And if I’m to be deported, I shall go havin’ had my say, wearin’ my dignity.” Maureen spoke the words aloud as she marched to work on Tuesday, hoping for the courage she feigned. Her arms sore and bearing bruises from Mr. Kreegle’s grip, her head weary from the cold and from the raw throat building there, she trooped on, determined to face her accusers.Katie Rose had offered little sympathy at the loss of her cloak and purse, certain that whatever had happened, Maureen had brought it on herself. “You’ve no sense of propriety! After your behavior at church on Sunday, I’m surprised at nothin’! Besides, your tea is cold, and it’s your own fault for bein’ late. I’ll not heat it up again.” Katie Rose had turned her back on a shivering Maureen.Maureen had laughed, very near hysteria, at the notion that she should care about the temperature of her tea after what she’d been through with the demon at the store—the demon she’d fought and bested at his own game. She’d laughed until Katie Rose had stomped out, slamming the door, on her way down the hall to the toilet.And then Maureen had lain awake half the night, into the wee hours, alternately shivering in fear and wondering at the voice that had come into her head, the surprising flow of strength to fight that slime of a man.
