The wooden door was as weathered, and as old, as the building it was in. It afforded a certain amount of privacy and rejected most of the weather. The door frame was twisted, from the settling of the building. Thus the door allowed for a certain amount of air and temperature exchange because it no longer fit the frame as well as it had originally. Both the door and the building had stood for many years and would probably stand for many more.
The door rattled against its leather hinges, as it was knocked on, from the outside.
Her reddish hair, though once shiny and smooth, was dull and dishevelled. Her face, haggard by a rough, though short, life, looked querulously at the door. When the knocking came a second time, she drew a shawl over her shoulders, covering the naked baby and the naked breast it was feeding at.
In complete difference to the majority of males in the village, the man at the door was short, chubby, and immaculately dressed, "Good Morning to you, Mrs. Monaghan. I see you're up and about."
"Ye've come for the rent Mr. McTavish." It wasn't a question, just a statement of fact, said in an abrupt way.
"That's not a very kindly tone in your voice Mary Ellen Monaghan. You must admit I didn't bother you for the rent two months ago when the babe was born, nor did I trouble you last month when your husband was lost. It is three months rent that you owe."
"Yes. And you'll be wanting interest on that, I suppose."
"Well, I am a business man." He said in explanation. "I do have expenses to pay."
"And I have a boy to feed and no job."
"And how is the boy?" he asked, trying to lighten the mood.
"Devastated, to say the least. The sun rose and fell on his da. He spends all day sittin' on the dock, waitin' for his da to come home. When the fish boats come in at night he asks all the fishermen if they have seen his da."
"He isn't able to accept the fact that the ocean has taken his da away forever. Like it did my brother last year and my da the year before. I suppose soon it will take Trevor."
"Now, now, Mary Ellen. The boy is still in school."
"But for how long? I'm but a woman. How can I put bread on the table? He is terribly young but he is the man in the family now. And where else is there for a man to find work in this village? There is not but fishing for the men, and weeping for the women, when the men don't return. I wish the sea would rise up and swallow the whole damn town. Then it would all be over." Mary Ellen sank down onto an old chair wedged between the doorway and a rickety wooden table.
Mr. McTavish looked furtively over his shoulder. Seeing that he was not observed he stepped inside. Quietly closing the door behind him he went down on one knee in front of Mary Ellen, "Mary, Mary, don't despair. You are young. You will find another husband. I know that is something you are not thinking about with your man only gone a month. But time will heal all things."
"Time, Mr. McTavish. Where will I get time? Look at my face. Look at what time has done to it. I was never beautiful but look at me now. And what will I look like in time. What man would want me even if I didn't have two sons that weren't his. Would you marry me carrying a new born and dragging a youngster behind?"
"Yes, I would, Mary Ellen. Have I not known you since you were your son's age? I have seen you grow from a wisp of a girl in pigtails to a mature woman. Had I not been a married man I would have asked for your hand myself." Mary Ellen was smoothing her faded skirt over her knees, Mr. McTavish took her roughened hand and held it.
Excerpt from Chpt. 2.
A circumstance-shaped character reveal, woven across continents and events - Journalist and Author: Dodie King
Fero - Published By Kindle - Available on Amazon
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