To Niamh’s mother, George was the enemy. Could she persuade her otherwise?
BY WENDY JANES
THE early morning rays of summer sunshine warmed Niamh’s face. She returned along the two-mile dirt path leading from the O’Brien cottage back to her family’s large dairy farm.
Hoisting up her long skirts, she stepped to one side to avoid a large, muddy puddle from last night’s rain.
She loosened the shawl that had kept her warm on her walk to the cottage and glanced down at the empty basket hooked over her arm.
Earlier, it had contained a loaf of bread she’d made and a dozen eggs laid by the hens she tended daily.
On her parents’ instruction, she’d got up an hour before dawn to make the delivery.
Not wanting to embarrass or disturb Mrs O’Brien, Niamh had left the items wrapped in a muslin cloth on her doorstep.
Her parents always said it was their Christian duty to help those less well off than themselves, and Mrs O’Brien was in sore trouble.
The O’Briens’ only son had emigrated to America right after the Irish Free State had been established six years ago, leaving the two of them to work the patch of land they rented along with the cottage.
That had been hard enough, but then Mr O’Brien had been taken bad with the influenza on Palm Sunday, and had passed away on Easter Sunday.
Niamh paused as she caught sight of the slate roof of her family home in the far distance, the chimney sending up puffs of smoke.
She gazed across the fields to the parlour where her da and her two older brothers, Colm and Finn, were milking the herd.
Further to the west were the stables where her younger brother, Darragh, would be grooming the horses, one of which he’d hook up to the cart in order to take her to this afternoon’s mid-week market.
Although he was the youngest child, he was the bravest, wildest and most wilful of them all.
He’d even been known to disagree with Mammy on occasion, which was a terrible thing to witness.
He’d been hopeless with the cows, but thank goodness he’d found a stillness when he was with the horses.
She resumed her journey home and was halfway there when she saw a tall male figure coming along the path towards her.
Unable to recognise his outline, she wondered what a stranger was doing out here.
She saw he had a mass of brown curls that seemed to be trying to escape from under
