Chapter 13: Part 12

Anne laid the log in the fireplace and blew on the coals. She suddenly felt cold inside, a hollow emptiness aching.

The fire started again, catching the log afire and slowly beginning to warm the tiny cottage. She held out her hand to the warmth, grateful for the warmth the small fire gave. She sat there in silence for a moment, just remembering.

The door slowly creaked open after a moment. Emma's vivid red head poked in.

"Anne?" She slipped in, silently closing the door behind her. "What's the matter?"

Anne never would have told Lizzie or Jane or even Mary and Iain what the matter was, but Emma was her twin. She would understand for certain, wouldn't she? Anne turned to face Emma. "Papa," she whispered. "I just miss Father."

Emma didn't seem taken aback in her face, but her eyes betrayed her. "Father?" she questioned, a trace of carefully controlled shock in her voice. "Even after all that he did to us? All that he did to Mother? You miss him?"

Anne's spirits drooped. "Aye, " she whispered, a fresh tear dripping from her eye. "Remember how he used to be?" He used to always sing the most beautiful songs to us- I remember every one of them." She turned away, back to the fire.

"You miss Father for his singing?" It still hadn't sunk into Emma's mind. "Why?"

"I don't know." She sighed and turned her head enough to see Emma out of the corner of her eye. "I know he was awful. I remember Molly. I remember the empty bottle that was always in his hand those last months and I remember the night he left. But I remember the good times, too. I remember how he used to play with us.  Don't you? I remember him singing us to sleep when we were wee children. Don't you?"

Tears sparked in Emma's eyes, but she didn't acknowledge them. "I remember Father," she said with bitterness. "But I don't want to."

*                   *                        *

The walls of the Galway apartment were thin. You could hear the lanky boy next door squeaking away on his second- or third- hand fiddle. The sounds of the young couple above them walking around and the shrieking sound of rusted windows opening from below were clear and common occurrences.

Tonight, though, a different sound was heard- and it was worse than the out- of- tune fiddle.

James and Meav were yelling. Every word was clear through the paper- thin wall between the one tiny bedroom and the main room. Anne tried to block it out by thinking of happy songs.

"The water is wide," she hummed to herself, squeezing her eyes shut and picturing the docks in their sunlit glory. "I can't get o'er,"

"James, you've been foolish and lost your job? Do you know what that means?" yelled Meav in a low, dangerous tone only an angry woman can produce.

"Nor have I-"

James's voice was slurred and drunk. "I can get a new one, love," he reassured her.

"the wings to-o fly-"

"No, you cannot! We're ruined, James!" Her voice rose in pitch and volume, then it broke. "We have nothing. Your family is gone. My family is gone. Don't you understand?"

"Give me a boat-" All the children were awake now, listening with wide eyes stiffly on their beds.

"Why can't I get a job?"

"You nearly killed a man, a good man who had a wife and four children at home. No one- no one at all- will hire a near- murderer."

"that carries two," Anne's voice nearly broke. Was this the father she knew? Was this the same James MacEilan that loved her? That she loved?

"He provoked me," slurred James. "He said-"

"I don't care what he said!" screamed Meav. "Go! Leave!"

"And both shall row,"

James stormed out of the bedroom as best a drunken man can. He pulled open the front door angrily and headed into the cold October night. The candle in the bedroom flickered and went out.

"my love and I." Anne finished, the already- quiet voice going out with the light. She pretended she couldn't hear her mother's crying.

*          *        *

Emma had just shaken her head at Anne, put another log on the fire, and had gotten her sewing out. She sat by the fire, sewing with tiny stitches a child's pink dress. "If you need something for dinner, you should go into town soon. 'Twill be dark in an hour or two."

Anne looked out the window. The late winter sun had been setting later and later every day, but it was already beginning its red descent into the horizon. She went to the money chest, took a few nickels, putting them in her apron pocket, then went to the door and grabbed her shawl and bonnet off the hook, securely wrapping the shawl around her slim frame. "I'll be back in a few minutes," she mumbled, just loud enough for Emma to hear, as she walked out the door.

Outside, Mary, Lizzie, and Jane sat on a dry patch of grass, playing with paper dolls. Happy laughter drifted towards Anne as she briskly moved towards town. Clouds dotted the sky thickly, obscuring the late afternoon sun, but they didn't look serious. Even if they did, the town was only a fifteen- minute walk. She could make it home.

Soon the short, waving grasses were parted by a wagon's trail, ruts carved deep into the soil, gently turning north towards a forest of huge pine trees. Anne took the road, walking  more quickly as a train's whistle shrilled through the gentle hills. She liked to see the people unloading- the rough, unshaven men coming to work as lumberjacks in the tiny town, the ladies in their wide skirts and with tiny corseted waists, the wide- eyed children looking at all the open space.

As she drew closer, for a second her hopes soared wildly- could Iain be on that train?- but then she reminded herself that it was only Thursday, and that he was on his honeymoon, besides.

Anne had to walk past the train station to get to the general store, so, deciding she had time, she stopped there, near the platform, like she was waiting for someone. The train had just pulled into the station, and as the doors opened, and the people came out.

There wasn't many people, and the first few were lumberjacks, there to harvest the rich lumber of the woods near the town. She turned away, towards the store, but then heard a familiar sound.

"The town o' Running Creek, Katherine! Isn't it lovely?" O'? Katherine?

"If the view out the window was any hint, then yes." Anne turned back. Iain stood on the platform, with a tall and willowy dark- haired young woman at his arm! He saw Anne and set down a bag to wave. "Anne!" he called. This was proof enough for her.

"Iain!" she cried. "We didn't think we'd see you for a while yet!" She ran towards her older brother, wrapping her arms around him and laying her head on his chest. It had been a week, not even that, but it seemed like forever. The young woman laughed.

Anne stepped away after a moment. "I came just in time, then," she said.

"Aye," he replied. "Don't spoil the surprise, now," he warned. "The visit was going to be a surprise."

"I won't," she assured him. "This must be Katherine," she guessed, changing the subject.

"I am," said Katherine, stepping forward. "And you must be Anne."

"I am," she echoed.

"Since you didn't know we were coming, what are you in town for?" asked Iain. He picked the bag up again.

"I needed cheese," she said. "We haven't had any time to make any yet."

"We'll meet you at home, them," he said. He and Katherine stepped off the platform, towards home, and Anne continued by the general store.

"Can I help you, miss?" asked the old woman at the counter as Anne opened the door.

Anne held out the four nickels. "As much cheese as this can buy me, please," she said quietly, looking at the few wheels behind the counter. The old woman raised an eyebrow.

"You're not an American," she started. "Are you?"

"I've lived here a few years now," she whispered.

"Where are your parents?" shot the woman.

"I live with me brother, ma'am," she answered. "Please, I'm just here to buy cheese. I mean you no harm."

"Why would you do me harm?" said the woman, but her eyes seemed wary of Anne, as if she thought the Irish girl could do her or her store damage. Without taking her beady brown eyes away, she cut a fairly large wedge of cheese and wrapped it in wax paper, then took Anne's nickels.

Anne took the cheese. "Thank you, ma'am," she said quickly, turning around.

Before she could get out the door, she was stopped. "Does your brother send you to school?"

"There's too much to do at the farm," she said. "But- I used to."

"I want to see you there tomorrow morning," she said. "Eight o' clock sharp."

"Yes, ma'am." Anne hurried out the door. What was she going to do?

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