Rescuing Mr. Gracey Read Online Free PDF Page B

exchanged a knowing glance with her father. “Do not lay the blame upon me, Da. We all miss you being the county teacher.” Winking at her sister, she said, “Yet that is not what irritates Mam. She fears Agnes has forgotten proper English from working in that Protestant home. Perhaps she does not even remember Gaelic brehons or Irish history.”
    Joseph chuckled, tapping his hands against his chest. “I see your point, Mary. We must remind Agnes of her upbringing and education.” Lifting his thick brows, he puffed out his chest and imitated the accent of a stuffy aristocrat. “Agnes. Repeat after me. ‘Do you think a grand prince will be attending our poor excuse for a dance this evening?’”
    In spite of her children giggling, Maureen pouted. “Ah, make light of it, all of you. But, Joseph, you know how I worry. You work too hard and are wasting the talent the good Lord gave you.”
    He hugged his wife and whispered soothingly, “’Tis nothing more than all our children do to keep us going, dear heart. There’s no other way to hold the land.”
    Maureen’s brow lifted as she stared into her husband’s eyes. “Mark me words, Joseph Smyth. As soon as the blight is over, ye’ll be teaching again, and we’ll not be eating pitiful prátaí neither. In the meanwhile, our very own children will not be forgetting their lessons. I’ll see to that.”
    Tugging his mother’s hem, three-year-old Joey added, “Me too.”
    “Da, please,” Agnes whined. “Couldn’t we hold this discussion for another day? I only get home once per month, and I’d like to have a dance or two before returning in the morn.”
    “Let’s make haste, then,” Joseph said, crossing one leg over the other. “Me feet are impatient to meet the pipers, and me arms long to hold me darlin’ wife in a waltz beneath the moon.”
    He wrapped Maureen in a bear hug before placing a gentle kiss upon her forehead. She blushed, her beautiful girlish smile playing at her mouth.
    Patting his chest, she winked. “I’ll believe ya, Mr. Smyth, but a thousand others wouldn’t.”
    Joseph chuckled as he opened the door. Seven-year-old Brian, three-year-old Joey, Agnes, and Mary followed their parents across the property and down a rutted road.
    Distant sounds of fiddles and pipes, bodhrán drums, and tapping feet on barn-door floors floated through the starry night. The feis dancing competition had been going since noon and now crowds gathered for the scheduled dance.
    As they got closer to the dance, Mary touched nervous hands to the protruding edges of her ribs. She was a pragmatist and acknowledged that the years of famine and working in the sun and not eating properly had all combined to steal her youth. That was why tonight she was almost desperate to pursue the small dream of having her own family and home.
    She must be bold, her sister Bridget had written in a letter last month. Pursue the man with cunning so that he did not know he had been caught. Yet doubts about her ability to do so slowed her progress toward the dance. What if, after her best attempt at stirring Sean Dennison’s interest, he laughed at her? A queasy burn knotted her stomach. What if he thought her too skinny to be a good farmer’s wife?
    Like tedious rain, each day for the last four years had dripped away with a sort of helplessness. So consumed with surviving, Mary had little time to worry about the dreams that died with each sunset.
    Her sister believed Sean needed a flirtatious little push, but logic told her otherwise. After all, he never sought her for ideas or conversations. And, truthfully, his topics rarely varied from pigs. He never attempted to see her during the week or bring little courtship tokens or flowers or notes.
    Don’t men who wish to marry do those things? Her anxious heart tripped like a clumsy dancer. What if he simply had no interest?
    She inhaled, then released tense air. Stop, Mary Smyth. Sean always sat beside her at Sunday Mass, visited each