Irish pronunciations:

Evelyn: Ave-Leen

Ciara: Key-ra

Aoife: Eee-fa

Glendalough: Glenn-da-Lock

A stóirín: Ah-store-reen (my little treasure)

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Evelyn Kelly was a phenomenal storyteller.

Jack, Ciara, and baby Molly followed their mother around day after day while she kneaded bread or scrubbed floors or pulled weeds, begging for legends of ancient kings and queens with lilting Gaelic names that felt like harp music over their tongues. They sighed at the fate of the Children of Lir and cheered at the banishment of the evil Queen Aoife. The kids knew leprechauns were tricksters, and they shivered with just the right amount of fear when they heard stories of changelings who snatched away children and left cursed fairies their place.

They heard about the saints: Faithful Saint Patrick who used shamrocks to illustrate the Trinity, fed hungry sailors, and drove all the snakes to the sea. There was compassionate Brigid, friend of women and the poor, and courageous Brendan the Navigator. Evelyn was particularly fond of nature-loving Kevin of Glendalough, whose ancient towers she'd seen from her childhood home in the Wicklow mountains. Jack and Ciara grew up reverently superstitious about fairies and prayer.

In quieter moments, as Evelyn sewed or fed Molly or braided Ciara's thick, dark hair, her children asked for the story of their family. Evelyn was a miracle baby, the feisty youngest daughter of a large sheep farming family in Glendalough. Years before she was born, her parents, four brothers, and two sisters had survived the Great Hunger, only by Irish luck and the Grace of God. She had no dowry and no interest in the men of Glendalough, anyways, so at 17 she boarded a ship for America to become a maid.

"But Mama," Ciara would always interrupt. "Didn't you miss Ireland? What was Ireland like?"

"Green." Evelyn would say. Her face would crack into a huge smile. "Clean and green and pretty." It'd been so long since she'd been able to see for miles.

For three years, she lived with a wealthy family who had so much money they had heaters in every room, fancy parlor furniture from England, and parties almost every weekend. For three years, she told herself the old stories and prayers as she scrubbed and polished and cooked and carried for thirteen, fourteen, fifteen hours a day. "Good, hard, noble work." She always called it. She was thankful to not have to work in a factory.

Then she met Pat Kelly, a construction worker who'd immigrated from Dublin as a little boy. She wasn't looking for anyone. Really, she wasn't. But his green eyes reminded her of the rich, soft grass of the Wicklow mountains. They were married within the year.

Here in her story, Evelyn would pause. "Hmmm," She'd say. "I wonder what happened after that."

"Me!" Jack would say. "You had me, Jack!"

Evelyn would kiss his head, then look quizzically around their apartment. "Then what?"

"Me!" Ciara would jump up. "And then Molly." Evelyn would nod and kiss the girls. Then she'd stand up from her chair to do something else.

"No!" Jack would almost always complain. "Ma, that's not the end of the story."

Evelyn would smile. "The rest of our family's story is up to you and your sisters, a stóirín."

Every once in a while, Evelyn could turn her spoon or her shovel into a cross, or a sword, or a snake, pausing her work to punctuate the story with grand gestures and sparkling blue eyes. Her storytelling voice was different from her usual sharp, tired voice she used to tell Jack to sit up straight, or remind Ciara to be gentle with the baby, or to fuss over money with her husband. It was warm and smooth, like starlight and church music.

Decades later, if he focused hard enough, Jack could hear the Hail Mary, a classic Irish pub song, and the names of his long-gone aunts and uncles and grandparents in his mother's storytelling voice.

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I had SO MUCH fun researching this! I lived in Ireland for 3 weeks last summer for a study abroad and it's an absolutely beautiful, fascinating culture full of folklore and faith and badass women (all my favorite things). The Wicklow Mountains is one of the most places in the world. And the Industrial Revolution has always been my fav time period too. Part 2, with the clearer connection to Cold Nights will be up sometime this weekend. :)