Maria was, indeed, very sick.
She lay very still on the loft mattress, turned on her side, her brown eyes staring blankly out the window. Her gaze didn't shift when Anne climbed the ladder, carrying a small pail of water, but her pale, cracked lips did.
"My head hurts," she said, her voice thin and strained.
Anne filled the water dipper and put it to Maria's lips. "Drink," she whispered. "You'll feel better." She pushed the water closer, but little Maria pulled her lips away from the cool wooden dipper, and her eyes fluttered shut. The whole cottage was empty except for the sick girl and her nurse. Anne tried to get the water into her mouth, but she couldn't. How frustrating! she thought. Finally, she gave up. With a long sigh and a resolve to try again later, she dropped the dipper back into the pail.
Maria opened her eyes and looked mournfully at Anne. Her once- bright eyes had lost their sparkle, and they were blank and dull. "Where's my papa?" she asked, with a quiver in her voice. "I want my papa." A tear rolled down her hot cheek.
Anne fought back tears of her own. She knew Maria's sadness. "I donna know where he is, Maria," she said softly. "But he'll be back far ye." She pushed an errant brown curl from the girl's forehead. "I know he will."
More tears rolled down Maria's flushed face. A quiet sob escaped her lips.
Unable to stop her own tears, Anne began to sing, not realizing the words she was saying.
"Oh, the summertime is comin'
and the trees are sweetly bloomin' -" She stopped for a half second, remembering.
"-and the wild mountain thyme
Grows around the blooming heather
Will ye go, lassie, go?" She paused, her sweet soprano voice obstructed by the overwhelming flood of memories that the simple song brought crashing down. Forcing them back down, she continued on, with an extra, unintended vibrato as hot tears threatened to surface.
"And we'll all go together
to pluck wild mountain thyme.
All around th' blooming heather
Will ye go, lassie, go."
Maria was asleep now, and Anne had to stifle a sob as she ran down the ladder and stumbled blindly out the door. Once she was at the woodpile she collapsed and sobbed with such force that she was left gasping for air as she cried. Tears streamed off of her cheeks.
The song was an old Scottish one that her father had once sung to her. Before he had left.
When things were still perfect.
* Â Â Â Â Â * Â Â Â Â Â *
It was a typical Irish day, sunny but cool, as James MacEilan walked through the narrow streets of Galway. With one hand he held onto Anne's small hand, and with the other he kept a tight hold on Emma. Mary, Iain, and Meav trailed behind him, Meav carrying baby Matthew.
It was a happy day. The family was returning to their flat after church that Sunday morning, Anne chatting nonstop with Emma. Meav turned to her twin eight- year- olds.
"Hush, girls," she chided gently. "You needn't fill the whole city with your noise!"
"They're not, Mother," said Mary, very sassily. "THIS IS FILLING TH' WHOLE CITY!!" she yelled as loud as she could, audibly straining her voice as the churchgoers- or returners- of St. Augustine Street stared.
Meav grabbed her oldest daughter by the wrist with her free hand. "Listen to me, Mary. You are thirteen years old. You'll never get a husband acting like you do! You are almost old enough to start thinking about that, too."
Mary scoffed. "I don't care about getting married right now," she said, snatching her wrist from her mother's iron grasp and folding her arms across her chest. "And I'll start thinking about marriage when I start to wear up my hair." She unfolded her arms and flipped the two long braids she had her dark red hair pulled into, turning around and continuing to walk towards the flat. It was a well- known fact on the street that Mary MacEilan intended never to wear up her hair, a sign of womanhood and maturity.
She sped up her walk so that she sped past her father and siblings. James ignored his eldest girl as Meav stormed after Mary, and he began to whistle a tune, one he could be heard singing often. Anne could hear the words play in her head. She looked up at his bearded face and began to sing.
"An' we'll all go together
to pluck wild mountain thyme
All around th' blooming heather
will ye go, lassie, go."
He smiled at Anne as the chorus ended, and she smiled back, showing the gap from where her front tooth had fallen out the previous night.
James kissed her on the forehead, giving her a squeeze as they walked through the door of the flat. "Never sass Mother like your sister does," he whispered.
"I won't, Father," she whispered back, burying her face in his coat. "I promise."
* Â Â Â Â Â * Â Â Â Â Â Â *
"Anne?" asked Lizzie. "Is something wrong?" A look of fear passed over her face. "Did Maria... die?"
Anne shook her head, the tears still streaming from her eyes, slightly obstructing her vision, although the sobs had slowed a bit. Another sob choked its way out of her throat as she tried to talk.
"Maria's alright," she choked out. Lizzie's face relaxed.
Emma ran up, her blue skirt flapping in the wind. "Anne!" she cried. "Is something the matter? Are you hurt?" She  then proceeded to wrap her arms around her twin, but Anne pushed her away.
Anne shook her head and wiped the trail of tears from her cheeks. "I'll be fine," she said, her voice almost normal, except for a slight hoarseness and tremble. "I'm not even crying for a good reason." She stood, brushing off her skirt and pushing an errant piece of reddish hair back behind her ear, although the cold wind blew it back onto her face. She shivered, picking up the nearest log and hurrying inside the cottage, leaving Emma and Lizzie outside, dumbstruck.
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