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seven to nine. If you do it for two years and pass all their tests, there’s no office in New York won’t want you.”
“Will I have time?” she asked.
“Of course you will. And start next Monday. I’ll get you the books. I have a list here. And you can spend your spare time studying them.”
His good humour seemed strange to her; it seemed he was putting on a show. She tried to smile.
“Are you sure this is okay?”
“It’s done.”
“Did Rose ask you to do this? Is that why you are doing it?”
“I’m doing it for the Lord,” he said.
“Tell me really why you are doing it.”
He looked at her carefully and left silence for a moment. She returned his gaze calmly, making clear that she wanted a reply.
“I was amazed that someone like you would not have a good job in Ireland. When your sister mentioned that you had no work in Ireland, then I said I would help you to come here. That’s all. And we need Irish girls in Brooklyn.”
“Would any Irish girl do?” Eilis asked.
“Don’t be sour. You asked me why I was doing it.”
“I’m very grateful to you,” Eilis said. She had used a tone that she had heard her mother use, which was very dry and formal. She knew that Father Flood could not tell whether she meant what she said or not.
“You’ll make a great accountant,” he said. “But a bookkeeper first. And no more tears? Is that a deal?”
“No more tears,” she said quietly.
When she came back from work the following evening he had left a pile of books for her as well as ledgers and copy books and a set of pens. He had also arranged with Mrs. Kehoe that she could take a packed meal with her the first three days of each week at no extra charge.
“Now, it will be just ham or a slice of tongue and some salad and brown bread. You’ll have to get tea somewhere along the way,” Mrs. Kehoe said. “And I told Father Flood that since I would already be getting my reward in heaven, I have that nicely arranged, thank you, he owes me a favour that I would like repaid on this earth. And before too long. You know it’s about time someone spoke up to him.”
“He’s very nice,” Eilis said.
“He’s nice to those he’s nice to,” Mrs. Kehoe said. “But I hate a priest rubbing his hands together and smiling. You see that a lot with the Italian priests and I don’t like it. I wish he was more dignified. That’s all I have to say about him.”
Some of the books were simple; one or two appeared so basic that she wondered if they could be used in a college at all, but the first chapter that she read in the book on commercial law was all new to her and she could not see how it might apply to bookkeeping. She found it difficult, with many references to judgments of the courts. She hoped that this would not be an important part of the course.
Slowly, she became used to the timetable at Brooklyn College, the three-hour sessions with ten-minute breaks, the strange way in which everything was explained from first principles, including the simple matter of writing down in an ordinary ledger all money going into the bank and all money going out and the date and the name of the person making the deposit or making the withdrawal or writing the cheque. This was easy, as were the types of accounts you could have in a bank and the different sorts of interest rates. But when it came to drawing up annual accounts, the system was different from the system she had learned, with many more factors added in, and many more complex features, including city, state and federal taxes.
She wished she could tell the difference between Jews and Italians. Some of the Jews wore skullcaps and many more of them appeared to wear glasses than did the Italians. But most of the students were dark-skinned with brown eyes and most were diligent and serious-looking young men. There were very few women in her class and no one Irish at all, no one even English. They all seemed to know each other and they moved in groups but they were polite to her, careful to make space for her and make her feel at ease without anyone offering to see her home. No one asked her any questions about