Sitting down at an empty table - with O'Connell quickly seating himself between her and the closest group of men - Maura looked around. There were at least forty workers, most still filthy from the day and staring at her avidly. Wiping self-consciously at her face, she leaned in and whispered, "Do I have gunpowder on my face again? Why are they staring?"
He chuckled, reaching over her to snag the bread basket. "THEY'RE STARING BECAUSE YOU'RE THE BIG BOSS'S WOMAN AND THEY'RE NOT USED TO BEAUTIFUL LADIES IN A MINING CAMP. THE ONES WHO CAME WITH US ARE STARING BECAUSE MARTINEZ TOLD EVERYONE HOW YOU KNOCKED OUT A HIRED HAND TWICE YOUR SIZE WITH TWO FINGERS."
Maura sighed, "So much for subtlety, O'Connell."
The chatter quieted again as James walked in, dusty and sweating from the day. "Good work today, gentlemen! Keep up the pace and there's a fifteen percent bonus by the day after tomorrow."
Smiling at the cheers, he seated himself directly across from Maura and O'Connell. Appetite gone, she considered getting up and leaving, but noticing the men were all sneaking glances in their direction again, she decided that making a scene was not in her best interests. Refusing to look up, Maura ate quietly as James and the Irishman talked about the dig. Sahnoun came by with a dessert for Maura, smiling kindly as he took her plate.
"Tell me when you are ready for your bath, Mrs. Pine," he spoke quietly.
Picking up her plate of honey and nuts, Maura said, "This is a perfect time, Mr. Sahnoun." Part of her was waiting for an objection from James, or an order for her to sit down, but neither came. He continued speaking with O'Connell in his low, controlled voice, not looking up as she left the tent.
Staring out at the glorious flames of the sunset as she bathed, Maura tried not to think about that afternoon. She'd not thought of Ma for years - literally erased her from her mind - until James showed her that bizarre photo of her mother's charity gravestone. Why did he do that? Maura frowned angrily, drawing up her knees and wrapping her arms around them defensively.
***
The weeks following Da's death were dark…
The detective was the same who had been called for her brother's murder. Morrighan glared at him angrily when he walked through the door. "Look who's here, Detective Doyle. Would ya' believe Da slipped on tha' knife? Just like Jimmy fell and hit his head a thousand times-" Her voice broke.
He sighed, passing a hand over his tired face. "I've done wrong here, make no mistake." The sobs of the twins came from where they were huddled by the kitchen table, Morrighan trying to soothe them. Meghan was already loaded into the ambulance outside. And Ma was caterwauling, hysterical as one officer tried to keep her in her chair.
"Let's get to work, then. Morrighan, it's clear this was a tragic accident." Her mouth dropped as she tried to understand that this officer was actually working with her. "It's also clear,” Doyle said, “that your sister Meghan will need good care. I'll put in for a couple of victim reparation grants. You and your sisters should'na live here. Not with that..."
"Over my dead body will you take my babies!" screamed her Ma, flailing towards the terrified little girls, trying to hold them to her stained dress.
The detective took her by the arm, gently steering her away from the howling woman. "I'll be straight, Morrighan. We'll file with the court, it might take a bit, but I'll push it through."
Morrighan squared her jaw, "But foster care- I can't let-"
"You will all stay with my wife an' me," he interrupted. "We've fostered before. My wife always wanted more little ones in the house."
The wait for word from Detective Doyle seemed interminable. She did everything she could to hold her family together, taking care of the twins and visiting Meghan in the care center every day, rubbing the little girl's feet and telling her funny stories. Nurses and orderlies learned that the teenager with the furious scowl was not to be crossed when it came to her sister's care.
Ma continued to drink, sobbing and telling Abigail and Carin how "Tha' goddam' Morrighan murdered yer Da! Poor sweet man, an' the Bacon round here doin' nothin' to that bloodthirsty bitch!" The loathsome refrain continued, over and over every day as she barely slept, trying to keep track of everything while waiting for the court decision.
She tried not to notice how the little ones shied away from her touch, refusing to let her put them to bed anymore. And one morning, as she tried to get them dressed for school with numb and exhausted fingers, Carin screamed, "Doan' you touch me, dúnmharú! Ya are!" Morrighan blinked back her tears, shaking her head, too tired to argue and desperate to get them safely to school.
The call from Doyle came that afternoon, and Morrighan sagged against the wall of the diner where she was a waitress after school. "Pack their bits up, lass. I'm coming for them at school, the court officer will deliver the papers to yer Ma."
Morrighan wiped her tears, smiling. "Better look for her at Jim's, then. Does this mean it's... it's over? The girls will be safe now?"
The detective sighed, "it's not that easy, lass. The courts always lean on a mother's love. Your Ma, she still has visitation. She can see the girls weekly, petition to get them back after ninety days. This bit is bad: she got wind of Meghan's grant for her care. Your Ma's solicitor filed a request to control the money from the grant."
"No!" The desperate denial burst from her, "No! You said-"
"I said we'd do everything we can, Morrighan. Don't you get all upset now. The girls will be safe. We won't give up and nor will you. Right, lass?" Doyle sighed, hearing her despairing silence. "Look, here's our address. My wife, her name's Maureen, she's lookin' forward to meeting ya. Make your way there after you gather your things, please. Or if you want to wait, I can send a car in a couple of hours."
"No," she wiped the tears, beginning to smile. "It won't take long at'all."
But she was wrong. Ma wasn't on her back earning beer money at Jim's, she was at home, laying on their tattered couch with a needle in her arm.
"Yer here..." she slurred. "Come'ere girl. I mighta' overdone..." she stared at the woman on the couch, wondering how it was possible that her clean-hearted little sisters, and her murdered brother could have come from the shuddering, sweating mess before her. Her eyes dropped to the needle in her mother's arm. The syringe was empty, the plunger pushed to the bottom of a black, tarry mess. "Ya heard me, ya murderin' bitch! Ya ma needs help here..." Morrighan's head tilted blankly to the side. How many times had she dragged her mother from a mess of her own vomit? Kept her from drowning as she passed out in the tub? Walked her back and forth, trying to get the drugs or booze or whatever out of her system?
It's like her mind turned sideways, somehow and Morrighan saw clearly. "Detective Doyle called, Ma," she said conversationally. "The court order came through, you lost yer custody of the girls, it’s certain. They're going to be safe now, away from you."
The woman on the couch flailed an arm, trying to strike at her daughter. "Dúnmharú! I woan' lose my babies! Not while there's breath in my body!"
