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Chapter One

"You get out of here, you rag-order, scutterin' gobshite. Go on, get! We don't want your work here!" Mrs. Brennan swept Tad out of her shop with a broom, yelling insults like the cows would never come home. He jumped out onto the street, his dirty bare feet scuffling on the dust as my breath froze in the air. "Is that you, Margaret McAuleey? What in the devil's name are you doin' here with this skanger?"

I put my hand on Tad's shoulder, pulling him back slightly. "Nothing, mum. We'll be on our way now."

"You get him out of here. I don't take beggars, and I only take clean young'uns to work." Her large bosom shook in front of her, tied up tremendously in her bodice like they might spill out if she shifted the wrong way, and her large arse bounced behind her like a hippopotamus. The door was slammed, the bell ringing in a merry manner. It was far from merry. Tad hung his head.

"Next time." I said softly, trying to put my hand on his shoulder, but he shied away. Tad was not the touchy-feeling sort of lad. He used to like to hold my hand when we were younger, and call me his girl. He stopped that when we were older and people started saying things about me bound to a poor-as-a-potato farm boy.

"There ain't no next time." He stared at his feet and wiggled his bare toes to keep them warm. If there was such a thing as warm bare toes in the crisp winter air. His coat wasn't very sufficient either; the shoulder seam was ripped on the right side, and the lining had long since been torn out to patch up something else. "I'll have to go outa town again."

"Don't leave me again." I said half-heartedly. The years without him had been hard and laborious, and there was barely a speck of humor.

"Gotta," he pulled out the small naggin of whiskey that was the only thing that kept him warm. His short pants were threadbare, his shirt coming untucked as his suspenders that were a size too big sagged. His mop of blonde hair hung in his eyes; it long since needed a cut, and probably a wash, but his face was always clean. "I'm skint, Mag."

We walked along the side of the street, staying out of the way of the passerbys, inching along the sides of the shops. The side-satchel draped over my shoulder jingled with the small amount of money I had kept over the past year. He didn't know that I planned on giving it to him if he was serious about leaving again. Thad was a good skin; never did any wrong, and was honest as the Lord himself, though dirt poor. His father had been a rat-arsed old man who wandered into the wilderness when he was young. Some said he hiccupped then simply died of drunkedness, but Tad suggested that he found a nice leprechaun woman and settled with her. Anyway, his Da wasn't around anymore, and his mother was confined to a wheelchair, or to bed. He spent most of his time taking care of her and his grandfather, who became weaker every day.

"If you go out of town this year, I'll follow you. You can't force me to stay here, I – "

He silenced me with a stroppy expression and a grubby finger on my lips. "It's well for some to make their coins sittin' 'round and doing a whole lot o' nothin'. I'm not gonna sit and wither away with my family, Maggie." He leaned down to my height and kissed my forehead, a surprising act that I hadn't expected. "You can't have it all ways, Gra."

I stared at him. "This'll be along winter."

"You can come wit' me, Maggie. But wherever I go, they'll be wantin' more work…" he trailed off, scratching his head.

"I'll do whatever work they need." I leaned up on the toes of my short boots and kissed his cheek back, the tiniest of affectionate pecks. We linked arms and strolled through the square slowly. He winced each time the frosted souls of his feet landed on a craggy piece of gravel, and by the time we reached country road and frosty-tipped grass, he was leaning on me like a mad dog.

"That's my girl." He finally spoke, smiling. I could tell he was waiting until no one of importance could hear us. Our close friendship was not a public affair, to an extent. I could tell that he told the truth in calling me his. We belonged to nobody but each other.

"I'm sorry Mrs. Brennan didn't give you the job."

"Aw," he shrugged. "Townie jobs don't last pissin' time anyways."

I smiled. He always had a way of making me feel better. Time we got close enough to my parents' small home, I could tell his feet were hurting him mighty bad, so I let him lean on me until we reach the barn. We spent most of our time here, ever since we were small; swinging on the old swing that had been broken by my siblings a few years ago, playing hide and seek in the rafters before I even knew of the social caste that separated the McAuleeys from the Pritchetts. Tad lay back in the hay and buried his feet to keep them warm as I ran inside to show my mother that I was still alive and kickin'.

"Margaret Jane McAuleey!" my Ma, Liffe McAuleey, yelled. Her florid, ruddy face was red with rage, and her stomach spilled out of her apron. She was a plump, veiny woman. She'd bore seven children, of which I was exactly the middle of. Three on each side of me. The first born was Fithial, my older brother by eight years, who was twenty-three and married. My second sibling was Sara, her first daughter, who ran off with a drunk-arsed man who knocked her up with a bastard child. Timothy was Ma and Da's third child, who was two full years older than me. Below me were Sheelin, Emily, and Ever, who were twelve, eight, and two. Ever was by far my mother's favorite child. He was spoiled rotten, as much as one could be in our caste, and was the biggest brute I knew.

"Yes, ma'am." I hung my head, turning to see what I was in trouble for this time.

"You come into this house dirty right after a bath justthismorning!" she wagged her finger at me. "I tell you, Margaret, you are the hardest fourteen-year-old girl to keep clean in all of Ireland! I can't keep you clean for pissin' time! Get over here!" she grabbed me by the hand and dragged me to the washbasin that sat beside the fireplace that was roaring with crackling flames. I looked longingly out the window at the barn, thinking out how I'd left Tad by himself while my mother gave me a licking. The water had a layer of dried soap shavings resting over the top that had fermented with the heat of the fire, and my mother grabbed me by the back of the head, a fist full of my curly red hair in her meaty hand. "For the life of me, child! You look like poor, ignorant, white trash!" she inspected the smudges of dirt on my cheeks then plunged my entire head into the water. I dared open my eyes for a moment under the water, realizing it had been a mistake as it stung. She pulled me up again, and I gasped for breath before she plunged me back again. She repeated with three more times before a crowd had gathered; all my siblings who enjoyed a show in this boring, foggy country now and then.

"She's made hames of herself again, Ma." The snobbiest of my brothers and sisters, Tim, pointed out, a smug look on his face at my dripping head.

"You children get out of here. Margaret, you are to bathe yourself until you are sparkling and shining with all the light of the Lord, and then I will be in to inspect you, as to make sure there is not a speck of dirt on your skin. A speck! Do you hear me?" I was silent for a moment, looking down at my boots again. "Margaret?"

"Yes ma'am." I nodded as she shooed my brothers and sisters out. Tim stayed to taunt me for a moment.

"Look who's been hangin' around that ignorant jakeen again." he wagged his long, thin finger at me. I glared at him as I untied my smock and let it fall to the floor.

"Look who's got a knobby head on 'im." I rolled my eyes as he made an expression that hinted of slight offendedness.

"At least I don't run around town with that filthy Dubliner. You're turnin' just like him." He chuckled. "I wouldn't be surprised if you came home hand-in-hand with that culch, bearing his baby."

I shook my fist at him. "You take that back."

Timothy shrugged, not afraid of me. I'd beaten him up many times; he was most likely used to it by now. He never knew I didn't ever beat him up. Not really. If I wanted to really beat that boy up, he'd be dead by now. "I saw you two kissin'."

"OH! You dirty, rotten little liar!" I screamed, grabbing his pristinely ironed shirt collar. "Don't you tell lies like those! Have you been spreading things like that!?"

He shied away. He was much bigger than me, but weaker from years of coddling. "What's it to you?"

I shoved him away. "You better not be making a show of me and Tad. He's a good lad, and you know it! You're just angry you aren't half the man he is!"

"Man!" laughed Tim, straight up in my face again. "What kind of man sponges off of others for jobs! He's probably spendin' all the money he's got at the Local!"

"Go away!" I screamed at him.

"Mother!" yelled Tim. "Ma!"

Of course, she came running and saw the sight of me, in only my jocks, and Timothy feigning injury. "Margaret!" she immediately blamed me.

"He – I!" I started, but she was already taking his side. Nothing new there. My wet hair dripped onto my collar.

"Get your arse clean now, Maggie." She hissed, slamming the door, Timothy sneering behind her where she couldn't see. Angrily, I kicked her sewing stool across the room, though it did no good to destroy things, so I put it back upright. It was no secret that my mother felt uncomfortable around me. She'd always been that way, as long as I remember. Sometimes I could hear her talking to her friends when they were over for tea. She had tried to keep my strange abilities a secret. I always knew when someone was lying to me, or just lying in general. I could barely help yelling out the truth to whomever was being lied to. Ma didn't like it at all. She tried to keep it a secret from the public, but when you're young and obnoxiously pointing out every falsehood you hear, people are bound to notice. She had trouble keeping it on the long finger, so virtually everyone knew about me. Which changed their prejudice opinions before anyone even met me. That was probably why Tad and I fit together. We were both unwanted in society.

I grumbled, pulling off my long petticoat and letting it fall to the floor beside my smock and apron that were slightly sprayed with mud. I shook my hair out as well, stepping into the water tub and dunking my head under. The water was slightly cold, though it'd been sitting by the fire, so I cleaned up as quickly as I could. I got out and reached for a towel, but it was all the way across the room and hung by the fire to dry from the last one who had taken a bath. I grouched to the other side of the room with my arm across my chest and snatched the half-dry towel, wrapping it around myself. My mother entered the room and set a stack of clean clothes on the chair.

"You got everywhere?" she said, her hand on her waist. Her plump hip jutted out, hog-tied in her apron that was smudged with flour and grease.

"Every speck of skin in existence." I scowled.

"You'll keep yourself clean next time." She demanded rather than suggested, nodding once. "Get dressed, and out of my sight."

I hated her. No, I didn't hate her; she hated me, which made her unlikable. No one liked me – instead they accused me of witchcraft and voodoo. No one wanted to be my friend, no one said "Oh, what a nice young lass." If someone was a'lyin', Maggie came a'callin', as old Mr. Pearse said about me. Everyone knew it was damn true; there was no denying I was different than the rest. I had red hair, aside from my siblings with blonde and brown hair, I wasn't a pristine little giddy school-girl. They all claimed that I put the mockers on people. But I wasn't an ignorant git like Tim, or a whore like Sara. I was barely even a McAuleey. But Da loved me. To an extent. At least more than Ma.

I crossed to the old silty mirror that stood in the corner. When Ma wanted to look gussied up, she often used it to do her hair when it wasn't pulled back into a tight bun in the back. Most likely to address someone important with Da. She liked to put on airs. I stared at myself in the mirror that was distorted with age, cracks along the frame.

I wasn't particularly pretty, but I wasn't the worst of 'em. That was what Tad always told me when I complained about my looks that people claimed were given to me from The Quare One himself. I didn't inherit the large bosom from my mother like Sara had – probably part of what had gotten her a bastard baby. I had always been thin, like a lot of folks here in the town of Inistioge. I could see my ribs, but not enough to count them all. I could just see the top ones, and the shadows of the second. My stomach was flat and often hallow form lack of food. We got just enough to get by, but not enough to ever satisfy. It was basically embroidered on the pillows. My elbows stuck out like sore thumbs, and when I turned to inspect my shoulder blades, I could make them touch when I surged my shoulders back. I had a few freckles on my back as well, but those didn't matter because they were covered most of the time. My legs were thin and my knees were just as pokey and stuck-out as my elbows. I wasn't a regal girl, but I wasn't completely ugly.

I pulled on my clean jocks and laced up the petticoat at my waist. I pulled the smock over my head and tied the apron over it with fumbling fingers from the cold. I yanked the stockings over my toes that were slightly blue from cold, lacing my boots that were still slightly muddy. I made sure to kick my toes on the ground behind me on the way outside to satisfy my mother. No doubt she was watching to make sure I was staying clean. I trudged to the barn, tying my hair back with a long piece of twine so it was in a low tail, and then slipped a pin in to secure it. It was still slightly wet and dripped onto the back of my short cloak that only covered my shoulders to the middle of my back and tied at the neck. It was green and made out of a soft, worn felt.

"Well, there she is." Tad smirked at my now-more-clean attire. "And lookin' mighty fine, if I'm allowed to say."

"You're a good one." I shook my finger at him as I carefully climbed up the small wooden ladder to the loft where he was perched, sucking on his naggin of whiskey again. "You cold?"

"When am I ever cold?"

"Always."

"Ask me bullocks, Maggie…" he slung his arm around me sluggishly and pulled me closer in the hay. "You know I'll be fine."

I lay back so I was staring up at the rafters, tracing the spaces in between the wooden planks with my eyes, my breath freezing in the air. Streams of steam floated up, one for each nostril, mixing with the dust mites in the air. He lay beside me, his ruddy body heaving as he let his torso fall back without catching himself. Bits of hay flew up like feathers then floated down heavily. "Jobs are pretty scarce."

"I know. They are." I whispered as he wove his fingers in the spaces between mine. His hand's texture felt slightly roughened by callouses and the dirt coating on the pads of his palms and under his fingernails. I sighed deeply.

"Food's expensive."

"Especially." I agreed, and our eyes finally rolled to meet each other's'.

"I'll go out of town tomorrow."

"I'm going with you."

"You got school."

"Yeah, so do you." I added, scooting closer to him in the straw, letting my head rest closer to his shoulder.

"Yeah, but I skip all the time. You got a reputation." He chuckled softly. "If you don't go, they might barnstorm your house to make sure you ain't stirrin' a big pot o' brew."

I hit him in the arm. "Eye of newt and toe of frog. You be careful now, Tad Pritchett, or you'll be chopped up in the next cordial."

"Don'cha know? Tad finger cures a cough." He laughed and then was silent for a while. "You're still goin' to school tomorrow."

"No." I protested, and his chest rose and fell with a sigh.

"How 'bout you go to school, and I'll be waitin' for ya when ya get out?"

I pondered. "How do I know I can trust you?"

He rolled his eyes. "Am I lyin', or ain't I, you're the one who c'n tell."

I closed my eyes. I knew he was telling the entire truth. That's probably why I enjoyed Tad's company so much; because he was so honest, with himself and me. The only time I ever knew he was telling a lie was when he tried to tell me that he'd be alright. And that was just to make me feel better. "I hate going to school alone."

"You ain't alone, ya got yer brothers and sisters."

"Tim's a slug…" I rolled my eyes.

"If Tim wants to be a little spanner, go on an' let 'im. Don't let him run a dictatorship 'round you… he's only got a lil' seniority."

I threw a handful of stray straw up in the air, letting it rain down on me like it was bucketin'. "I still wish you didn't have to go… not so soon, Taddie."

"It'll be grand, lassie… It's a dose I gotta go, but it's for me ma, grand-dad, and sis. Those tambeens at school ain't gonna hurt ya none, Gra. And soon I'll be by yer side again." he lifted my hand to his lips and pressed them solidly to it for a full five seconds as if he were lingering. A shiver ran through my body; I was startled to feel something other than a friendship.

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