“When I first came here,” I confessed to her, “I was afraid of the crows that returned each night to the trees around our home.”
“You used to cry like a baby.” Her voice softened and slowed. “I wonder what it is like to hold a baby in my arms, feel like a grown-up woman instead of sticks and bones. I remember my mother, so soft in unexpected places—rounder, fuller, deeper. Stronger than you’d expect by looking.”
“Tell me what they were like, my family. What happened to me?”
“When you were a boy,” she began, “I watched over you. You were my charge. I knew your mother; she loved to nestle you on her lap as she read to you old Irish tales and called you her ‘little man.’ But you were a selfish boy, constantly wanting more and desperate over any attention shown to your little sisters.”
“Sisters?” I asked, not remembering.
“Twins. Baby girls.”
I was grateful that she could confirm there were two.
“You resented helping with them, angry that your time was not yours to do with what you pleased. Oh, such a brat. Your mother was taking care of the twins, worrying over your father, with no one to help her. She was worn out by it all, and that made you angrier still. An unhappy child . . .” Her voice trailed off for a moment, and she laid her hand on my arm.
“He waited for you like a fox at the edge of a pond, and he made all sorts of mischief around the farm—a knocked-over fence, a missing hen, the drying sheets torn from the line. He wanted your life, and the one whose turn it is brooks no argument. Every eye was upon you for months, anticipating a moment of petulance. Then, you ran away from home.”
Speck drew me closer, ran her fingers through my hair, laid my head in the crook of her nape.
“She asked you to wash up the babies after breakfast, so that she might have a quick bath, but you left them all alone in the house, imagine that. ‘Now stay here and play with your dollies. Mom’s in the tub, and I’ll be right outside, so don’t make any trouble.’ And out you stepped to toss a ball into the bright yellow sky and watch the grasshoppers scatter across the lawn before your racing feet. I wanted to come play with you, but someone had to watch the toddlers. I slipped inside, crouched on the kitchen countertop, hoping they wouldn’t notice me or do themselves a harm. They were at the curious stage and could have been opening cupboards, toying with bleach and furniture polish, fingering rat poison, or opening cutlery drawers to juggle with knives, or getting into the liquor and drinking up all the whiskey. They were in danger, while she was wrapping herself in her robe and singing as she dried her hair.
“Meanwhile, you trolled the woods’ edge, hoping to uncover a surprise. Something large stirred among the dried carpet of leaves and shadow of branches, snapping twigs as it ran through the half-light. A rabbit? Perhaps a dog or a small deer? Your mother descended the staircase, calmly calling, and discovered the girls dancing on the tabletop quite alone. You stood blinking into the dappled trails. From behind, a strong hand gripped your shoulder and wheeled you around. Your mother stood there, hair dripping wet, her face a mask of anger.
“ ‘How could you disappear like that?’ she asked. Behind her, you could see the twins toddling across the lawn. In one clenched fist, she held a wooden spoon, and knowing the trouble ahead, you ran, and she gave chase, laughing all the way. At the edge of your world, she pulled you by the arm and smacked you on the bottom so hard, the spoon split in half.”
Speck held me tighter still.
“But you have always been an imp. Your bottom hurt, and you’d show her. She fixed lunch, which you refused to touch. Nothing but stony silence. As she carried her babies off for their nap, she smiled and you scowled. Then you wrapped up some food in a handkerchief, stuffed it in your pocket, and slipped out of the house without a sound. I followed you the whole afternoon.”
“Was I scared to be alone?”
“Curious, I’d say. A dry creek paralleled the road for a few hundred yards before meandering off into the forest, and you followed its path, listening for the occasional chatter of the birds, watching for the chipmunks skittering through the litter. I could hear Igel signal to Béka, who whistled to our leader. As you sat on the grassy bank, eating one of the biscuits and the rest of the cold eggs, they were gathering to come take you.”
“Every time the leaves moved,” I told her, “a monster was out to get me.”