What hurt was that I had finally held the possibility of escape in my very hands, only to have it snatched away. It caught me by surprise that I should be so disappointed when there had never really been any hope that one day I would see those faraway places I read about in my books. Maybe the arrival of the letter had made me face up to how much I really wanted to get away and live my own life. But how? I took in sewing from time to time, but given the little money I made from that, it would be a hundred years before I could afford to move to Dublin, let alone New York.

I ran away once when I was fifteen. I got a lift with a local farmer as far as Donegal Town and was lingering at the station, wondering how I would get money for the train to Dublin, when Da appeared. He said nothing, just lifted my suitcase and walked away. We drove home in the pony cart in silence. Ma said he should have let me go.

There were few jobs to be had in Kilcross for which I was qualified. I couldn’t even get a job serving in a shop because of my stutter. That was why, after I left school, I went back to the farm. As I was free all day, Da gave me more jobs than before. Soon I was helping him sow and harvest the crops and cutting turf beside him on the bog with a two-sided spade, called a slane. But much as I loved the outdoors and Da’s company, I had begun to realize it was time to leave.

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps on the stairs. I stiffened. No one ever came up here. It was my bedroom—my safe place. The door creaked open, and there stood Da. He hesitated for a second, but then bent over to enter through the small opening. When he straightened up in the tiny room, he looked like a giant in a fairy tale.

I waited, saying nothing. He stood in the middle of the room, shuffling uncomfortably. Then he cleared his throat.

“’Tis sorry I am,” he said at last.

I pretended I didn’t know what he was talking about.

“For what?”

“For your sadness. I could see it on your face when your ma told Nora she’d be the one to go.”

These were the most words he had said to me in a long time. I wanted to ignore him, but I could see the effort it was taking for him to talk, and my heart softened.

“It doesn’t matter, Da,” I whispered, even though everything in me wanted to shout that it did matter, that I wanted this more than anything in my whole life.