Mrs. Hilary Hamond slowly climbed the creaking stairs of the tenement building she lived in. She had been out all day looking for work and was exhausted. The apartment door was pushed open and her purse was flung into a corner. Hilary sighed and sat heavily onto the edge of the bed.

Her husband would be home later, expecting to be fed and she had nothing to give him. If he had been drinking, as she knew he would, he would be angry. After losing his job he had made no effort to find another one and was spending all their money in splurges at the bar.

Hilary proceeded to punch her pillow until sweat mixed with tears and she felt too worn out to continue. Thoroughly calmed down she began flipping through the mail. Bill, bill, and some advertisements. She picked up the newspaper and looked in the want ads. Nothing helpful. There was some poetry and a serial, at least somewhat entertaining. She began reading one of the poems aloud.

“When grasses sway blowing in the breeze
When crickets hum a song
When branches of leafy trees  
Dance all night long”

She stopped and closed her eyes, picturing the scene. It brought back memories of her younger days when she was but a little girl living on a farm near the woods. “Hilary, you idiot. You act as if it was centuries ago, you’re only 23”, she murmured to herself.

Opening her eyes again, she looked about the cramped room, with the wobbly table and the single bed. A washstand stood on a clothes cabinet and that completed the furniture. Their chairs had been broken for firewood during the winter. One window by the bed let her look out upon the small yard where a stagnant pool of water kept the waste from the tenement latrines. “Yet how much changes in a few years.”

Hilary picked up the newspaper again. The person who had written the poem was a Mr. Thomas Flackery. She had heard of him before, he published poetry and short stories in the newspaper quite regularly and made a good amount of money off it.

The door burst open and Nabby O’Hara tumbled in. “Mrs. Hamond, Sean is putting up an awful fuss. Da isn’t home yet and his leg’s acting up again”, she shrilled. Her deep brown curls bounced about her freckled face as she hopped in agitation. “He says if I don’t get Mrs. Hamond, he’ll die just to spite me.”

“Calm down Nabby, I’ll go take care of it. No one’s going to die”, responded Hilary, grabbing a pillow from the bed, and following her out of the room.

***

Sean was lying on his bed, his teeth clenched, and his eyes squeezed shut. A few days before he had jumped off a rain barrel and torn his leg open on a nail, all the way up to the knee. Hilary arrived in moments and sat down next to him on the bed. Nabby climbed up on his other side. “See? I got her. Now you don’t need to cry no more.”

“I wasn’t crying”, he snapped, though his blotched red eyes told a different tale. Hilary pulled up the blanket to uncover the wound, but he pushed her hand away.

“Careful,” giggled Nabby. “He couldn’t get his trousers on over the cut this morning.” Sean muttered something out the side of his mouth that sounded suspiciously like “shut up”.

Hilary smiled. “Don’t worry, I’ll only pull the blanket up to the knee. Nabby, go get some water please.” Nabby skipped off and Hilary was left to her patient.

The bandage was dirty and stained with blood. Hilary hummed softly as she unwrapped it. Sean bit his tongue and squeezed his eyes closed again. “How does it look?”, he grunted.

“Your cut’s not looking better Sean, but at least it’s not worse. I doubt it’s been infected”, she replied. He nodded.

Nabby came back with a bucket of water and a rag. “He’ll howl again.” Sean glared at her.

“No he won’t”, said Hilary. “Sean’s a man, and men don’t cry.” He stuck out his tongue at Nabby. “They aren’t rude to their sister’s either.” The tongue disappeared quickly and Nabby giggled.

After propping his leg on the pillow she had brought, Hilary took the rag, dipped it in water, and began to clean the wound. Sean held his breath and let a whimper escape. “I’ll tell you a story Sean, like last time. Would you like that?” He nodded and Nabby came closer.

“It’s about my brother’s and I, and what we got up to in the woods behind our house.”

“How many brothers did you have?”, asked Nabby.

“Four.”

Nabby sighed sympathetically, “I’m sorry.”

***

When she got back to her room Hilary was pensive. The O’Hara’s at least seemed to like her stories, perhaps others would too. Newspapers paid well for good writers. She sat down and took out an old notebook and a drippy pen she kept stored in the clothes chest. “Remember what it was like to be a child Hilary”, she muttered. Soon she was swept back to her childhood. It seemed like it had all happened yesterday.

A little girl with scabby knees and unbrushed hair, tagging along after her brothers. Charlie, with his missing teeth, always ready for an adventure, Willy the prankster, Orval the dreamer, and Edward, her favorite and the youngest of them all. There were the woods, the creek, the farm, and the old, abandoned barn Willy claimed was haunted. In Spring the farm came alive and the work began. Summer brought lazy days spent barefoot in the field and by the creek. Then the leaves turned red and gold and the harvest was brought in. Winter came at last, with skating, sledding, and stories by the fire.

It got dark and before long Hilary was writing by candlelight. Henry was out late as usual and for all she knew might forget his way home and not return until morning. She stayed up for hours, lost in the reminiscence of years passed.