How to Fake an Irish Wake by Eliza Watson

Author:Eliza Watson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Eliza Watson

Eleven

When Biddy dropped me off at Grandma’s, the pink sheep was lying on the blacktop drive sunning itself. My heart raced. My goat encounter had been a definite step backward in overcoming my fear of sheep. Yet I couldn’t let this animal smell fear. Bluffy and I were in no condition to race up the road to McCarthy’s pub and leap up on the bar. I looked the sheep straight in its beady black eyes, like I had the baby goat while feeding it. Rather than racing off, it held my gaze. According to Aileen, goats would run away from humans if they were afraid. And this sheep seemed quite sociable.

“Hey there, Pinky.” Maybe it would warm to my cutesy name for it.

Pinky didn’t flinch.

I maintained my distance, talking as I headed toward the door. I walked inside and peeked out the door window at the sheep still lying on the pavement, staring at me, curious what I was up to. Baby steps.

I entered the living room as a chill raced through me. I banged a fist against the radiator, and pain crippled my right shoulder. The radiator let out a hiss. I hissed back. Out of peat again—was there a peat thief on the loose? I slipped on my wellies to head out to the shed.

The kitchen garbage can in the conservatory was half filled with water. Unable to lift it with my sore shoulder, I’d have to pan it out by hand later. En route to the woodshed, I made a detour over to the lone ash tree at the back of the yard. The fairy tree where Aileen and Mickey had shared their first kiss. I’d been so upset about the winds destroying my fairy garden, Grandma had suggested not replacing it. Gale-force winds were common in Ireland. The only surviving fairy-garden piece was a tiny weathered red door with yellow bees nailed to the base of the tree.

Hidden behind the door was a secret space for leaving the fairies notes, wishes, or gifts. The fairies’ magical powers protected children from bad dreams and granted their wishes. With a bit of jiggling, the door opened, revealing a small clump of wet paper. The ink had washed out over the years, and the ball was mush.

I’d have to leave a new wish.

After hauling in peat, making a roaring fire, and turning on the three space heaters, I cracked open the windows. Crazy, yet even in the dead of winter everyone opened windows to dry out their houses and reduce the chance of mold. No mold was the one feature this house had going for it.

I exchanged my damaged sweatshirt for a blue wool sweater. The goat’s hoof had ripped a three-inch tear in Bluffy. Grandma would have been able to sew or patch it, making it look good as new. Refusing to throw it away, I tossed it in the laundry hamper, pretending I’d repair it later.

An hour until I had to pick up Edmond for our visit with Gretta.

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