Page 16 of The Scald Crow
Aunt Polly filled a piping bag with her mashed egg mixture, the tip of her tongue resting on her lower lip.
Oonagh, our closest neighbor on this lonely road, turned from the refrigerator and set a plate of hard-boiled egg halves on the checkered counter. The pungent aroma filled the room: deviled eggs with a touch of curry—Da’s favorite appetizer. Aunt Polly didn’t acknowledge her help.
“Colm, a sandwich?” Mam prodded, her voice gentle.
“I’m good, Mam.” I chugged back the glass of water. Da’s death brought back the loss for all of us. Ciarán was the baby in the family, but he was my doppelgänger. I sensed his presence, especially in that time of sorrow.
“Right there, Polly. That one is half empty.” Oonagh crowded Aunt Polly, inspecting her work.
“How long has it been, Colm? Colleen’s wedding, it was.” Auntie set her piping bag on the counter, untied her polka-dot apron, and handed it to Oonagh with a flourish.
“It’s nice to see you, Auntie.” I placed my hands on Mam’s shoulders and gently squeezed them. Auntie looked as I remembered, her glossy black hair pulled into a tight bun, bird-like eyes appraising everything and everyone.
“Ladies?” Aunt Polly expertly popped the cork of a bottle of sparkling white wine, filled my mother’s glass, and then topped off each lady’s glass. She turned toward Aoife and, with the bottle at a precarious tilt, splashed wine across the table.
“Oh, no,” Aoife gasped, sweeping her tarot cards away from the fast-moving puddle.
“Sorry, luv. I don’t know how that got away from me.” She righted the bottle, holding it close to her chest.
I dove in with a stack of napkins, sopping up the mess.
“You need to eat, luv.” Mam’s voice drowned out Aunt Polly’s giggle.
“I’m good, Mam.” I threw the sodden napkins into the overflowing garbage, lifted the bag from the can, tied it off, and placed it on the back porch.
“It’s a tough puck, luv, losing your da, but we’ll get through.” Mam’s mind seemed clear. She spoke to me and those in the room. They nodded in agreement, all ready to help at a moment’s notice.
“Clodagh, let’s try again. Give them a good shuffle.” Aoife handed the tarot deck to the elderly lady. I recognized Clodagh from Padraig’s shop. She worked weekends during the busy season.
I set a plastic bag in the garbage bin, checked the seal, and sidestepped toward the sink, avoiding Auntie on her way to the refrigerator. I washed my hands, inhaling the fragrant scent of lilac soap.
“Colm, luv, have a sandwich.” Mam handed me a china plate, waving her hand over platters of sweet pickles and ham sandwiches in front of an empty chair—Da’s chair. I studied my mother—her eyes were red. Had I cried? No, I had not allowed myself that emotional release.
“Mam, why are we using the good china? Paper plates would do.” I shook my head at the pile of plates ready for the dishwasher.
“Tell us again about theBean-Sidhe, Clodagh. Did you see her?” Oonagh paused from her paprika shaker, surveying the egg platter with a sharp nod.
“Aye, gave me a fright. It did. Wailing, like fingernails screeching down a blackboard. And the wind rattling the windowpanes at the same time. I thought we were in for a storm.” She relived the horror, her face paling.
I half listened to the bantering hens, my stomach rumbling as I filled my plate.
“Clara saw her the night Roger died. She thought the dog was dying. Aye, she did. Father Donald told her it ‘twas nothing but the wind.” Aoife laid three cards face up again, oblivious to Polly’s pointed stare.
“It was just like they say. Hunched over the bank of the river with nothing over her shoulders but a ragged grey cloak, the wee thing sat there, combing her hair with the most beautiful silver comb. I was afraid to look at her. She lifted her head. It was her eyes—fiery red from all that keening.” Clodagh nodded her head up and down, her lips tight.
I glanced at Mam. She failed to mention her account of theBean Sidhe.
“What do you think, Aoife? Is it a good time to travel?” She clasped her hands together, her eyes hopeful.
I leaned against the door, chewing on a gherkin pickle. The tarot reader offered fortune-telling in the tiniest building on the main street, a mere ten feet wide and two stories high. She seemed comfortable among the elderly ladies, perhaps too relaxed.
“Colm? Storey’s coming home.” Auntie’s face brightened as she spoke of her only son. “Aye. He tells me there’s a big announcement coming. It’s about time, aye? Your uncle and I are so hoping that the boy settles down. Dearie me, if we’re not getting any younger.” Auntie trotted to the refrigerator, retrieving the bottle of wine.
“A wedding, Polly?” Clodagh smiled, her eyes lighting up.
“Aye, it can’t come soon enough for my liking.” Polly set the bottle down.
Aoife flinched.
