Trinli 8.
1904
“Gabriel, I understand your fascination with your penis, however, the rest of us do not need to see it! Put your pants on, right this minute!”
“I do not like pants! I want to run free!” I fight my smile as I chase the naked toddler through the first floor of our home.
“Get back here!”
“I got ‘em,Mutti!” Jakob appears from somewhere, leaps over the chair, and tackles his brother to the floor. Luckily, they land on the collection of blankets and pillows they used earlier to build their secret boys only hiding spot. Stealth is not an aptitude my children possess.
While Jakob has Gabriel pinned down, I force him into a pair of pants and wrestle his arms through his shirt sleeves. I’m huffing by the time I’m done and sit back on my butt to catch my breath.
“Ah! Ah! Ah!” I shake my head and point at Gabriel. He stops, his hands on the waistband of his pants. “You remove them and you will not get any dessert for a month.” He stomps his little foot, but accepts his pant-wearing fate, dropping his hands to his sides. “Where is Riordan?”
Jakob points to the second floor. “He does not feel good. He went up to nap with Noemi.”
“Shoot.” I force myself to my feet, brush off my skirts, and head upstairs. The scene I find is adorable, but I know it will lead to a sick baby. Riordan lays on the bed, his body wrapped around his baby sister, both of them fast asleep. Even from here, I can tell Riordan has a fever, his cheeks flushed, beads of sweat dotting his forehead, the rest of him quite pale.
“What in the world is that?” There is a loud, obnoxious banging on the front door. Riordan and Noemi stir, both crying when the banging gets louder and more insistent. “Jakob, Gabriel, come sit with your brother and sister.” I pass them on the stairs, wait for them to make it to the top, then rip open the door to find out what is going on.
I react quickly, dodging the hammer as it swings once more toward where my front door was seconds ago. One of the office staff at the mine is just as startled to see me as I am to see him.
“Ma’am.” He dips his chin in greeting.
“Sir. What is the meaning of this?” I turn slightly to see a notice of some kind on our front door attached with a nail. I swallow hard as the big bold lettering at the top registers. “Eviction notice?” Turning back to the man, it is clear he is uncomfortable. Too bad. “Has Darragh been fired? I do not know what he did, but surely there is a way to discipline him without termination?” He winces at the last word and my stomach drops.
“Uh…well…no one came to see you earlier?”
“You are the first visitor I have had all day, sir.”
“Fuck.” My eyes widen at his expletive. “I beg your pardon, ma’am. Shit.” He runs a hand through his stringy hair. I think under other circumstances, I might laugh, he is clearly flustered. “Darragh Byrne died this morning in the mine.”
“Oh.” Honestly, I think I am more shocked the man in front of me said “fuck”. Darragh is dead. He is not coming back. Alright. “I understand.”
“Well, I do not believe you rightly do, ma’am. As you know your housing is contingent upon your husband’s employment. His employment with Magnus Mining has been…terminated.”
“And with it, our housing.” Now, I understand. Dread explodes in my chest and trickles into each of my extremities until I’m cold and numb.
“You have 5 days to vacate.” I suck in a sharp breath. 5 days? That is not nearly enough time to secure other housing arrangements or travel… “Or you could marry another employee and move in with them or retain your housing and have them move in with you.”
“My husband’s body isn’t even cold or buried yet and you expect me to pick a new groom from the company payroll or lose my home?”
“Not exactly.” A small surge of hope flickers. “His body is very much cold, and I’d say it is already buried…what is left of him, anyway.”
“Well, thank the heavens for small mercies, sir. I am relieved I will not need to come up with the funds to bury him properly!” My sarcasm is lost on this man, and I have no more time or energy to spare him. I retreat a step back and slam the door in his face, while it is still mine to do so. Shoot. I open it back up and find he has not moved an inch. “Was anyone else hurt or killed in the collapse?”
“Just Padraig Fitzgerald.” My heart drops to my stomach and I stagger back as blackness swims at the edge of my vision. “Ma’am?”
“Is he…is he dead?”
“Your husband? Yes, I just told you…perhaps you are in shock or hysterics. I should fetch the physician—” I grab the lapels of his work jacket and tug him roughly until his face is inches from mine.
“Is. Paddy. Dead?”
He shakes his head. “No. Just got scraped up is all.” Shoving him away, I slam the door once more and rush upstairs to my babies.
“Mutti?”
