As I sat in the empty carriage, steaming through the Irish countryside, I fingered her locket and let myself weep openly for her and for the future that might have been. By the time the train pulled into Donegal, my tears had dried. My mourning was over, and my memories were stowed away deep inside me. I squared my shoulders and stepped down off the train.

I saw Da before he saw me. His tall, gaunt figure looked out of place among the hordes of people streaming past him on the station platform. There was a stillness about him, like a man used to waiting, a patient man in an impatient world.

“Hello, Da,” I said.

He looked down at me, his shaggy eyebrows knit together as if he wasn’t sure who I was.

“It’s me, Da, Nora.”

He nodded then. “Aye, it is surely,” he said.

Awkwardly, he reached over and took my bag. “Is this the lot of it?”

“Aye, Da. Not as much as when I left. ’Twill be easier to carry, so.”

I was aware of my brogue already becoming stronger.

He reached awkwardly toward me, as if to give me a hug, but he patted me on the arm instead. Then he turned around and began to walk away. I followed behind him, sharp tears stinging my eyes. I don’t know what I’d expected as a welcome, but surely more than this. In the past I’d believed Da never loved me, and I knew he was never one for showing his emotions, but still, I’d hoped for a change. I’d just come back from the dead, for God’s sake, could he not have done more than just give me a pat on the arm? I fought back the tears and marched on. America made you too soft, Nora, I said to myself. You’re going to have to harden yourself up.

We climbed up into the pony cart, and Da shook the reins. “Your ma is back at the house, so,” he said. “She’s cooking a big dinner for ye.”

The old horse began to plod his way forward. It was evening time, and the February day was drawing in, but it was still light enough to see around me. Memories bubbled up of my young childhood, out playing with Delia on the hills behind the farm. Delia! We liked each other’s company then, before Ma put the wedge between us.

A sudden, fierce wind came up, and with it sheets of driving rain. I shoved my hands into my sleeves to keep them warm and bowed my head to shelter my face against the storm. The sound of the wild fury of the Atlantic thrashing against the cliffs filled my ears. Donegal was giving me an angry welcome.