I stood up and went to the window. Evening shadows had dropped like ghosts onto the wide avenue below, softening the sharp edges of the houses opposite. A sudden bout of homesickness assaulted me. I wished I could run out the door and up the fields to my favorite place among the smooth white stones. But they were far away now, and I might never see them again.

* * *

For the next few days, I tried to rest as Mr. O’Hanlon had suggested. The truth was that I was exhausted. But every time I tried to sleep, a melancholy would creep over me, so heavy it threatened to drown me. Alone in this strange, new place, I longed for the familiarity of home. I realized now how sheltered a life I had led in Donegal, and even though I had yearned for adventure, there was a big difference between dreaming of such things and being dropped abruptly into the middle of them. How was I to cope in a huge, noisy city where accents and habits were foreign to me? Things I had taken for granted all my life—the predictable routines of the days on the farm or at school, Mass on Sundays and Holy Days, even Ma’s sharp rebukes whenever I displeased her—had anchored me in a way I had not realized. Now I felt adrift in the world, the ground beneath me as unstable as the deck of the Titanic.

At last I realized there was nothing for it but to grit my teeth and throw myself headlong into this new life. Besides, I already believed God had sent me here to help Lily. I began by spending as much time as I could with her. Each day she stood still while I helped her dress and combed her hair. She paid attention to her lessons, and in the evenings listened patiently while I read to her, all the time staring at me with her large, blue eyes but never saying a word. I talked away to her, ignoring her silence. One day she nodded when I suggested we take a little walk. It would not only be good for her, I thought, but also for me. And somehow, venturing outdoors seemed less daunting if I had her with me.