“Don’t you let him ride too fast and get tired out,” Elizabeth cautioned as she gave her permission for the children to take their first bike trip to town since Will’s illness. “And don’t forget, your leg is still healing.”
A few minutes later, they were coasting down the dirt road into Largo, small rocks squirting out from under their bicycle tires as they rolled over the hardpack. They pulled up at Walsh’s and parked their bikes along the far side of the porch.
“Hello, children,” Mr. Walsh called out as they entered the store. He was restocking the shelves with canned goods while Mrs. Walsh abruptly ceased whispering to a woman Conn recognized as one of the women who had ignored her mother the last time she’d been there.
“Here’s your mail, Wanda,” Mrs. Walsh said, a little too loudly.
Will immediately went to the candy counter while Conn wandered back to the fishing equipment.
“Hi, Mr. Greene!” Conn heard Will say as the bell tinkled.
Conn was on her way up front to greet Abraham when she heard Mrs. Walsh say, “What can we do for you, Abraham?” There was a coolness in her tone that made Conn stop in the maze of shelves and listen.
“Let’s see,” came Abraham’s deep voice. “I need a couple of pounds of two-penny nails, five hundred feet of twelve gauge wire and some groceries,” he said.
“Sorry, but we’re all out,” said Mr. Walsh.
Conn frowned, looking down at the large barrel of two-penny nails standing beside her.
“Excuse me,” said Abraham, “but, you’re out of what?”
“Everything on your list,” Mr. Walsh said.
“Everything on my list,” Abraham repeated in a flat voice.
Conn edged to the end of the aisle where she could see Abraham and the Walshes.
“If we’re not sold out, it’s been spoke for by other folks,” Mrs. Walsh said as the woman named Wanda stood nearby watching everything.
“I see,” Abraham said, his jaw clenching. Even from a distance, Conn could see that his scar had turned red. He refolded his list and tucked it back into his pocket as he turned toward the door. “Good day, William.”
The store’s screen door swung shut as Conn stomped, fuming, up to Will. “Come on,” she said, staring daggers at Mrs. Walsh.
“But I wanted –”
“No,” Conn cut him off. “We’re not spending another penny in this store.” She took Will by the hand and led him out onto the porch just in time to see Abraham’s truck pull away in a cloud of dust.
Forgetting that she wasn’t to tire Will, and ignoring the pain in her cut leg, Conn pedaled furiously, Will following as best he could, so that they both arrived home red-faced and winded.
“Well, that was a quick trip,” Elizabeth called from the sitting room as she heard them storm into the kitchen. She looked up from the clean laundry she was folding as they rushed in, sweaty and hot. “What’s wrong?”
Quickly, Conn relayed the encounter at the general store, Elizabeth’s dark eyes becoming stonier and her face flushing angrily as she listened. “Those people,” she muttered.
“What’s Mr. Greene going to do?” Will asked worriedly.
Elizabeth blinked down at him. “He’ll have to drive to Marlinton for his shopping. And we will do the same. No more shopping at Walsh’s.”
“What about the mail?” Conn asked.
“I don’t think even Mrs. Walsh would tamper with the mail. She could get in too much trouble with the government,” Elizabeth replied. “Come on, I want you both to splash some cold water on your faces and let’s get some lunch.”
“I don’t understand,” Will spluttered through the water he was splashing on his face in the bathroom. “Why did the Walshes do that to Mr. Greene?”
“I think they’re trying to punish him for not staying in his place. For having dinner with us, things like that,” Conn said.
Will looked up from scrubbing his face with a towel, his cheeks still flushed. “But we like him. He’s nice.”
“You’re right. He is a very nice man,” Elizabeth agreed. “And I am so proud of both of you for walking out of the store. Maybe we can’t change how people around here think, but we don’t have to go along with it, either.”
Conn picked at her food during lunch, still upset to think of how Abraham had been treated. Suddenly, she looked up. “May I go visit Miss Molly today?”
“Yes, I suppose,” Elizabeth replied. “But you ask her when you get there if this is a good time so you’re not a bother.”
“I will,” Conn grinned, wolfing down the rest of her sandwich.
***
A little while later, Conn pedaled up to Molly’s gingerbread cottage. Lowering her kickstand, she parked her bike under one of the hemlocks and climbed the porch steps. Her knock brought an outbreak of startled barking from Vincent. A moment passed, and then Molly opened the door.
“I thought I might be seeing you again,” she said. Though she wasn’t exactly smiling, there was a twinkle in her eyes that let Conn know she wasn’t unwelcome.
“I don’t mean to bother you,” Conn said. “I can come back another time…”
“No need,” said Molly, standing back to let her in, though Vincent’s enthusiastic welcome made it difficult to get through the door.
“Come on to the kitchen,” Molly said, leading the way.
Conn wrinkled her nose a little as she followed. “What are you making?” She sincerely hoped it wasn’t something she would be invited to eat.
“It’s a kind of tea,” Molly explained, stirring whatever was simmering in the large pot on the stove. “It will make a poultice to draw out infection. One of my brother’s cows got cut on some barbed wire and her leg is infected.”
“Do all your medicines have to smell bad to work?” Conn asked hesitantly, afraid Molly might be offended, but Molly burst into a hearty laugh.
“I suppose it seems that way, doesn’t it?” She glanced over. “How’s your leg doing, by the way?”
Conn held her leg out so Molly could see. “Almost healed,” she said. The cut was still shiny and pink, but was nearly closed up.
“Good,” said Molly. “We can’t have you laid up now, can we?”
“What do you mean?” Conn asked.
Instead of answering, Molly said, “Pull one of those chairs over here, would you?”
Conn did as she was asked. Molly handed her the wooden spoon. “Keep stirring this while I get the last ingredients.”
Conn climbed up onto the chair. “‘Double, double, toil and trouble; fire, burn; and, cauldron, bubble’,” she intoned as she stirred the thick brown liquid bubbling in the pot.
Molly chuckled as she brought a fistful of crushed black leaves and a small piece of some type of bark. She dropped both into the brew. “Keep stirring now,” she said.
Conn was surprised to see the mixture begin to turn green within a couple of minutes. “What’s happening?”
“The willow bark and the leaves are releasing their chemicals into the tea,” Molly replied.
“How did you learn all this?” Conn asked in wonder.
“My aunt taught me, and her aunt taught her, back and back,” Molly said.
Conn bit her lip. “Back to Caitríona Ní Faolain?”
Molly looked at her with a penetrating gaze. “That far and beyond.”
“How do you know?” Conn asked excitedly. “That your ancestor knew Caitríona, I mean.”
Molly ladled some of her tea into a couple of canning jars and screwed the lids on tightly. “They told me,” she said mysteriously.
Conn tilted her head. “Told you? How?” She wondered if there were more ghosts than just Caitríona.
“There are letters and journals,” Molly said.
“Really?” Conn’s eyes lit up. “May I see them?”
Molly pursed her lips for a moment as she put the jars in a basket with a towel tucked around them to prevent their tipping over. “Yes, I think you should,” she said at last. “They may help you.”
“Help me?” Conn asked, her heart beating fast. Could Molly know? “The last time I was here, you called me Connemara Ní Faolain. Only one other has ever called me that.”
Molly sat down at the table. Conn hopped down from her chair and came to the table. “I know,” said Molly.
Conn sat also. “You’ve seen her?”
Molly nodded. “She comes to me sometimes. She’s waited a long time for you to come along.”
“But why me?” Conn asked in dismay. “There was Deirdre and Nana and my mother’s mother – why couldn’t one of them do… whatever she needs doing?”
Molly sat back appraising her. “I don’t know, Connemara. I don’t know why it has fallen to you to complete this task, but you’ve come farther than I realized. You found the tunnels, and you found me. I don’t think any of that is by accident.”
Conn looked up at Molly, not sure if she was allowed to ask certain questions. “Do you know what happened to her?”
Molly shook her head. “I don’t. But I’ve never known such a troubled soul.”
Conn looked down at her hands and said quietly, “I see things. Things only she would know. Like dreams, only more real. It’s starting to happen more often.” She looked up, expecting to see skepticism or ridicule on Molly’s face. Instead, she saw sympathy.
“Don’t be afraid, child,” Molly said. “You have a good heart. You’ll know if something feels wrong.”
They regarded one another for a long moment. At last, Molly asked, “Would you like to come with me to put the poultice on the injured cow?”
Conn nodded and helped Molly carry the basket out to her old truck. Vincent followed. He placed his front feet up on the running board and waited, looking back at Conn expectantly.
“He needs a boost,” Molly said. “Just hoist his back end,” she added when Conn looked at her questioningly.
Conn grinned and lifted Vincent’s rear up into the truck. He scrambled onto the seat and sat between them, looking around eagerly. Conn draped an arm over his back as Molly pushed the ignition button and the truck rumbled to life. She shifted into first gear and drove carefully, trying not to slosh the contents of the jars.
She turned left at the road, away from Conn’s house. Presently, a large farm came into view, situated in a broad valley with a river meandering through fields dotted with grazing cattle. Three huge barns sat off to one side of a beautiful old house.
“This is our home place,” Molly said. “My brother just had a new roof put on the bull barn, the middle one, there,” she pointed.
“I know,” Conn said. “Mr. Greene and Jed Pancake did the work.”
“I didn’t know you knew Abraham,” Molly said.
Conn nodded. “He’s done a lot of work around our house, too.”
The truck stopped with a squeal of the brakes. “The hurt cow is by herself in a stall,” Molly said, getting out of the truck.
Conn and Vincent got out and followed as Molly let herself in through a gate to a small corral outside one of the other barns. Entering the barn, they saw the cow standing in a stall, holding up one of her rear legs.
“There, there,” Molly crooned. She put a little feed in the bin and pinned the cow’s head at the stanchion with a board she slid into place so the cow couldn’t back out. Then she went to get a bucket of clean water from the pump.
“You keep her calm,” Molly said, squatting down and washing the infected cut with a wet rag.
The cow started at the touch, but Conn patted her and talked to her in a low, soothing voice. She watched as Molly soaked another rag in some of her brew and wrapped it around the injured leg, securing it with another dry cloth and more duct tape. “There, that should do for now,” she pronounced, getting to her feet. She placed the jars of tea up on a nearby shelf. “I’ll come back later today to change that.”
Conn followed her back out to the truck where she again helped Vincent inside. They rumbled away, back toward town.
“I just need to pick up a couple of things before we go home,” Molly said, pulling up in front of Walsh’s.
Conn sat still, a stony expression on her face.
“What’s wrong?” Molly asked.
“I won’t go in there,” Conn said.
“Whyever not?” Molly asked.
Quickly, Conn told her what the Walshes had done to Abraham earlier that morning. “We won’t buy from them anymore,” she added. “Mom says we’ll go to Marlinton from now on.”
Molly started the truck up again. “And so will all the Peregorns,” she said with a stubborn set to her jaw.
“Really?” Conn asked, surprised. “My father always said principles are easy to talk about until they require sacrifice. Then most people do what’s convenient.”
Molly laughed. “You’re a real rabblerouser, aren’t you?”
As she drove back home, she asked, “Are you and your mother and brother going to the fireworks tonight?”
Conn’s mouth fell open. “I completely forgot today is the Fourth of July.” Her gaze fell. “I don’t know if Mom will want to go. This was always a big holiday on base, but now…”
Molly cleared her throat. “I don’t normally go in for such things, but this year… in honor of your father, I’d be glad to pick you all up and drive you to a good spot where we can sit in the back of the truck and see everything.”
Conn beamed, but all she said was, “Thank you, Miss Molly.”