Sing, Wild Bird, Sing: A Novel by Jacqueline O'Mahony

Author:Jacqueline O'Mahony [O'Mahony, Jacqueline]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lake Union Publishing
Published: 2023-08-01T05:00:00+00:00

IX

“This is Nell,” Mary had said, pushing her toward Ignatius.

They had agreed that she should stay as Nell for Ignatius. Ignatius might not respond well to the name Honora, Mary had said one night, when they were on the road, and when she’d asked her what that meant, Mary had answered, You’ll see. The more I hear about Ignatius, the less I like him, Honora had said in response, and Mary had said nothing at all to that, and that was a bad sign, she knew, because Mary now was rarely without a retort. Afterward, she was glad that she had been known as Nell in Bolt. It helped her to think of the things that happened to her there as happening to Nell, only. I was never Honora there, she thought. I was never myself, and there is a saving grace in that.

Ignatius was waiting for them at the trading post in the middle of the town, as they’d arranged. Mary had sent him a telegram from the East to tell him that she had arrived in America, and that she was on her way with a friend from Ireland, but they found themselves short of funds; they did not have the money for the coach journey to Oregon, she wrote. Please send money, the telegram said, and Ignatius had, and now they stepped off the coach, and he stepped out of the shadows. This cannot be him, Honora thought. This cannot be Ignatius.

He was no taller than she was; he came up only to Mary’s shoulder. He was small boned, too, with sloping shoulders and a narrow face and narrow lips and long, sand-colored hair that he wore oiled and parted in the middle and swept behind over his ears and down to his collar. She had expected someone big, strong, loud, but Ignatius was almost refined looking, and he spoke quietly, and with a slight lisp that sounded affected to her. He wore a gentleman’s jacket that he stroked fondly like it was a pet, though it was ill-fitting and shiny with grease and smelled terribly stale, and rolled-up trousers and shoes that looked too tight for him and curled up at the toes, which were strange shoes for a man who worked in a mine to be wearing, she thought.

This is Ignatius? she wanted to say to Mary, and she turned to her and gave her a hard stare, but Mary wouldn’t meet her eye. Instead, she grabbed at Honora’s arm and pulled her back from Ignatius and linked her so that they were standing facing him together.

“Well, girls,” he said, smiling and nodding at them both, “here you are.” He had a paper in his hand, and he was waving it at them. It is our telegram to him, perhaps, thought Honora. Why is he waving it like it is a bill, or a proof of purchase?

She had been ready to smile, to greet him nicely. First impressions are important, Mary had warned her on the coach.

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