I recognized the understanding. Kelly was only a little behind her, but only one emotion stood out. Anger. Loud and strong. She dropped her bags, and...started toward me. ‘Damn you, John! You bastard…’ Wendy caught her by the arm. ‘No. Stop, Kel. This is my fault.’ Kelly stopped pulling and looked at her in confusion. ‘How? Why?’ My wife walked over calmly, stopping next to me. She grabbed her sister’s hand, and peeled her fingers away. Alice seemed to be resisting. ‘I’m sorry, John. I swear, I. “My God, I thought, mother and child.” Aine sat still as a statue and I was distressed to see tears running down her cheeks. What was she seeing in her stillness? What pain was tormenting her? Was it the hymn reminding her of the time she gave birth? The absence of her son, or a little girl, not “asleep in the hay,” but on her lap? I looked at her profile through my own emerging tears. In her sorrow I saw a beauty I had not observed before. Her mouth shut tightly against the sounds of her. More

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