When Delia and I were younger, we played happily together. She was a delicate wee thing, fair-haired and gray-eyed, and at times I thought Ma must be right, she did look like a wee fairy. I was only two years older, but I was taller and stronger than she was, with hair as dark as a sod of turf. I was delighted to have a sister for company. But when we got a bit older, things changed. Ma did her best to divide us, pulling me into the house and shooing Delia outside like an unwelcome neighbor. I never really understood why Ma disliked Delia, but I never stood up for her. I was afraid that if I did, Ma would turn on me as well, and I liked being spoiled. Besides, I was jealous of Delia because of Da. She spent all hours of the day traipsing around with him on the farm, and just by the way they looked at each other I could see how close they were. Da was always kind to me, but I knew he was closer to Delia.

I often wished things were different, though. There were times when I would see other girls laughing with their sisters and sharing secrets, and I wished myself and Delia were more like them. It would have been great craic to giggle together over the boys in the village. But our Delia wasn’t interested in things like that. She was always away up the fields, daydreaming about God knows what or sitting with her head stuck in a book. Slowly, I began to agree with Ma that she was a useless chit who’d never amount to much.

At last, Da was home. He came into the kitchen, ducking his head under the low doorframe. He went to the fireplace and dropped two buckets of turf on the hearth, looked around at Ma and myself and then at the table.

“Where’s me tea?” he asked.

Ma sighed. I could see from the way she slumped her shoulders that some of the excitement over the letter had gone out of her. I wondered if she was thinking again of her mistake in marrying Da. She’d told me about it often enough, particularly when she was drilling it into me that I had to set my sights high when choosing a husband.

“Don’t make the same mistake I did,” she would say, “marrying for love! What good did it do me? Stuck out in the middle of nowhere with only the cows and sheep for company, no running water, not even an outhouse. I’d be disgraced if my old school friends knew how I was living. I was the best-looking girl there, and they all said I’d marry a toff. Don’t end up like me, my girl.”