wind it up a thousand times. After her stroke, she couldn’t do it. Sometimes I would do it for her. I didn’t do a bang-up job. But if you wear that ugly hat with that hideous suit, no one will be looking at your hair.”
I laughed, and his eyes fell to my smile.
“Sit down,” he commanded, pointing to the bed. I obeyed again, and he grabbed the boots.
“No stockings in there?” He tossed his head toward the chest.
I shook my head.
“Well, we’ll fix that as soon as we can. But for now, boots.” He sank down on his haunches and I pushed my foot into the upheld shoe. He made short work of the hooks and eyes, my foot resting against his chest.
“I can’t help you with that,” he murmured, his eyes on the corset that was all too visible from his angle.
“I won’t be wearing it any time soon. I’m too sore, and no one will be able to tell anyway.”
“No. I don’t suppose they will.” The flush colored his cheeks again, and it puzzled me. He was the one who brought it up. He finished tying my other boot and set it gently on the floor. He didn’t rise but clasped his hands between his knees and looked at the floor, his head bowed.
“I don’t know what to tell them, Anne,” he said. “I can’t keep you a secret forever. You’ve got to help me. You’ve been dead for five years. It would help if we had an explanation—even if it’s pure fiction.”
“I’ve been in America.”
His eyes shot to mine. “You left your child, a babe, and went to America?” His voice was so flat I could have built a wall on it. I looked away.
“I was unwell. Mad with grief,” I murmured, unable to meet his gaze. I had been in America. And when Eoin died, I was mad with grief.
He was quiet, and from the corner of my eyes, I could see his slightly stooped shoulders, the stillness in the tilt of his head.
“Brigid says I look like I’ve escaped from an asylum. Maybe that’s what we should tell them,” I continued, wincing.
“Jaysus,” Thomas whispered.
“I can play the part,” I said. “I feel crazy. And God knows I’m lost.”
“Why do you have to play a part? Is it true? What’s the truth, Anne? That’s what I want to know. I want to know the truth. You can lie to the rest of them, but please don’t lie to me.”
“I’m trying so hard not to,” I mumbled.
“What does that mean?” He rose from his haunches and stood, looking down at me.
“The truth will be impossible for you to believe. You won’t believe it. And you will think I’m lying. I would give you the truth if I thought it would help. But it won’t, Thomas.”
He stepped back as if I’d slapped him. “You said you didn’t know,” he hissed.
“I don’t know what occurred after the Rising. I don’t know how I got here. I don’t understand what is happening to me.”
“So tell me what you do know.”
“I will promise you this. If silence is a lie, I’m guilty. But the things I’ve told you, the things I’ve said to you so far, are true. And if I can’t tell you the truth, I won’t say anything at all.”
Thomas shook his head, anger and bewilderment on his face. Then he turned and walked from my room without another word, and I was left to wonder yet again when my predicament would end, when it would all be over, when my life would right itself. I was stronger now, well enough to slip away to the lough. Soon, I would walk out into the water and sink beneath the surface, willing myself home and leaving Eoin and Thomas behind. Soon, but not yet.
“Will they recognize me?” I asked, raising my voice to be heard over the wind and the rumble of the motor. Thomas sat behind the wheel of a car straight out of The Great Gatsby, driving us to Sligo. Eoin was perched between us, neatly dressed in a little vest and jacket, his bony knees sticking out between the hem of his long shorts and the tops of his tall dark socks. He wore the same type of peaked hat he’d worn all his life, the thin brim pulled low over his blue eyes. The car had an open top—a hazard in rainy Ireland—but the sky was clear, the breeze gentle, and the trip pleasant. I had