Speak Low (Speak Easy 2)

“Hello.” Bridget stood over an ironing board at one end of the kitchen. It folded down right out of the wall, which was handy, but when the stove was on it made for some hot, sweaty ironing in the summertime. She wiped her forehead with a sleeve. “What are you up to?”

“Just taking a walk. Smells good in here.” I wandered over to a chair and dropped into it.

“Thanks. Stay for supper?”

“I can’t. I should make something for the girls and Daddy, although God knows when he’ll return.”

“He’s busy with the new shop, huh?”

I pressed my lips together. No good would come of blabbing to Bridget about the gambling if Daddy didn’t want her to know. “Yeah.”

“And what about you? Now that everything is…settled, are you thinking of returning to school this fall?”

“If I can afford it, perhaps.” Clearing my throat, I went on. “I’m actually thinking of moving downtown. Getting a job that pays a little better so I can save up easier.”

I figured she’d protest right away, but she just nodded, dropping her eyes to the blouse she was working on. “Oh?”

“Yes. I’m…I just… It’s like I told you that day before all that other stuff happened. I’d like some independence.”

“I can understand that.”

I looked at her, surprise. “You can?”

“Sure I can. I was your age once too, you know. Not that long ago, in fact.”

“I know, but you were always so in love with Vince. I never knew you wanted to live on your own.”

Bridget tilted her head this way and that. “Well, it wasn’t so much that I wanted to live on my own. And I was in love with Vince. But we certainly had very few opportunities to be alone without Daddy lurking or you three monkeys hanging all over us, not to mention Vince’s overprotective mother who never thought an Irish girl was good enough for her Italian boy.”

I smiled. “Really?”

“Really. Oh, she gave us such a hard time. So did Daddy.” She set the iron on its stand and fanned her face. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, it’s hot in here.”

“Why did Daddy give you a hard time?”

&nbs

p; “Well, Vince and I wanted to get married and he didn’t want us to. Not because Vince was Italian—he was Catholic, at least—but because he didn’t want to be without me at home. Same reasons he’d give you if you announced your intention to leave. I was doing the lion’s share of the work and had been since Mother died.”

“I never knew you asked permission to leave and marry Vince. I thought you got pregnant and had to marry him.”

Bridget selected a handkerchief from her laundry basket and laid it flat on the board. “I did.”

I scrutinized her closely. Was she blushing? After all this time, she was still ashamed of it? Or was there another reason?

It struck me hard.

“You did it on purpose.”

The color in her cheeks deepened to purple.

“You did it on purpose!” I gasped. “Bridget, I don’t believe it!” My mouth refused to close, and I slapped the table with my palm. “You asked Daddy if you could leave home to marry Vince and when he said no, you got pregnant on purpose so he’d have to let you go!”

“Shhhhhhhh.” Bridget glanced out the window behind her. “Do you want the whole neighborhood to hear you?”

“I just can’t believe it.” Blinking in surprise, I stared at my older sister, seeing her in a new light. “Was it Vince’s idea?”

“No, it was mine.” She shook her head as she smoothed out the wrinkled in the white cloth. “And I’m not sorry. I’ll never be sorry. The years we had together were worth it. The children are worth it.”