"John!"
Anne's cry rang from across the hills. She was running over the field, on the way to town. He lived just a half-mile from her, and she needed help. "John! It's happened again!"
John ran from the barn. "What's happened again?" he asked, almost seeming to panic. "Are you alright?" His eyes searched her, looking for anything that could possibly be wrong.
"It's been taken again. It's the lock, I'm sure of it, I told Mary to get that fixed, but-"
"What's been taken?" John seemed genuinely confused.
She was speaking a mile a minute, almost in tears. "I don't see how it possibly could have happened- Mary was still home, or I thought she was, and Emma-"
"Anne!" He grabbed her by the shoulders, concern in his face. "What's been taken?"
"The money, John, all of our money!" Her eyes were brimming with tears of frustration. "I thought for sure it was that doctor!"
"But?" he inquired further, sensing something deeper in her statement.
"But... I'm not thinking it was him anymore. After all, it was days after he left that it first disappeared, and I heard he's got a medical practice in New York, now. It can't be him."
"You're sure?"
"Absolutely." Tears fell; great round drops rolling like rubber balls down her cheeks. Anne brushed at  them, but they still came. She elected to ignore them. "I'm not sure what to do," she cried, starting to sob. "I've got six people to feed, and no money to do it with!"
John wrapped his arms around her. Anne didn't object; rather, she let herself be enfolded in his embrace, and she let him comfort her.
When she walked away after a long moment, she put her hand in he pocket. Something rustled there, and when she pulled her hand out, fingers grasping the mystery item, she found that the crinkling in her pocket was a five- dollar bill.
*****
Emma was bringing home a letter that week from Denver.
It wasn't uncommon for her to do so; in fact, she did it nearly every week. But this letter seemed special, somehow. For one, she'd never seen messier handwriting! The scrawl on the front was unfamiliar to her, and she could barely make out the writing. Anne MacEilan, it read. Running Creek, Colorado.
Or maybe she was just being a critic. After looking at no handwriting but Mrs. Remigrant's perfect calligraphy, it was hard sometimes to look even at her own handwriting!
Secretly, Emma was scared. There wasn't a 'Miss Anne' written on the yellow parchment, just Anne. It was terribly improper.
One thing that Emma didn't want to admit: she wished the letter were for her. It was a strange thing to first get a letter addressed to only one of the family, and secondly, for it to be for Anne. All of her sister's friends lived in town, that or they couldn't write; or, she remembered, they still lived in Galway for all they knew. Anne wasn't exactly the type to get letters. And what if it was from a man? What if Anne had a beau, and she just hadn't told anybody else?
Was her sister about to leave her for good?
Emma shook off the thought. There was no way that could happen. She and Anne would always be together, even if they ended up as old maids... right?
She decided to forget about it. After all, she shouldn't jump to conclusions so quickly. Why did I start worrying about this in the first place? she then asked herself- even though she knew the answer.
*****
The brown clay marble rolled quickly across the smooth stones from the boy's hand, quickly surpassing the chalk circle that Anne had drawn on the playing field. It hit the cluster of gray marbles, and they scattered like chaff in the wind in every direction. Eight of the ten escaped the confines of the chalk loop. They shone dully in the Irish sunlight, basking in the summer sun, along with the two children that were playing with them.
"Eight for me," said Charles, pushing them back into their cluster. "Your turn." He handed Anne the brown sphere.
Anne held her hand a short distance from the circle and closed one eye, shaping her fingers so that the marble would follow a straight path when she sent it rolling. Carefully, then, she flicked the marble towards the waiting, quivering, gray mass. It struck them perfectly in the middle with a loud, rattling noise, sending nine of the ten rolling rapidly away, out of the circle, where they were caught and scooped up. "Nine," she said proudly.
Charles scowled a little; she had just won the five- round game. "You win," he said in defeat, putting the five marbles he had caught in their brown canvas bag. "But," he said, a grin mischievously lighting his face, "I reckon that I can beat you to the end of the street."
Dropping the marble bag, he stood up and ran as fast as his ten- year- old legs could carry him.
"Wait!" cried Anne, shoving the rest of the marbles in the bag and dashing after him, with the canvas clutched in her hand. She caught up to him in only a minute- she may have been small for nine, but she could still run as fast as anyone else her age. "Caught you," she gasped, tagging his shoulder and screeching to a stop next to him. "But you still win."
"You beat me at marbles." Charles shrugged, and it was clear that he didn't hold a grudge against her for beating him. He never did. "Speaking of which, d'you have them?"
"Aye." She handed him the bag, and the marbles rattled safely inside.
"Thanks."
They walked back to St. Augustine Street in silence, though neither Anne nor Charles was sure why.
As the two children approached the high gray buildings that framed the street they lived on, Anne stopped her friend. "Something's the matter. Don't try to hide it. What's wrong?"
"We're leaving," he said simply.
Anne's eyes opened wide. "I beg your pardon?"
"We're leaving Galway tomorrow. The doctor said that Mum needs the air in the country."
It was that serious? Charles's mother had had problems breathing for years. Did they have to leave now? Had her sickness reached that point?
"Where will you go?" If you had been born in Galway, you stayed in Galway; it seemed a fact of life. Hardly anyone left to go any where but America. Was that where the O' Flahertys would go- across an ocean with no father, an ill mother, and four children?
"My aunt lives in Knockferry- just a village up the river a bit."
"Oh." It didn't seem real to Anne. Charles was the only friend she had, besides her family. And besides, Emma was really the only one who ever played with her. The girls from Sunday School were all either younger or older than she was; they didn't want to associate with her. "Do you have to go?"
He looked like he was about to start crying- but he didn't. "Make me a promise, won't you?"
"Of course! Anything!"
"Promise me that you'll be here when we come back. Please, Anne, stay here in Galway."
Anne threw her arms around her friend, her vision blurring with a thousand unshed tears. "I promise," she whispered. "I promise I'll be here."
They stood there for a moment, saying goodbye, for tomorrow Charles would leave, and Anne would be without a friend in the world. Her promise was solemn, and she intended with all the heart of a child to keep it- she would stay in Galway. She had to. She had to wait for her friend!
As the green hills of Ireland faded from around her as they left on a rocking ship not long after, Anne spent a small moment alone, wondering where Knockferry was, and whether or not she would ever see Charles again.
Hello!
I'm terribly sorry that this took so freaking long to update. Please don't murder me- but if you are, please don't make it painful.
Anyways, I just didn't know how to put anything into words. Although I ADORE the easy friendship between Anne and Charles, it's crazy hard to write.
Thanks for sticking it out. We're on chapter 20 and my goal is twenty- five, but who knows how this will work out? What I have planned may take more than five chapters.
~Megan