Finding Home

             FINDING HOME     

    PART I

Damp orange and red leaves clung to my shoes and the hem of my skirt as I walked down the dirt path toward Miss Kathleen's cottage. Sheep dotted rolling green hills in the distance. It was sunny yet drizzly, and the air was crisp and cool. It was, as Mum used to say, disagreeable weather. 

I neared the small thatched house, pulling my thin shawl around my shoulders, shivering. I knocked on the door, which was made of wood and had peeling red paint, worn with time. “Come in!” 

I pulled the door open, wincing a little at the creak. As soon as I stepped in, I relaxed instantly at the soothing warmth of the fire, along with the comforting smell of tea leaves and sage.

“Hello, Ena.” Miss Kathleen was seated in her usual worn, green chair. Her long grey hair was pulled back into a loose braid, and a knitted wool blanket was draped over her legs.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” I offered, setting down my basket.

Miss Kathleen nodded. “That would be lovely, a leanbh.”

I stepped into the small kitchen and got out the tin of tea. 

I came to the fire, near the back of the house, to put the kettle on, and nearly jumped in surprise. Seated at a small table was a boy who looked a year or so older than me, around fifteen. He was deeply concentrated on fixing a small clock, it seemed, and didn’t even notice me.

“Miss Kathleen? Who’s your guest?” I walked back to the sitting room once I’d finished putting the water over the fire to heat.

“Oh, Ena, I forgot to tell you! Gavan, my grandson, arrived on the train from Belfast last night after you left.” She folded her thin, bony hands together. “His father- my son- passed away last month. He will be living with me for the time being.”

“ I-I’m sorry. About your son, that is,” I added quickly. “Not Gavan coming to live with you.”

Miss Kathleen smiled softly. “Thank you very much, Ena. But everything happens for a reason, you know. “

I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I just asked if she wanted me to start supper and busied myself in the kitchen.

As always, Miss Kathleen and I sat down to supper at the wooden dining table, but this time, Gavan joined us. 

I had only made enough potato and leek soup for two people, so we all had not much more than a puddle at the bottom of our bowls for a serving. Winter was coming, so food was scarce.

“What did you bring for us to read today?” Miss Kathleen asked after I’d cleared the table. We were settled back in the sitting room, and Gavan was back to work on the clock.

I held up an old book of poems I had brought in my small wicker basket, and began to read:

Some may say

What is there

More lovely than

The icy frost of

Winter?

What is there 

More lovely than 

The bloom of brand-new

Flowers?

Something does not

Exist more delightful 

Than a sunray.

And nothing can 

Surpass

My voice trailed off mid-line. Over Miss Kathleen’s shoulder, I could see that Gavan had stopped mending the clock and was instead staring rather intently at me as I read. This was the first time I’d gotten a good look at him. His face was squarish and sharp, and his expression almost bitter, but was softened by blondish-brown curls and a smattering of freckles dotting his cheeks and nose that made him look more youthful and less harsh.  As soon as he caught me looking, his piercing blue eyes darted away quickly, and he resumed his work.

“Keep reading,” Miss Kathleen urged.

My chest tightened a little, though not unpleasantly, and I tried to rid the unusual feeling.

of my stomach turning, as if I had eaten something bad. Perhaps the potatoes had gone rotten. What was wrong with me? Shaking my head a little, I continued.

  And nothing can

  Surpass the glorious

  Colored leaves of

  Autumn.

  Which is what 

  I thought until

  I saw your tragic 

  Smile.

 I shut the book, and Miss Kathleen grinned. “What a beautiful poem, right Gavan?”

 I’m not sure why, but I wanted Gavan to love the poem. No, to adore it. I felt almost as if I had written it myself, which was mad. Everyone knew women did not write. Most of us didn’t even go to school- I was lucky for the three years of proper education I’d received. Just enough to learn to read and write and do simple equations, but not much more.

 “Huh?” Gavan looked up. “Oh, er, yes. I liked it well enough,” he said. His voice was deep and kind of crackly. Startling at first, but then not so bad.

 My heart sank just a little for some reason. I shook it off, though, and began to gather my things to leave.

 “Goodbye, Miss Kathleen. I’ll be here tomorrow before supper as always.”

 She laughed softly. “What would I do without you, Ena, love?”  She turned to her grandson. “Say goodbye, Gavan”

 He looked up, nodded once, then continued working. 

I arrived home to an empty house, as always, and after the warmth of Miss Kathleen's cottage, I felt even smaller, and the house felt even bigger.

                   PART II

 Over the next few days, Gavan, Miss Kathleen, and I fell into a sort of rhythm. I would cook and clean and read as always, but Gavan had begun to help me when he wasn’t fixing something at the little back table.

 One particularly nice day, we were working in the barn out back.

 “You’ve never milked a goat?” I asked in surprise.

 Gavan shook his head. “I never did barn chores back in Belfast.”

 I scoffed. “Well, at least you know how to coax a chicken, right?” That was a simple skill that most village children learned when they were young.

 He raised a brow, but didn’t respond. 

 “Coax a chicken. You know, to get it to lay more eggs?”

 Gavan leaned against a bale of hay, staying silent for what felt like an eternity.

 Does he think I’m daft? Perhaps he really doesn’t know?

 Finally, he answered. “A chicken lays as many eggs as it contains.”

 “Yes,” I said slowly. Maybe he wasn’t completely hopeless. Or he could be the daft one. “And that is relevant because…”

 “Because no amount of coaxing will make a hen carrying four eggs lay five.”

 “But they may not lay all their eggs at once.” I pointed out.

 “They’ll lay them eventually, though.” He shot with a slightly teasing smile.

 I struggled to maintain a neutral expression, but inside I was fuming. “Not all of us have the time to wait for a hen to lay all her eggs. We can't just go to the market and spend all our shillings and pennies on eggs.” I gritted my teeth. So oblivious. 

 Gavan averted my eyes. “I’m sorry. I..” He paused and kicked at the ground. “I didn’t mean to be rude.”

 I ignored his apology and picked up the rusty pail off the ground. “I’d say it’s time you learned to get goat milk. But don’t think we won’t be continuing our delightful chicken conversion later.”

 “Alright?” He hesitated. “But, maybe you should do the milking for now.”

 “Since you’re living with Miss Kathleen for the foreseeable future, you should learn.”

 He sighed. “Lead the way.”

Teaching Gavin to milk a goat was like teaching a kicking, screaming toddler to sit still and be quiet; nearly impossible and excruciatingly painful.

At first, he refused to even come within a few feet of Rose, Miss Kathleen's goat, as I demonstrated how to extract the milk and get it into the bucket. 

“She won’t bite you,” I promised once Gaven had finally sat down on the short wooden stool at her side, almost an hour later. It was getting dark fast, and if it weren't for the small lantern I’d brought, it would be pitch black inside the barn.

“Come on, we’re losing light,” I urged.

“I never asked to do this?” 

“I’m trying to be helpful. You’re not in the city anymore.”

Gaven huffed but didn’t protest.

I crouched next to him “Put each hand on an udder.” I instructed. 

Hesitantly, he obliged. “What now?”

I put my hands over each of his, ignoring my racing heart.  He stiffened at first, but then relaxed. I guided his hands, the same way that my father had taught me many years ago. The only difference was that Gaven’s hands were much larger, which made things a little harder. As we went, I was acutely aware of  how he smelled of cheap soap and fire, and the way his warm breath tickled the back of my neck.

After a while, I asked, “Are you ready to try on your own?”

He shook his head. “Maybe tomorrow.”

I dropped my hands and stood up, dusting off my skirt.

Gaven got off his stool and walked beside me as I led Rose to her stall.

“Was that so bad?”

Rose bleated and butted her head against Gaven’s leg, and his eyes widened.

I laughed. “She’s telling you she loves you.”

He scoffed, but a hint of a smile danced across his face. “Not that bad,” he decided.

 After a moment, in the light of the lantern, I noticed him staring at me a bit oddly. 

 “What’s wrong?” I wiped at my face self-consciously to check for food or maybe a smudge of dirt.

 “Nothing’s wrong. It’s just…” his voice trailed off. “I think you’re lovely.”

  PART III

After Gaven's first month of living with Miss Kathleen, he told me he would be moving back to Belfast to be a blacksmith’s apprentice.

It was after this revelation that I finally came to terms with my feelings. Whether I liked it or not, I had fallen for Gaven.

So, on this last day, I came to Miss Kathleen's house early, wearing my nicest dress. It was the one I had bought with almost three months ' wages from working at the village bakery, the job that put food on my table for one, but not much more than that.

“Oh my, Ena, you look very nice,” was the first thing Miss Kathleen said upon my arrival.

“Thank you,” I scanned the house for Gaven, but couldn't see him anywhere.

As if reading my mind, Miss Kathleen said, “Gaven is outside doing the milking.”

I quickly thanked her, then all but ran to the door. “Ena, would you mind making me a cup of tea?”

I tried to mask my disappointment with a smile. “Of course.”

Finally, after starting dinner and making tea, I raced out of the house. Guilt stabbed at my chest, but was overpowered by excitement and, in truth, a lot of nervousness.

The night before, I had written Gaven a letter. It was the first thing that I’d ever written that anyone would read. The closest I’d ever be to being published. The letter was tucked away in my apron  pocket, concealed until the perfect moment.

I signed happily as I pictured what would happen: I’d come into the barn, and as soon as Gaven saw me, he’d realise his true feelings- unless they were already there. He’d embrace me and say I was the only girl for him, and then.. What would happen after that? What did I even know to happen? I groaned and shook off my confusion.

"Ena? Are you alright? You’ve been staring at nothing.” 

“What?” I jumped at Gaven’s voice in surprise.

“I asked if you were doing alright.”

“Oh, " I said, a little thrown off. “Yes, lovely, thank you.”

“Okay?” He said slowly. “Well, I was just going inside. I just finished milking Rose.”

“No!” He couldn’t go inside!

He looked at me oddly.

“I mean no, can you, um, help me with the chickens?” This was not how I’d planned things!

He nodded, and we silently made our way to the barn. 

Once we got to the chicken coop, Gaven said, “You didn’t come for the eggs.”

Why would you think that?”I feigned shock.

“You don’t have a basket. And also, I already got the eggs, so there was no need to go in the first place.”

Inwardly, I groaned. Why had I not come up with a better, more well-thought-out plan?

Gaven stepped a little closer”So the question is, what did you come out here for?”

“I, um…” I searched for words, but my brain could barely form coherent thoughts, much less a sentence. “It’s your last day here, and I wanted to say goodbye. “ I ended up awkwardly. “So.. goodbye.”

Gaven looked slightly flustered, but to my disappointment, didn’t look, well, disappointed. “You just got here. Let’s save our goodbyes for the end.”

My heart sank. “I suppose I’ll be heading inside then.” 

Later that night, Miss Kathleen, Gaven and I gathered around the fire, all seated in different chairs; Miss Kathleen on her green one, me in a creaky rocking chair, and Gaven on a high wooden stool.

I flipped through the book I had brought, and decided on a poem about goodbyes.

“Farewell to thee! but not farewell

To all my fondest thoughts of thee:

Within my heart they still shall dwell;

And they shall cheer and comfort me.”

O, beautiful, and full of grace!

If thou hadst never met mine eye,

I had not dreamed a living face

Could boast such charms to far outvie.

If I may never behold again

That form and face so dear to me,

Nor hear thy voice, still would I fain

Preserve, for aye, their memory.

 “Anne Brontë’s Farewell,” said Miss Kathleen. “What a good choice.”

 Anne? A woman wrote this? Are women allowed to write? My joyful thoughts were  quickly cut off by the not-so-joyful situation at hand.

 Miss Kathleen wiped away a tear. “I will miss you greatly, mo gharmhac. Is breá liom tú.”

 I was surprised to see that Gaven’s dark blue eyes were glassy as well. “I love you too, Maimeó.” His voice was raw. “I promise I’ll visit you.”

My heart soared. I’d see him again!

Gaven turned to me. “Time for our goodbye.” He said.

I bit my lip. “I’ll really miss you. Who else’ll help me with the chores?”

That odd look over Gaven’s face again. “Ena, could I talk to you in the kitchen for a minute?”

“Right now?”

“If you can.”

I nodded nervously. Wordlessly, we stepped into the kitchen.

 Now’s the time. “Gaven,” my voice was shaking from nervousness. “There’s something that I've been meaning to tell you.”

At the same time, he started, “Ena, can I ask you something?”

We both laughed a little awkwardly.

“You can go first,” Gaven offered. He smiled a little mischievously. “I’m curious what you so urgently need to tell me.”

I took a deep breath. I could do this. “Uh, I’ve really enjoyed our time together,” I cringed at how pathetic I sounded, but went on. “I think that you’re really great and you-”

“Oops.” Gaven had dropped a small paper. I bent to pick it up for him. 

“Wait, Ena!” he protested.

It was too late, though. 

My stomach churned, and my hand trembled when I grabbed it. The paper turned out to be a small photograph in black in white of a girl. 

She was far prettier than I’d ever been. Her eyes looked light and happy, like she’d never faced sorrow in her life. Her hair was in a thick braided bun. She seemed to have  an air about her that almost condescended. Or possibly that was my imagination.

“I took a shuddering breath. “Here you go.” I handed Gaven the photo and avoided his eyes.

“Thank you,” he mumbled. “But it’s nothing really, I swear. Nothing important.”

“Oh, I’m sure that girl is no one,” I drawled, my voice oozing with sarcasm.

“She is no one. But why do you even care?” He shot.

“I don’t!” By then I was shouting.

“Really? Because this seems an awful lot like you caring.”

“Well, maybe I do!”

Gaven arched his brow. “So you do care for me?”

I took a shuddering breath. “That doesn’t matter. But even if I did, and I’m saying if, we wouldn’t last. Because,” I was almost in tears at this point. Angry tears. “Because you don’t know a thing about pain. A thing about loss. You’re just a rich city boy who breaks hearts for fun!”

“Ena, I-”

“Don’t say anything”, I grabbed the folded paper out of my pocket and shoved it into his hand. He took it.

“Read it when I’m gone, but know that a lot has changed.”

I left the cottage feeling absolutely despicable.

I was mad at Gaven, mad at his girl, and most of all, mad at myself for being so stupid as to actually believe he would ever like a girl like me.

“Ena! Ena!” I was almost home when I heard a voice behind me shouting my name. “Ena, wait!”

I whipped around, brandishing my basket like it was a weapon. Who was this? And they knew my name?

“Gaven?” I slowly lowered the basket in surprise. It took me a few seconds to make out his features in the dark.

“It’s me.”

I crossed my arms. “Why did you come back? I thought I'd made myself clear.

He laughed bitterly. ”Yes, you did.”

I groaned, ”I’m going home”

Gaven fell into stride with me. “Do you really think I’m a,” he paused. “What did you call me? Oh yes. A ‘rich city kid who breaks girls’ hearts for fun.’”

“Was I wrong?” I shot.

“No, and yes. I’m certainly not rich anymore- I haven’t inherited any money. And as for the city kid, I’d say that the last couple of months have caused me to grow fond of the country- although I’m going back to Belfast. So I think the phrase you’re looking for is ‘former rich city kid.’"

I laughed despite myself. “What about the breaking girls’ hearts part?” I pointed out.

“I’d never break a heart for fun, though I’d be honored if anyone considered me that precious.”

We were silent for several paces until I asked, “Where are you going?”

“To your home.”

I huffed. “My house, you mean. A home is a place that is special to you. A place full of people you love.” I used to have a home.

“You don't love your family?”

I turned away to signal the conversation was over, although I doubted he’d be able to tell in the dark.”

“Ena?” His voice was gentle.

“My family is dead,” I said bluntly. “I live with no one.”

“Who takes care of you?”

“I do. I’m not a child.”

Does my grandmother know?”

“Of course she knows. She helps me, and I help her. That’s the way it’s been for four years”

"You've lived alone since you were ten”

I rolled my eyes as he came up the path to my house. “Are you coming or not?

“So, after everything, you’re letting me stay?”

“If anything, I should be the one apologising.” I paused. And anyway, it’s dark out, and you don’t know your way back.”

The inside of the cottege was freezing cold and pitch black. “Don’t worry about the dark.” My voice echoed. “It’s very empty and small.”

I got started on a fire,and soon there was a dim glow and crackling warmth emitting from the fireplace.

“Can I get you something to eat or drink?” I asked tentatively, not knowing what else there was to say.

Gaven declined.

I sat down on the floor, close to the fire.

“Don’t you have a chair?”

I shook my head. “I sold most of the furniture years ago. That’s actually how I met your grandmother. She was in town and saw me selling some things.” I recalled the memory.

 Miss Kathleen had approached me and asked where my parents were.

“They died.” I’d said flatly.

Her eyes had widened. “Are you alone?” 

I nodded. “Are you going to buy something?” The only thing I’d brought that day was a small coffee table and a worn green chair, which were the lightest objects I’d had.

"I think I’ll take the chair. How much do you want for it?”

My chest tightened. My mother’s chair. “Three shillings.” My voice had wobbled.

“I’ll give you six if you help me bring it to my house. Are you strong?”

I hesitated. Mum had always warned me of odd strangers, but what harm could an old lady be? “Very strong.” I’d responded confidently. 

Together, we’d lugged the chair to her cottage.

“Your house is very nice.” I’d said one we got in.

Miss Kathleen looked around. “Thank you very much. But it does get quite lonely. My husband passed away many years ago, and my son moved to Belfast with his wife.”

“I get lonely too.”

Miss Kathleen considered this. “What’s your name, child?”

“Ena. What can I call you?”

“What may you call me?” She corrected me. Always correcting my speaking, that lady. “Miss Kathleen. Ena, would you like to keep each other company? I will make sure that you never starve or have to be cold.”

Was she asking me to live with her? “I think that I like living in my house. But could I come visit every day? I can read to you and make dinner.”

“That sounds absolutely lovely.”

Somewhere along my telling of the story, Gaven had taken a seat next to me on the hard floor.

 When I finished, he said, “You were very wrong.”

I was taken aback. “Wrong about what?”

“When you said that I don’t know a thing about loss” Gaven's voice was far away.

“Oh? And what have you lost?”

He laughed bitterly. “My wealth. My home. My friends. My father is dead. My mother left long ago. I have lost it all.”

Suddenly, I felt stupid. And insensitive. Even though, how could I’ve known? “I’m so sorry, Gaven. I shouldn’t be so…

He finished my sentence. “Quick to speak?”

“Yes.”

“On the matter of quick to speak,” Gaven pulled out my letter. I inwardly groaned. How childish I’d been!

“I read it, Ena.”

I groaned, out loud this time. There was no point in hiding my embarrassment. “I was foolish, I know. There’s no way that my feelings are shared.” I took a shaking breath. And… and I respect that. I just hope that we can remain friends.”

“I think we might be able to do better than that.”

“What do you-”

Gaven hushed me. “You just don’t know when to stop talking, do you?” He chuckled.

 My face turned red.

 And then suddenly  his face was getting closer and closer, until-

I pushed his chest away. “Who’s that girl?” I demanded.

“What girl?” 

“The one whose picture you have.”

Gaven looked at me quizzically, not saying anything for a few loud beats of my heart. “You mean Mary?” He laughed. “She’s my cousin. Her family sent that so I’d recognize her when she came to pick me up from the train station. I’m staying with them when I go back to Belfast."

“Oh!” I once again felt ignorant. A wave of relief washed over me.

Gaven put his hand on mine gently. “Ena. I…” he seemed to be searching for the right words. “I promise I’ll visit you often, and maybe you can come to Belfast sometime. Because I can’t picture never seeing you again. You’ve made me realize I need to stop running. To stop pushing feelings away. To stop pushing people away. People I love.”

I felt my eyes tearing up. So this was goodbye? “I’ll really miss you.” My voice was raw. I wrapped my arms around him, and we said a final goodbye in ways words couldn’t.

But after what felt like both an eternity and a second, Gaven pulled away. “It’s time for me to leave.”

 I wiped away a tear. “I know. I just don’t want you to. The house feels so empty. You really must visit." I got up and put on my cloak to bring him back to Miss Kathleen’s.

Gaven gave me a half smile. “I will. And I have a feeling that this house won’t be empty forever.”

                              PART IV- Twelve Years Later

Joyful giggles filled the once empty house.

 “

Mummy!” James shrieked gleefully. “Look at Dadaí!"

 “Gaven!” I snorted. James and Kathleen, our five year old twins, had gotten into my hats jewelry and had given Gaven a full makeover. I held onto a chair to keep from doubling over with laughter.

“You look very lovely, Dadaí,”  Kathleen said seriously. She was kneeling on the table behind Gaven and brushing his curly hair.

“Unsurprising,” Gaven joked, hugging three-year-old Rosie, who was perched on his lap.

Gaven was right. The house filled up delightfully over the years.

The home.

After a few years of traveling back and forth, Gaven left Belfast and came back here.  When we were twenty and twenty-one, we finally married, and a year later, we had the twins. Two years later, Rosie came along.  And now a new baby was on its way.

I never thought my life would be like this, full of love and hope and joy.

And my writing. Yes, I was now a published author. Things had changed for women over the past decade, and writing was now accepted more openly.

My poems and short stories had been in magazines, newspapers, spellers for children, and even a collection of my work in its very own book.

My life was, in my eyes, perfect.

Miss Kathleen buying that chair so long ago led to my finding home, and for that, I was endlessly grateful.