Read Online Miss Emily by Nuala O'Connor - Free Book Online Page B

roof anyway, if I have to turn you out myself.” She pulls on the ribbons of her silly bonnet and ties them under her chin. “I’ll speak to Daddy.For now I have an appointment with Father Sullivan before I leave for Connecticut.” She waves her hand like departing royalty. “You keep the bedroom nice, I’ll say that for you.” Maggie turns and goes, and I hear her humming a tune to herself as she walks down the stairs. The strap.

Miss Emily Welcomes Miss Martha Dickinson to the Family

    S USAN BRINGS THE BABY TO ME, FOR I DO NOT WISH TO LEAVE the house, even for the short jog along the path to the Evergreens. I went to Kelley Square for the waking of Ada’s aunt and felt gut-punched for days afterward. But, for Ada, I went.
    Baby Martha is a bonny girl, stout and alert, even at eight days old. She was born one day after Thanksgiving, so Sue managed to enjoy her pumpkin pie and turkey before the joyous— and no doubt arduous—event.
    Last night I picked white chrysanthemums from the garden for Susan. I peered into their tightly wadded, half-ugly faces and bade them watch over my dear Dollie and her baby daughter.
    â€œChrysanthemums smell of Thanksgiving, don’t you think, Sue?” I say, handing them to her. She smiles and nods, and I help her out of her sealskin cape. She looks wan and tired; guilt plucks at me, but she had assured me in a note that she was strong enough to walk the path to the Homestead.
    Before sitting, Susan hands Martha to me, and the baby looks out from under her lace bonnet like an old soul delivered from the heavens. Her weight on my arm, the heavy heat of her head, iswondrous to me. I sit on Mother’s chair, opposite Sue, who is settled on the sofa.
    â€œ ‘For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.’ ”
    â€œIs that something you wrote, Emily?” Susan asks.
    â€œFor shame—you do not know your Psalms, Mrs. Gilbert-Dickinson!” I dip my head to Martha. “You are both fearfully and wonderfully made, my little one.”
    The baby feels gangly in my arms—an uncontrollable parcel of limbs, torso and head. But she is soft—so soft—too, and fragrant. She has that sweet, creamy smell that hovers around all babies. I gather her closer to me, and she nuzzles into my chest.
    â€œGreedy, like her father,” Susan says, and we giggle at this small betrayal of both Austin and Baby.
    Susan unbuttons her bodice, then stretches over and takes Martha. I watch amazed as the baby catches herself expertly onto Sue’s breast and begins to suck contentedly. I do not have any recollection of seeing Sue nurse Ned, though of course she must have. The baby makes a bundle of sweet noises as she suckles, little snuffle-clicks and grunts.
    â€œI can hear the milk hitting her throat,” I say, and Sue smiles, justly proud that she has succumbed to neither wet nurse nor goat’s milk.
    I look shyly at Sue’s exposed breast, so white and full, and veined, too, with a tracery of blue. I sit beside her on the sofa and link her arm.
    â€œI have missed you, Sue.”
    â€œI have not been anywhere lately, Emily, save at home.”
    â€œNo, but when you carry a baby, you change. You become a remote Madonna, wandering the world slowly with head heldhigh. You’re unreachable in that state.” I lean in to stroke Martha’s cheek while she feeds.
    â€œReally, Emily, you say the most provocative things sometimes. A remote Madonna indeed!” Sue smiles and slots her pinkie into Martha’s mouth. Her breast falls, heavy but deflated, while the baby bucks, her face collapsing into outrage. Martha wails, and Susan struggles to settle her wriggling daughter. I am about to speak when there is a short rap on the door and Ada comes in with our coffee.
    â€œI brought you some beef tea as well, Miss Susan.