Rain hammered the roof. Evening faded to darkness. Effie couldn’t bear seeing the orphan huddled in the buggy, alone and wet. Earlier, Rev. Jackdaw told the child to get down, but he hadn’t insisted—as though it hardly mattered to him. The girl hadn’t obeyed.
“Come in,” Effie shouted. She stood in her wool cape and cotton bonnet at the edge of the covered porch as water rattled overhead and rolled off in a screen. “You’ll catch your death.” Her yelling didn’t make the orphan stir, but the next lightning strike, so close Effie jumped back with a shriek, sent the girl running through the rain and onto the porch. Standing beside her, Effie bit her lip. Weren’t the Irish all trouble? Thieves, even murderers?
The house was warm and dry, but Skeet was there with his meanness and Granny who’d s
