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in my head.”
    â€œWell, my Annie, that’s a good one, because she looked like you. That dark hair, and them lively eyes like you got there,” Joe says, pointing, “even your colour, kind of pale, but healthy all the same. When she was little, I used to worry she was so white, but she was never sick so I let it be. Thing is, it’s not only the looks. I’d say you’re like her under the skin too.” A frown darkens his face and he looks at Lucinda. “Let’s hope she ends up happier, hey Luce?”
    Annie pretends not to see her mother’s worried nod, the disappointed sigh. “Too bad we don’t have a picture from back then.”
    â€œMy, but sure we never had no camera. I remembers once, some bigwig from St. John’s was out our way taking photographs for a book or something. I don’t know what became of them. People didn’t have money for stuff like that.”
    â€œShame.”
    â€œâ€™Tis indeed. Pretty as a picture she was, the very image of an Irish lassie. When she was young, she always put me in mind of something.” He pauses, then continues in a soft, low voice. “She looked to me like a Sheilagh.”
    Annie hears Lucinda’s quick intake of breath. She glances at her mother, then back at Joe. “What’s that, like a female leprechaun or something?”
    â€œNo, my Annie, a Sheilagh is a child of God.” His tone is lilting, serene. “A dark-haired Irish angel with fiery eyes and pure white skin, a vision of heaven, she is.”
    â€œSheilagh was Joe’s daughter,” Lucinda says in a hushed tone. She wraps Joe’s bony hand in her two plump, warm ones. “I know what a Sheilagh is, Joey. Our Mercie knew too, more than anyone ever imagined. There’s been too many Sheilaghs in this family. Boy or girl, doesn’t matter. Just ask our Beth.” She inhales a trembling breath, then gives Annie the saddest smile that Annie has ever seen.
    For the life of her, Annie cannot look away. Fear grips her. Dear Jesus in heaven, she prays, please let her only be talking about our poor Beth.
    1989
    The year Annie turned fifteen, Beth, who had been going out with Luke Ennis since Grade Nine, found herself “in trouble”. In a good Catholic family such as theirs this was certainly a sin, but a forgivable one as long as everyone behaved appropriately. Abortion was not to bementioned, especially in Lucinda’s house.
    The good news was that there would be a wedding, Dermot’s favourite reason to celebrate. “A good wedding beats an Irish wake any day,” he told Lucinda when they had recovered from the news of their daughter’s premarital activities. “No matter if the bride be six months pregnant or a blushing virgin.”
    Poor as Lucinda and Dermot were, they didn’t hesitate to pay their share for the reception and the standard meal prepared by the Lady’s Guild - a scoop each of Sadie Griffin’s potato salad and Ellen McGrath’s coleslaw, a slice each of roast beef, turkey and ham, two sweet mustard pickles, two baby beets, a leaf of iceberg lettuce topped with a wedge of tomato, and a white dinner bun with a pat of butter. Individual plates were prepared before the Mass, spaced out along the white paper tablecloths, then covered with a bit of plastic wrap. The fact that no one contracted food poisoning from the mayonnaise in the potato salad was a wonder never discussed. Then again, any subsequent illness would likely have been blamed on the whiskey or the rum.
    After struggling with the guest list for weeks, Lucinda and Beth ended up inviting far more people than they could rightly afford to feed. Besides being concerned that they might hurt someone’s feelings, they also knew that they would run into everyone they hadn’t invited in the weeks ahead, at the post office, at Burke’s grocery store, at Sunday Mass. The list grew longer; more potatoes