Molly’s Story

Molly Foley illustration


Footsore and upset, you head to the Doctor’s. “You’re needing a servant?” you ask him. “I can start today.”

“No, you can’t.”

Not again! But then, the Doctor continues, “You need a hot drink and a good night’s sleep. You can start tomorrow.”

You would weep, but you’re made of strong stuff. The next day, you arrive bright and early. It’s dull work (cooking and cleaning again; must it always be cooking and cleaning?), but the Doctor is very kind to you. You’re lucky — not everyone treats their servants well.

The Doctor sends you to the dry grocer’s with a list. While you’re there, you chat with the shopkeeper’s assistant: a nice young man named Michael.

The longer he talks, the more butterflies fill your stomach. “Would you care to walk with me some time?” he asks. “We could meet by the church.”

“Which one?”

He laughs. “The Presbyterian one, of course!”

Canada’s a different place. Catholics and Protestants do butt heads, but you’re all Irish, together. And he has such a lovely smile. On the other hand, you can just see the look on Mother’s face.

Do you go walking or not?