Chapter 24: The Morning After

The morning after, I came downstairs in the late morning, and the kitchen was full of children.

Maisie stood on a chair at the stove with the foreman's wife, stirring a pot of oatmeal with both fists.

Bea sat at the table with her sketchbook open and a gray crayon in her hand.

Conal was at the counter, cutting a loaf of bread, in yesterday's trousers and no shoes.

He looked up when I came in.

He looked at me for a long moment, and then he went back to the bread.

I took a seat at the table.

My knee ached from the stairs and from the night, and I did not mind.

"Mama," Maisie said, without turning around. "You came in late."

"I did."

"Conal came in late too."

"Did he?"

"He slept on the sofa in the study. He said it was for the lawyers."

Conal cut the bread with great care.

I looked at the crayon in Bea's hand.

She had drawn a man on a horse again.

This time he was not looking over his shoulder.

He was turned all the way round, and he was smiling.

A small woman in green stood beside the saddle with her hand on the horse's neck.

"Is that him?" I asked her.

She nodded.

"Is he still the waiting one?"

Bea considered it.

"No," she said. "Now he's the staying one."

I put my fingers over my mouth.

Conal had stopped cutting.

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