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“When I could get up after the birth, they sent me to church to pray. I had to go in there and light a candle, but I never did light it. They made me put my hand on the Bible and swear never to speak of it again. My very own parents said the baby wouldn’t be allowed in their house.

That they couldn’t afford to keep it. They said I was being cruel to the child to deprive it of a loving, two-parent home. ”

“Oh, Mam. Really? You never told me.”

“I never told anyone. Except your da.”

So much misery and shame, Mairin thought. When would it end? Mairin knew she had to find a way to forgive her mother. The

bitterness inside her felt like a kind of poison, and she didn’t want to feel this way. Now that she finally understood what

had made Mam this way, she realized her mother was a wayward girl. Like her.

“Do you know what happened to your baby?” she asked.

“An American couple took him away to Buffalo, the sister told me. There were false registrations, and I was so terribly young

and alone, but I had to try to find my boy. That’s why I came here, to find him.”

Mairin was flabbergasted. Her mother, forced to place a baby for adoption, the way Fiona had done. “So... you didn’t find

him.”

“I hadn’t expected Buffalo to be such a big, bewildering place as this. God only knows what would have become of me if Patrick

O’Hara hadn’t come along.”

Mairin’s chest ached. She reached across the table and tucked her hand into her mother’s. “I miss him,” she whispered.

“Every day,” her mother agreed. “Will you stay, then, Mairin?”

Mairin fell silent. She studied her mother’s face, and with surprising ease, she could picture Mam as a confused teenager,

wild curls framing her face, green eyes round with the kind of fright Fiona and Angela had experienced.

The girls of the Good Shepherd had shown Mairin what the human spirit could endure. Her mother had been a wayward girl like

them. Like Mairin.

She wanted to hug the girl her mother had been. Wanted to tell her she didn’t deserve what had happened to her. Instead, she

took her mother’s hand and said, “Yes, Mam. I’d like that.”

In the fall of 1971, Mairin stood outside the bustling bus station, her breath visible in the autumn air, crisp and filled with the bittersweet scent of fallen leaves and the distant promise of winter.

She remembered trying to find the bus station on that frantic day with a van full of girls two summers ago, wishing the escape had gone as planned.

The previous summer, she’d gone to Niagara Falls again on the Fourth, only to be disappointed.

But not surprised. By now she’d resigned herself to the fact that the girls of the Good Shepherd wouldn’t see each other again.

And that was probably all right. It was probably better to keep the past tucked away like an old ache, pretending it hadn’t happened.

The problem for Mairin was that it had happened, and a part of her lingered in that terrible place, still trying to get over it.

A group of weary travelers streamed out of the station, but she saw only one face—Liam, his uniform rumpled, his duffel bag

slung over his shoulder, his eyes searching the crowd. Amid the chaos of the bus depot, time seemed to stand still. Her brother

was back, at last.

She pushed through the crowd, her steps quickening until she was in his arms, enveloping his lean frame, the buttons of his

uniform pressing against her cheek. The familiar warmth of his embrace felt like coming home.

Mairin’s heart ached at the sight of him, changed but unmistakably Liam. She sensed immediately that he was no longer the

carefree boy who had left for Vietnam, but a somber man whose eyes seemed haunted by the shadows of war. He held her tightly,

as if anchoring himself to her. She smiled through her tears, whispering words of welcome. Sensing the unspoken stories, the

unshed tears, Mairin made a silent vow to help him find his way back from the darkness. “Mam’s got supper waiting,” she said.

“Let’s go home.”

Skinny, lanky, sallow, and all smiles, Liam swept into their mother’s kitchen and wrapped her in an embrace. He was prone

to long silences, and not inclined to talk about his time over there. Mairin could relate to this in her own way. It was hard

to speak of things to people who hadn’t experienced them.

Now that his battle had ended, Liam told their mother he just wanted to make sense of it all. He wanted to go to college. Thanks to his military service, he would have the means to do that.

“College, is it?” asked Mam, raising her eyebrows. “And what sort of trouble will you be getting into there? All the marching

and shouting and waving of signs looks like nothing but trouble to me.”

Liam’s grin lit the whole kitchen. “Not everyone who goes to college joins the protests. I’m interested in studying medicine.”

“Medicine?” asked Mam, staggering a little as she set the table with the good china for his homecoming. “You want to be a

doctor?”

“I do, Mam,” he said. “I spent weeks in the hospital over there. Had a lot of time to think while I was lying in bed. I want

to do something good in the world. After what I saw there, I think I need to do something good.”

Mairin felt a thrill of inspiration. “Oh, Liam. I think that sounds wonderful.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Dad would be really proud to have a son going to college. A son who’s a doctor.”

“He would,” their mother said softly. “He would indeed.”

“How about you, squirt?” Liam asked Mairin. “What’s next for you?”

“Your sister’s taking classes through the Cornell ag extension,” said Mam. “Fancy that.”

Liam nodded. “ Very fancy.”

“I hope I can do something good in the world, too,” Mairin said. “Maybe nothing so grand as healing the sick.”

“Whatever you do, ’twill be grand,” said their mother, beaming at them both. And for a few moments, she looked like the Mam

of their youth, who used to sing the old songs when she put them to bed at night, who would soothe Mairin as she teased the

burrs out of her hair, who dried Liam’s tears when he came home with a scraped elbow or knee.

“I have to find my old school records in the basement,” Liam said.

“I’ll go with you.” Mairin didn’t want to let him out of her sight now that he was back. By the dim light of a bare bulb,

they found the records from St. Joe’s. Liam noticed a dust-covered box labeled Patrick O’Hara .

It was filled with things they’d never seen before, relics of a life cut short— their father’s high school diploma.

His service record in the Second Infantry Division in World War II.

He’d earned a commendation for his part in the Battle of the Bulge.

There was an official death certificate in an envelope along with documents from the power company and some news clippings about the accident.

“He saved thirty lives that day,” Liam said, his voice low and rough as he perused the yellowed documents. Along with the

news clippings and many letters of condolence, they found a crisp, sturdy envelope with a string clasp and a printed label— Settlement.

Mairin took out the document and brought it over to the light. The pages were printed on thick, fancy paper laid out in intricate

paragraphs in small print. She scanned the text, not comprehending all of it. Then her gaze fell on a phrase: Beneficiaries of the Claimant are entitled to a settlement of weekly cash benefits equal to two-thirds of the deceased worker’s

average wage...

“Liam,” said Mairin. “Does this mean what I think it means?”

He read and reread the document. “Mam probably didn’t understand what this is. She didn’t realize she’s entitled to compensation.

We need to sort this out for her. Because what I think it means is that Dad...”

“Is still taking care of us.”