Once the pot was hanging over the fire, Blackie went back to his chair, staring into the flames once more. Within seconds, he was daydreaming about his future, wondering how he would fare in Leeds. He was also feeling slightly curious about Joe O’Donnell and the gift of the rabbits.

A thought took hold. Might she not be lonely when he left? Perhaps no, perhaps not at all. She would miss his presence in her life, and maybe Joe O’Donnell could become her friend, keep her company. Another thought struck him. Joe could already be her friend.

That might not be a bad idea after all. Loneliness was a terrible thing, a burden beyond belief. To be entirely alone in this world made life difficult. He had often experienced this feeling after each member of his family had died.

Once Bronagh had passed away, his days and nights had been intolerable. He felt as if part of himself had been cut away and there was only half of him left to grieve for her.

They had been the closest in age; his lovely red-haired sister had been seventeen when she had gone to her grave. But, although she was older, he was the one who had mothered her.

Thinking of her made him choke up and so he straightened in the chair and took tight control of his raw emotions. Siobhan and Michael were family, as were Mrs. O’Malley and her son, Dennis. They all helped to lessen the pain of loss, his sadness—that awful lonesomeness that crept upon him relentlessly.

“I have ter ask ye ter leave yer chair, Blackie,” Mrs. O’Malley said, cutting into his thoughts. “The pastry dough is ready.”

“Do ye want me to take the pot off the fire?”

“That’d be a good idea, Blackie, and if ye carry it over, ye can put it in the sink. That’s the best spot for it.”

Blackie got up, pushed aside the chair and found the two thick potholders that would protect his hands. Once he had it firmly in his grip, he walked across the kitchen and did as Mrs. O’Malley had instructed. “The pot’s in the sink,” he told her.

Mrs. O’Malley, who had gone over to the oven built into the fireplace, exclaimed, “The oven is perfect for the pies. They’ll cook fast in this heat!” She closed the oven door and went to join Blackie.

While the pies were cooking, Mrs. O’Malley cleaned the cooking utensils, and Blackie dried them. At one moment, she exclaimed in her lilting tone, “Oh, put the knives and forks out, lad! I know Michael and Siobhan will want to stay for tea. Don’t the pies smell wonderful?”