“I didn’t want to believe you were dead,” Ma said. “I even wrote to that O’Hanlon feller to ask had you arrived. And I sent a photo of you. But he never wrote back.” Ma’s voice was bitter.

She straightened her shoulders and leaned into me. “We gave you a lovely wake, darlin’,” she said, her tears flowing again, “didn’t we, Peadar?”

Da nodded. “Aye.”

“Everybody in Kilcross was here. Father McGinty himself came. We had your bed laid out in white lace with candles all around it. People said they’d never seen the likes of it.”

As she described it, I remembered the visions I’d seen in my dreams back in New York. I saw again the weeping woman and the bed and the candles. A shiver went down my back.

“Of course, we could have no burial without your body,” Ma said, “so we planted a wee bush up on the hill beyond in your memory. Father McGinty and a bagpiper came as witnesses. Ah, ’twas a sad thing all right.”

Silence fell over the kitchen, broken only by the sound of the ticking clock and the wind rattling the windows. The old cat sat purring in my lap as I petted her.

“I’m dead tired, Ma,” I said. “I’ve been traveling for days and I’ve hardly slept.”

Ma nodded. “God bless you, daughter, sure ye must be worn out after such a long journey. Ah, but ye’ll sleep well in your own wee bed tonight.”

I set the cat down on the floor and stood up.

“Good night, Ma,” I said. “Good night, Da.”

My bedroom was much smaller than I remembered it. I looked around at the old familiar things: the dresser mirror with the crack in the corner where I’d flung a hairbrush at it; the shelf crowded with wee gifts from boys who said they were in love with me that I’d saved as trophies; the wardrobe stuffed with clothes I’d made Ma buy for me and then dropped like rags as soon as they went out of style. It was as if I was standing in a stranger’s room. I didn’t know the girl who’d lived here.

I crawled into bed between sheets that smelled of bleach and turned out the lamp. I lay there in the dark. I was home. For better or worse, I was home. I was too weary to think beyond this moment, not even to tomorrow, let alone to the weeks and months stretching ahead of me. All I wanted was to sleep.

* * *

The next morning, for the first time in my memory, Da stayed home. He’d been up early to feed the animals, but instead of spending the rest of the morning up the fields, he sat at the kitchen table sipping tea. Ma bustled around him, frying rashers and eggs for breakfast and tending the loaves of bread baking in skillets on the turf fire. The kitchen was so hot, and the smells so strong, I thought I might faint. I got up and opened the back door to let in some air.