Ellis Island by Kate Kerrigan Read Free Book Online Page B

warm kiss on her dry skin. She did not respond, but she did not pull away.
    My father took the car straight back into town and, after unpacking my things, I joined my mother in the kitchen. She was at the fire boiling some linens—the kitchen smelled of carbolic from the soap.
    “Can I help you, Mam?” I asked. There were some eggs and butter on the table. “I could make a soda cake—I know how.”
    My mother raised her eyebrow, almost imperceptibly, and nodded at the table. I could not believe how easily she let me help her, and realized, shamefully, that I had never offered directly before. As I walked round the kitchen, gathering ingredients—a mixing bowl, a jug—I kept waiting for her to tell me to stop, that she did not need my help, but she didn’t. Just before I began measuring out my ingredients, she came over to me and carefully put an apron over my head, tying it at the back. When she had finished she patted me gently to indicate she was done, and I felt her touch as tenderly as if it had been a kiss.
    That evening she presented the bread, spread with butter, to my father.
    “This is excellent bread, Attracta,” he said. “Sweet—like a cake.”
    My mother and I exchanged a smile. It felt like a reward. “Ellie made it,” my mother said.
    “Well! Did she really?” He looked over at me and I flushed with pleasure at his approval.
    I called up to the Hogans’. Maidy looked older and Paud smaller than I had remembered. It had been less than a year since I had seen them, but so much had happened.
    “Look at you now, you’re a young lady,” Maidy said. “All tidied and smart.” She put a mug of milky tea down in front of me and a slice of apple tart directly onto the table. When I hesitated slightly, she asked, “Would you prefer a plate, Ellie? Of course you would . . . Where are my manners?”
    “No, no!” I felt terrible. “No, Maidy, don’t be silly, it’s fine.” As I bit into the tart, its acid sweetness made me remember how much I had missed being here. “When is John home?” I had not realized how much I had been wanting to see him until I asked it.
    “John won’t be home for a while yet again,” said Maidy.
    I nodded and smiled. Then, quite unexpectedly, I began to cry. I had hardly spared him a thought that past year, and yet now that I was faced with the prospect of not seeing him, I was all upset.
    “Whist now, Ellie—poor, poor love . . .” Maidy said it under her breath, then came and put her arm round me.
    “I’m sorry.” I made myself stop crying. “How is he getting on in Dublin?”
    Maidy sat down at the table with me, something she rarely did, and cut herself an enormous slice of pie and started to talk. She told me how the boss in Dublin was working John very hard, every day of the week barring Sunday. He had nice digs, cheap, and the landlady was kind and a decent enough cook—but not so decent as to be better than Maidy. He had made friends, a lot of friends from all walks of life, she said.
    “I thought he might have written to me,” I said.
    “Sure, he doesn’t know where you are, love.” Then her face saddened and she said, “Although he writes to us seldom enough now.”
    “Why is that?”
    She got up from the table and started to busy herself. Her tart was left, untouched on the tabletop. “Oh, he’s busy, you know. With his new friends.”
    Paud, who had been quietly plucking a bird in the corner, suddenly called out, “He’s joined the Volunteers, Maidy—say it out, why don’t you?”
    “Quiet, Paud—she’s only a child!”
    I knew who Paud was talking about. They were the rebels who wanted the English out of Ireland and for us to run the country ourselves. My father didn’t approve. “They say they are seeking justice, Father,” I often heard him argue with the priest after Mass, “but in truth they are vagabonds, intent on destruction and anarchy.”
    I liked the idea of John being a vagabond—it sounded exciting, like Robin