Free A Pocket Full of Shells by Jean Reinhardt

was surprised to see her, usually she would be at the house preparing food and keeping the fire going. As he got closer, the smile faded from his tired face.
         “Have you been crying?” asked Pat, putting an arm around her shoulder.
    Annie nodded and wiped her eyes. 
         “James is sick, he has pneumonia.” 
    She gave him the news that had come from England.
         They walked along in silence, not a sound being made by their footsteps on the grassy track. Each time a group of men or boys passed by, all the old couple could give was a wave of the hand, too sad to return the usual cheerful banter that always accompanied the end of a day at the bog.
         “Why were you walking on your own, Pat?” the thought suddenly struck Annie.
         Her husband shrugged his shoulders, saying, “I’m an old man now, love. I just got tired and had to leave before the others.”
    Telling him that Mary was planning on going to James, Annie asked what he thought about it.
         “What difference would it make how I felt? That young woman is as stubborn as you. Once she has an idea in her head about something there’s no changing her mind, is there?” 
    There was more than a hint of annoyance in Pat’s voice. 
         Annie replied, “Now don’t be mad at me, but I sold two of my wooden bowls to that woman who …”
         “YOU WHAT?” roared Pat. 
    His wife jumped at the sound of it, as did two young men who had just walked past them. 
         “I could have raised the money for the fare. You can go and get them back, do you hear?” Pat said in a slightly quieter voice.
         “All right so, I can do that. Calm down will you? Just don’t tell Mary what I did,” said Annie sheepishly.
         Mary was standing by the fire when the door opened. She saw the worried look on Pat’s face. Trying to keep everything as normal as possible she smiled at the elderly couple as she placed some food on the table.
    “Annie, two of your bowls are missing, did you lend them to someone?”
    Pat glared at his wife and slammed the door shut. He walked past Mary and climbed the stairs to his bed. The two women looked at each other for a moment, then Annie confessed to Mary what she had done with her bowls.
         “Oh no! There was no need to sell them. I have enough to get me to Liverpool.” 
    Mary was distraught and feeling guilty for being the reason the older woman had parted with such treasured family heirlooms.
         “People are more important than things, Mary,” said Annie. “Don’t mind Pat, his pride is hurt. He feels he’s let us down because I had to sell something to raise a bit of money. We have never had to do anything like that in all the years we have been together.” 
    Annie excused herself and went upstairs to talk to her husband. Mary poured the broth she had made back into the cauldron, having lost her appetite. She picked up her baby and cuddled her. Catherine squirmed and wriggled, as if she knew her mother was about to leave her.
         “Don’t be cross, little one. Don’t you want me to fetch your daddy home? Sure you’ll have a great time without your mammy to scold you. Pat and Annie spoil you rotten, don’t they?” 
         As she was tickling her daughter under the chin, Pat appeared at the bottom of the stairs. He sat on the bench beside her, smiling at Catherine.
         “So, you are determined to go, are you?” he asked, not taking his eyes off the gurgling baby.
         “I am, Pat,” she said, continuing to play with the child.
         “What if I went instead, Mary? Would that make any difference?”
    The young woman placed a hand on the old man’s shoulder and looked him in the eye.
         “You are the kindest man I know. I can see where James gets his soft heart from, but Catherine and Francis need a man about the place to look after them. Who else but you could do that, with both of their fathers