we needed them.” Her daughter Maire was beside her, talking in her granny voice. “Sure, we only pulled these up last week, and we still have loads in the shed. Shouldn’t we leave them covered?”
Ginny looked across the pit to where Raymond was digging on the other side. She tried to catch his eye, but he wouldn’t look at her; he was staring into the opened ground.
“Maire, you’re eleven going on seventy-three,” he said to their worried daughter without looking up.
“But isn’t that right, Daddy?” she said. “The air isn’t supposed to get at them.”
“Yeah, that’s right,” he said. “Usually, Maire.”
“But not this time?” Now it was Michael talking, jumping at the chance to prove his big sister wrong.
“No, not this time, son.”
“Why not?” Maire asked.
Raymond finally looked up at Ginny with his deep brown, half-moon eyes. The first time she’d met him, she’d been caught by those eyes, by the beautiful curl of them, the way he looked like he was always dreaming. But now she could see only naked fear in his face. She hoped Maire wouldn’t notice.
“What’s wrong, Daddy?” their daughter said.
Ginny shook her head at him. He was a good man, funny and handsome, but he never was much good at pretending, even for the sake of the children. Ginny smiled at her daughter.
“Never you worry,” she said to Maire. “Your father and I will sort it out.”
“Sort what out?” she said.
“Never mind,” Ginny said, standing up, brushing the dark clumps of earth from her hands. “Take Michael and your sisters inside for a few minutes. Let Mammy and Daddy have a chat.”
Maire twisted on her feet but didn’t go. Her long, fair hair was stringing across her face in the late-morning wind, and her mouth was screwed up with worry. Her face was bright and clear, with only a dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose.
“Go on, love,” Raymond said softly.
Maire’s shoulders drooped, but she grabbed Michael by the hand, and then she turned and trudged toward the door, calling for her sisters to follow. Maggie went running, but Poppy was still squealing in the hazy fields, flinging her arms out to her sides while she spun in circles.
“Come on, Poppy!” Maire called again. “Inside!”
Poppy stopped spinning, but toppled over, laughing. Then she stood, and ran dizzily after the others, her moppy golden curls bouncing against the back of her neck. Ginny winced, watching her baby run, thinking she might zigzag into the doorjamb, but Poppy corrected her course and disappeared inside with the others.
“How bad on that side?” Raymond asked without looking up.
Ginny shivered and looked down at the hole by her feet, where she’d dug into the fresh pit to check the potatoes from the early harvest. They’d dug them up a few weeks premature, at the first sign of blight in the fields, hoping to save them. Even as they’d pulled them out from under their wasted stalks, a good portion of them had already turned to slime, black and spongy in their beds with an awful gag of an odor to them. But they’d managed to save and store more than half, and they’d been living the weeks since on hope.
This morning when they opened the pit, they found a horrid, stinking, squelchy mess. Those salvaged earlies were decaying altogether.
“Any savers?” Raymond asked.
Ginny shook her head, kicked some dirt back over the hole. “Maybe three out of ten if we’re lucky,” she said. “What about over there? Anything?” Raymond scratched the back of his neck, and then folded his arms in front of him.
“Maybe a few, Ginny,” he said. He walked the rim of the pit, and put his arm around her shoulders.
She tried to breathe deeply, to refute the tears that were coming. She looked toward the cottage door and felt the fear clawing up the inside of her throat like a monster. Raymond put both arms around his wife, and she collapsed her forehead against his shoulder.
“We’ll manage,”
Ginny looked across the pit to where Raymond was digging on the other side. She tried to catch his eye, but he wouldn’t look at her; he was staring into the opened ground.
“Maire, you’re eleven going on seventy-three,” he said to their worried daughter without looking up.
“But isn’t that right, Daddy?” she said. “The air isn’t supposed to get at them.”
“Yeah, that’s right,” he said. “Usually, Maire.”
“But not this time?” Now it was Michael talking, jumping at the chance to prove his big sister wrong.
“No, not this time, son.”
“Why not?” Maire asked.
Raymond finally looked up at Ginny with his deep brown, half-moon eyes. The first time she’d met him, she’d been caught by those eyes, by the beautiful curl of them, the way he looked like he was always dreaming. But now she could see only naked fear in his face. She hoped Maire wouldn’t notice.
“What’s wrong, Daddy?” their daughter said.
Ginny shook her head at him. He was a good man, funny and handsome, but he never was much good at pretending, even for the sake of the children. Ginny smiled at her daughter.
“Never you worry,” she said to Maire. “Your father and I will sort it out.”
“Sort what out?” she said.
“Never mind,” Ginny said, standing up, brushing the dark clumps of earth from her hands. “Take Michael and your sisters inside for a few minutes. Let Mammy and Daddy have a chat.”
Maire twisted on her feet but didn’t go. Her long, fair hair was stringing across her face in the late-morning wind, and her mouth was screwed up with worry. Her face was bright and clear, with only a dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose.
“Go on, love,” Raymond said softly.
Maire’s shoulders drooped, but she grabbed Michael by the hand, and then she turned and trudged toward the door, calling for her sisters to follow. Maggie went running, but Poppy was still squealing in the hazy fields, flinging her arms out to her sides while she spun in circles.
“Come on, Poppy!” Maire called again. “Inside!”
Poppy stopped spinning, but toppled over, laughing. Then she stood, and ran dizzily after the others, her moppy golden curls bouncing against the back of her neck. Ginny winced, watching her baby run, thinking she might zigzag into the doorjamb, but Poppy corrected her course and disappeared inside with the others.
“How bad on that side?” Raymond asked without looking up.
Ginny shivered and looked down at the hole by her feet, where she’d dug into the fresh pit to check the potatoes from the early harvest. They’d dug them up a few weeks premature, at the first sign of blight in the fields, hoping to save them. Even as they’d pulled them out from under their wasted stalks, a good portion of them had already turned to slime, black and spongy in their beds with an awful gag of an odor to them. But they’d managed to save and store more than half, and they’d been living the weeks since on hope.
This morning when they opened the pit, they found a horrid, stinking, squelchy mess. Those salvaged earlies were decaying altogether.
“Any savers?” Raymond asked.
Ginny shook her head, kicked some dirt back over the hole. “Maybe three out of ten if we’re lucky,” she said. “What about over there? Anything?” Raymond scratched the back of his neck, and then folded his arms in front of him.
“Maybe a few, Ginny,” he said. He walked the rim of the pit, and put his arm around her shoulders.
She tried to breathe deeply, to refute the tears that were coming. She looked toward the cottage door and felt the fear clawing up the inside of her throat like a monster. Raymond put both arms around his wife, and she collapsed her forehead against his shoulder.
“We’ll manage,”
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