The night closes in around Johns Farm softly. A pink haze hovers over the river field to one side of the house and to the other the high slope of the hill field takes on the shadows of the lofty sessile oaks in the far hedges. Soon it will be autumn and the precious leaves will burn red and yellow before they disappear. When I was a little girl, I could see the evening turf smoke from Bridie’s chimney from our street. The sight of its white plumes would make Mammy rage and run for the rosary beads. All the novenas she could fire off could hardly keep the pure badness of Bridie Johns away.

The river runs on in its course, the lovely cold clear Cloon rising and falling, smoothing the stones and taking a few inches here and there to leave me less of Johns Farm each year. I must go in, I must go in and face the empty house, but not yet. I sit in the glow of the windows on my stoop. I have night stock planted in the hedges now and its fragrance is curled about me when I hear the splash. It’s soft but I hear it and I know he’s coming from the river field. The cup of tea starts to shake in my hands and I put it down and link my fingers around my knees to wait.

Will he throw me straight out? This very night could be the last I have a beloved roof over my head. The last time I stoke the auld yellow range before I go to bed. Walking past pictures of my children in Christening robes, Holy Communion outfits, Confirmation suits that I’ve nailed all along the kitchen wall, Eugene frozen forever with a black tooth he got when he fell face first from the barn steps.

Marius and him were daring each other to jump from higher and higher up, even though the barn steps were forbidden ground. Twelve steps of solid stone covered in moss even at the height of the summer. He had begged me and John to please get the tooth pulled before his Holy Communion photo! The precious Holy Communion photo that he knew would haunt him for the rest of his days. I knew what he was going through but records have to be kept.

On the very day that I had received the Body of Christ my scabby knees had hurt when I knelt down, my poorly lip had torn open a bit when I put my tongue out to receive the Host. The photo’s still nailed to the wall in the Good Room at The Hill in a brown wood frame.

–  We’ll leave it in ’til you learn to put your hands out to save yourself! said John.