Matches & Mistletoe: An Anthology of Four Celtic & Germanic Tales by Rebecca F. Kenney

Author:Rebecca F. Kenney [Kenney, Rebecca F.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-12-01T00:00:00+00:00

3

(This story is related to the Korrigan series and features a character from that trilogy. The same character also features prominently in the book Lair of Thieves and Foxes.)

The baby’s cry is like the scraping of sharp nails across metal.

I’ve heard it so many times in the past months that I hate the sound.

My first child, Ellie, was round and rosy and bubbly. She bounced into the world with a lusty shout and barely cried after that.

This one, the new one, about five months old—she’s fretful. Always making some sound—whine, whimper, cry, scream. It takes a toll.

Maybe the difference between them is the absence of Tom. The first time, with our oldest, he was here to help me. He loved his sleep too much to get up when she woke at night, but he would care for her during the day so I could take a nap or a bath.

But Tom has been dead for a little over a year. He came home on leave and knocked me up. And then he went back to the war and immediately got shot through the throat by some Nazi scum. At least I hope it was a Nazi. I suspect that the cases of friendly fire are more frequent than we’re led to believe.

So now Tom is a ghost, and I am a raw nerve, a raveling thread, a carcass gnawed to the bone. I give and give and give to the girls, until there is nothing left of me, or for me.

When I have to go to work, I leave both girls with a grouchy, oversized woman who watches ten children in the confines of her dingy living space. I stand in a clothing store all day, smiling and speaking softly to women who buy beautiful things that I will never be able to afford. I smile while my feet are throbbing in my shoes, and my head is aching from lack of sleep.

I pay the grouchy woman, and I count up the little money that’s left, and I worry about when it will run out. I have nothing but tired eyes and worn smiles left for my daughters.

If I could only save up a little money, I would take a week off to be with my girls, and to search for a better job. If I could only get ahead, just a little, I could buy a better car, one that would let me commute further to work. I would have more options. More money. More time, more choices.

Maybe my baby is fretful because she’s never had a relaxed, loving, peaceful mother. Maybe it’s all my fault that she’s unhappy most days, and most nights.

Sometimes, when Mary shrieks in the wee hours, I cry into my pillow because I am so tired and the thought of getting up again is torture. But I always find that last scrap of strength, the bit of willpower I need to go to her. To keep her alive.

She’s crying more loudly now. I set down the dish I was scrubbing and dry my hands.

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