New Girl in Little Cove Damhnait Monaghan (best ebook reader android .txt) 📖

kitchen, really looking. There was a stack of books beside the daybed where I lay and the treasure box was still on the table. Biddy’s tea set, neatly organized up on a shelf, was bone china. Three hooked rugs lay on the floor: one in front of the wood stove, one by the daybed and one at the entranceway. I was lying under the most gorgeous quilt I’d ever seen, although clearly, I would never admit that to Lucille.

The ringing phone interrupted my inventory taking and I answered quickly, not wanting to wake Biddy.

“Hello,” I half whispered.

“Who’s that?” said a voice I didn’t recognize. “Where’s Biddy?”

“It’s Rachel O’Brien,” I said. “Biddy’s still asleep. I’m . . .” I thought about what Doug had said about not gossiping. “I’m visiting her this weekend.”

“Visiting?” The voice was incredulous. “This is Elsie, her sister.”

“Oh,” I said. “I wasn’t sure who I was speaking to. I’m staying with Biddy this weekend because I didn’t want her to be on her own, after the . . .” I paused, wondering how best to phrase things.

“I’m after hearing about the accident. Sounds like she’ll mend just fine. Normally, there’s nothing Biddy likes better than being on her own,” Elsie said. “But I’m glad you were able to stay with her.”

“It’s honestly a pleasure,” I said.

“Hmph,” came the reply. “We’re coming back to Little Cove as soon as we can, you tell her,” said Elsie. “And I’ll see to her then.”

After I hung up, I poked my head around the doorway of Biddy’s room. She was awake and I asked her if she wanted tea in bed.

“My dear,” she said. “What luxury, yes, please. And this is nonsense now, but are there any of them cookies of yours on the go or wha? They’re some good.”

Ten minutes later, Biddy and I were having cookies and tea for breakfast, she in her bed and me in the rocking chair. I looked up at one point and Biddy had a big smile on her face.

“What’s got you so happy?” I asked.

“I just realized that for the first time in fifty years, I don’t have to go to Mass this morning,” she said, gleefully. “I’m too poorly.”

“Oh,” I said. “I thought you were feeling better.”

She smirked, and snuggled back under the covers.

“You know,” I said. “If you’re not feeling well, maybe I need to stay with you. Just in case.”

“Not a chance, my dear,” she said. “You needs to show your face. People knows you’re out here and, as a teacher, you needs to set the example.”

She was sounding remarkably like Father Frank, it seemed to me.

That afternoon, I packed my bag and tidied up the kitchen and Biddy’s bedroom while she dozed by the stove in the rocking chair. Then the door flew open and Lucille burst in, followed by Geri and a woman who looked like an older but very well-preserved version of Geri. Biddy woke at the noise and held her one good arm out. Lucille ran over and patted Biddy’s shoulder and stroked her cheek, and then settled on a chair beside her, asking how she was and what had happened, and scolding her, saying that if she’d come to the wedding with them, then none of this would have happened in the first place. By the time Lucille stopped for breath, Biddy looked exhausted.

Geri was examining Biddy’s head and adjusting the sling. Then she filled the kettle and put it on to boil. Elsie sat down beside me on the daybed and introduced herself, asking how Biddy was doing. I gave her a quick summary and showed her the bottle of pills, then began to gather my things to slip away quietly.

“Rachel O’Brine!”

I turned, expecting Lucille to be telling me off about something, but it was Biddy speaking. She crooked her finger at me and I went back over. When I bent down, she stroked my cheek and said, “You’re a star, Rachel. Thank you so much. Now go on home and enjoy some peace and quiet in that cozy house of yours.”

And I did.

33

A few days later during morning break, Judy burst into the staff room, her face white. “Cynthia’s missing. Do you know where she might be?”

I shook my head, then followed her, wordless, to Patrick’s office, where he was deep in conversation with a tearful Mrs. O’Leary. Her bloodshot eyes were locked on Patrick; she barely registered us entering the room.

“I hates to say it,” said Patrick, “but do you think she went off somewhere with Ron?”

Cynthia’s mother accepted his proffered tissue. “That’s what’s got me so worried.” She dabbed at her nose. “I went to see Ron. He said she left his place last night in a right state. He figured she’d come home, but she didn’t. I went to bed early with a headache and when I woke up . . .” She was silent for a minute and when she spoke again, her voice was fierce. “I frigging well knew he’d drop her. I kept telling her but she wouldn’t listen.”

I leaned against the wall listening to the discussion, wondering first whether Mrs. O’Leary knew that Cynthia was pregnant and second whether she actually was. I had promised not to say anything, but the fact that Cynthia was missing changed things. I beckoned Judy out into the hall.

“I think Cynthia might be pregnant.”

Her face crumpled. “How do you know?”

When I briefly explained, her face grew stern. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she said, then went back into Patrick’s office, shutting the door in my face.

When no one came out, and the bell rang signalling the end of break, I went back to my classroom. The day passed slowly. At lunch I went to the staff room, but no one was there. After school, I went to Judy’s office, then Patrick’s, but there was no sign of either of them. At a loss, I drove home, wondering where Cynthia might be and hoping she was okay.

That evening, Patrick phoned and told me that Cynthia had been found