Umber (45.2 — Brigid O’Toole’s Story)

July 19, 2012 § Leave a comment

“Oh, sister, ” the old woman said to the mirror, shaking her head slowly from side to side, ” Papa’s doesn’t like that strange man living here.  He’ a rough-looking gambler who uses profanity, and he smells of alcohol, and he’s up to no good.  When he first showed up I tried to tell the lady of the house not to let him in, but she wouldn’t listen, no, and she said he was going to live here from now on.  I told the wee child that the little people might decide to come and take him away in the night.  I didn’t mean to make her cry, but it would be just as well if they did take him away,” she concluded, her arthritic fingers brushing her forehead and the bodice of her black dress as she made the sign of the cross.

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