“You’ll have a plate.” One of the neighbor women spotted Maggie and began to heap food together. “And you’ll eat or answer to me.”
“I only came in to help.”
“You’ll help by eating some of this food. Enough for an army it is. You know your father once sold me a rooster. Claimed it was the finest c**k in the county and would keep me hens happy for years to come. He had a way with him, Tom did, that made you believe what he was saying even though you knew it for nonsense.” She piled great portions of food on the plate as she spoke, taking time out to pat a child out of the way without breaking rhythm. “Well, a terrible, mean bird he turned out to be, and never crew once in his miserable life.”
Maggie smiled a bit and said what was expected of her, though she knew the tale well. “And what did you do with the rooster Da sold you, Mrs. Mayo?”
“I wrung the cursed cock’s neck and boiled him into stew. Gave your father a bowl of it, too, I did. Said he’d never tasted better in his whole life.” She laughed heartily and pressed the plate on Maggie.
“And was it?”
“The meat was stringy and tough as old leather. But Tom ate every drop. Bless him.”
So Maggie ate, because there was nothing she could do but live and go on. She listened to the stories and told some of her own. When the sun went down and the kitchen slowly emptied, she sat down and held the puppy in her lap.
“He was loved,” Maggie said.
“He was.” Brianna stood beside the stove, a cloth in her hand and a dazed look in her eyes. There was no one left to feed or tend to, nothing to keep her mind and her hands busy. Grief swarmed into her heart like angry bees. To hold it off awhile longer, she began to put away the dishes.
She was slim, almost willowy, with a cool, controlled way of moving. If there had been money and means, she might have been a dancer. Her hair, rosy gold and thick, was neatly coiled at the nape of her neck. A white apron covered her plain black dress.
In contrast, Maggie’s hair was a fiery tangle around her face. She wore a skirt she’d forgotten to press and a sweater that needed mending.
“It won’t clear for tomorrow.” Brianna had forgotten the dishes in her hands and stared out the window at the blustery night.
“No, it won’t. But people will come, just the same, as they did today.”
“We’ll have them back here after. There’s so much food. I don’t know what we’ll do with all of it….” Brianna’s voice trailed off.
“Did she ever come out of her room?”
Brianna stood still for a moment, then began slowly to stack plates. “She’s not well.”
“Oh God, don’t. Her husband’s dead and everyone who knew him came here today. She can’t even stir herself to pretend it matters.”
“Of course it matters to her.” Brianna’s voice tightened. She didn’t think she could bear an argument now, not when her heart was swelling up like a tumor in her chest. “She lived with him more than twenty years.”
“And little else she did with him. Why do you defend her? Even now.”
Brianna’s hand pressed a plate so hard she wondered it didn’t snap in two. Her voice remained perfectly calm, perfectly reasonable. “I’m defending no one, only saying what’s true. Can’t we keep peace? At least until we’ve buried him, can’t we keep peace in this house?”
“There’s never been peace in this house.” Maeve spoke from the doorway. Her face wasn’t ravaged by tears, but it was cold and hard and unforgiving. “He saw to that. He saw to it just as he’s seeing to it now. Even dead, he’s making my life a hardship.”
“Don’t speak of him.” The fury Maggie had held back all day broke through, a jagged rock through fragile glass. She shoved away from the table, sending the dog racing for cover. “Don’t you dare to speak ill of him.”
“I’ll speak how I choose.” Maeve’s hand clutched at the shawl she wore, drew it tight to her throat. It was wool, and she’d always wanted silk. “He gave me nothing but grief while he lived. Now he’s dead and has given me more.”
“I see no tears in your eyes, Mother.”
“And you won’t. I’ll neither live nor die a hypocrite, but speak God’s own truth. He’ll go to the devil for what’s he’s done to me this day.” Her eyes, bitter and blue, shifted from Maggie to Brianna. “And as God won’t forgive him, neither will I.”
“Do you know God’s mind now?” Maggie demanded. “Has all your prayerbook reading and rosary clacking given you a line straight to the Lord?”
“You’ll not blaspheme.” Maeve’s cheeks reddened with temper. “You’ll not blaspheme in this house.”
“I’ll speak how I choose.” Maggie echoed her mother’s words with a tight smile. “I’ll tell you Tom Concannon needed none of your stingy forgiveness.”
“Enough.” Though her insides were trembling, Brianna laid a steadying hand on Maggie’s shoulder. She took a long, careful breath to be certain her voice was calm. “I’ve told you, Mother, I’ll give the house to you. You’ve nothing to worry about.”
“What’s this?” Maggie turned to her sister. “What about the house?”
“You heard what it said at the will reading,” Brianna began, but Maggie shook her head.
“I didn’t take any of it in. Lawyer’s talk. I wasn’t paying attention.”
“He left it to her.” Still trembling, Maeve lifted a finger and jabbed it out as an accusation. “He left the house to her. All the years I suffered and sacrificed, and he takes even that from me.”
“She’ll settle down right enough when she knows she has a sturdy roof over her head and no need to do anything to keep it,” Maggie said once her mother left the room.
It was true enough. And Brianna thought she could maintain the peace. She’d had a lifetime of practice. “I’ll keep the house, and she’ll stay here. I can tend them both.”
“Saint Brianna,” Maggie murmured, but there was no malice in it. “We’ll manage it between us.” The new furnace would have to wait, she decided. But as long as McGuinness kept buying, there would be enough to hold the two houses together.