the counter to fetch some papers. We waited while he made a great show of filling in particulars. When he was finished, he folded the papers and handed them to Ma.
    “Mr. O’Neill will have to sign,” he said, all business now.
    “He will,” said Ma, putting the papers in her bag and standing up. She put out her gloved hand to Craig, and he hesitated before he took it.
    “Thank you for your time, Mr. Craig,” Ma said. “And by the way, Billy is doing just grand, in case you wanted to know.”
    Craig’s face turned pale. He said nothing. Ma shoved me out of the office and pulled me through the bank foyer and out the front door.
    “Why would he care about Billy?” I said, unable to picture a connection between this little man and big simple Billy with his tin whistle.
    “He’s Billy’s da,” Ma said, a bitter edge to her voice. “Not that you would ever know it. He disowned Billy long ago.”
    We walked to the corner in silence. The young lad saw us coming and hurried for the horse and cart. We climbed in and Ma chucked the reins.
    I was starving all the way back to Glenlea, but I was afraid to ask Ma to stop. For one thing, she was so caught up in her own thoughts that I doubted she would even hear me, and for another thing, I was suddenly afraid I would be showing weakness. So I put my arms over my stomach to stifle the growling and wondered for a while about how so small a man as Mr. Craig could have a son as big as Billy.
    I glanced at Ma now and then as she drove. I had always sensed there was something more to her that she kept hidden from us. I had glimpsed it now, and inwardly I wondered if it was my ma and not my da who was the O’Neill warrior. Then I realized the lesson she was teaching me was that a woman can be no less a warrior than a man.

    DA SIGNED THE papers and the land was sold. The bank removed the mortgage from the house and we settled into our own peaceful world. Ma smiled and talked a lot more than she had ever done, and my da talked less. Ma told us stories about her childhood growing up in the big house outside Newry, a topic she had never touched on before. Frankie and I were bursting with questions, and she answered us patiently, her eyes lighting up occasionally at some happy, silly memory.
    The Music Men continued to come even though Da could no longer play the fiddle. Instead he joined in on the bodhran, thumping away at the drum with his broken hands, and although he smiled and sang once in a while, I could tell his heart was no longer in it.
    The Music Men brought news from the outside. There was talk of a world war, and fear of it had left Home Rule stalled in its tracks. Republicans, supporters of Home Rule, were getting more and more frustrated and restless, even though their leader, John Redmond, tried to restrain them. Meanwhile, Ulster opposition to a united Ireland under Irish rule continued to fire resentment against the Catholics. There were stories of Catholic tenants being pulled out of their houses by Protestant landlords. But we owned our house free and clear, I told myself, so they could not touch us. I held on to that belief even as faceless ghosts came out of the darkness and laughed at me.

    AND SO 1907 slipped by softly, and I came to believe that we would be all right, that the bad spirits had done their worst. Ma and Da had made peace with