This is the Second Sorrow of Irish Storytelling. Eva weds Lir, lord of the sea, and bears a daughter, Fionnuala, then a son, Aed, and finally twin boys, Fiacra and Conn. The children are the joy of their parents' lives. When Eva dies suddenly, Lir is crushed by his grief, but he is yet a young man. His father-in-law, called Bov the Red, urges him to marry again and to maintain their friendship, he offers his foster daughter, Aoife, to be Lir's bride. Aoife is young and pretty, tall and slender with a heart-shaped face and thick, black hair that hangs past her waist. It is ribboned with two streaks of red, like fire. Our relationship was all a series of dreams that I passed through quietly, and then when I woke up at the end of them, I found myself as a stepmother without much of an idea of how it had happened. You've only got to think about this for half a second to realize how ridiculous it is. I was too young. I said I'd never marry. I said I'd never have children. Betrayal of my own ideas is bitterness, but it's always tempered by my better instincts. Sometimes it occurs to me that Torin must have experienced a similar situation in his first marriage, not that he wasn't an excellent father. The first time I ever met him he was with his kids. We all just bumped into each other in the supermarket one day. I wasn't paying enough attention and his children were running wild, only Torin called it "free" or sometimes when he was particularly full of wine or beneficence he'd call it "joie de vivre" or "youthful exuberance." So there I was in the cereal aisle, scrutinizing the label on a box of shredded wheat when his children came barreling into my legs. I believe in shredded wheat. No one lives forever, but the closer I looked at the fine print on the box, the more I was able to convince myself that there was something in that smudge of letters about immortality sponsored by Nabisco. The kids were all dirty hands and knobby, flailing limbs. While I watched, they seemed to coalesce into a single, writhing body. "Tom! Yvonne!" Torin said sternly. Bravely, he stuck his hands into the ball of child and separated them from each other. In his arms, they quickly became limp and docile. "Sorry about that," he told me. It was on the tip of my tongue that he should be sorry and that I didn't know how he could have possibly raised such disobedient children. But they looked sweet in a way, there on his arms, although I couldn't tell them apart. Both had thick blond hair that fell in their eyes, tiny pointed faces and that delicate androgyny of youth. I suppose the dreams were starting then because I remember feeling relaxed even though I had dirty hand prints on my new linen skirt and I'd dropped my box of shredded wheat. Torin wanted to make it up to me. He offered to pay for my dry cleaning bill. He offered to cook me dinner. "I'd take you out, but sitters are expensive and they get so lonely." He smiled down on his children and I was struck by the beauty of his expression when he looked at them. At first I wasn't certain I should accept. "I'm sure you've got your hands full with them," I protested. "I don't want to make more work for you." "It's no trouble." He must have been weaving a spell then because I couldn't think of any other objections. It seems like I've always known about Torin's first wife. She was beautiful and as unlike me as any one person can be. In the evenings she would play the piano and sing, or comb her long blonde hair. She walked so lightly it was almost like flying and her voice was like the sound of air over a bird's wing. When she died it was sudden: the flame of a tall, white candle extinguished by fingers. "I'm telling you about her because I want you to understand about me," Torin would say each time she came up. "Understand what?" "So you can understand about Tom and Yvonne. They were very attached to her." "She was their mother." Tom and Yvonne were terrified of me at first. Whenever I'd come over Torin would make them come out of their room and spend time with both of us. Most often they would sit in the middle of the living room floor and cling to each other as if they were the last two things left alive on a rock in the middle of the ocean. I spoke to them quietly, always careful to keep my voice as even as possible. They would never be my own children, but I felt sorry for their fear. Their small bodies seemed too weak to hold it. It was during one of those talks that Torin proposed. Maybe he knew I couldn't shriek for fear of frightening the children. I wouldn't have anyhow; I knew how Torin loved the soothing rocking of the usual. He couldn't exist without perpetual calm. "It's like being underneath the sea," he said once. He was odd, but when he asked I didn't consider long. I was telling the children a story about a girl whose scheming lover threw her into the ocean for the sake of her inheritance. Her body floated for a long time, being eaten away by little fishes. The fish lips tickled the girl but soon she was only bones and she would have stayed like that too if a kindly fisherman hadn't caught her in his net. His pity and his body restored the girl to life. When the story was over I said "yes." "You have the best stories," Tom said. He touched my hand. His skin was sticky. "Yeah," Yvonne added. Their praise sunk warmly to my bones. At first, after Aoife and Lir were married, Aoife was kind to the children and treated them as if they were hers. However, as time passed, she changed. At first it was just in small ways – sometimes she would look at the children with a gaze that was both strange and frightening. Torin and I pinched pennies as much as we dared to save for our honeymoon. He reluctantly agreed to leave the children. Secretly, I was happy about it. We barely spent any time together. At night, even after the children were in bed, I'd undress him in our bedroom, but he was so nervous. "I wish you'd look at me," I said finally. "I do look at you...you got a new haircut, right?" He ruffled his hand through the ends of my hair. "I mean you're always so jumpy. It's not supposed to be like this." I rolled off of him. "I thought I heard something." "It's not just right now. It's all the time." "All the time?" At least the rebuke was gentle. "Most of the time." "I don't know what you're talking about." He bent his head and kissed my shoulder. We decided on Canada without really knowing why. I had a vague idea that Toronto seemed appealing, but Torin didn't like the bustle of cities. "Too many eyes looking at me like I've done something wrong," he joked. "I don't care where we go," I said, "just so long as we're unreachable for a few days I'll be happy." He laughed at that. "I wasn't thinking of anything quite that rustic. I want to be able to call the kids." I bit my lip. "Right." "I've never been away from them for this long. They'll miss me too much." For a time they were happy. Tom and Yvonne were pleased enough to stay with Torin's parents. They were kind people who'd been married for over 50 years. Each one's niceness had rubbed off on the other. When they stood together in the driveway to wave us off, I envied the way their bodies were side by side. It was as if the years of familiarity had left physical notches in their skin so that now they were neat and snug like two fitted puzzle pieces. Torin insisted on driving the whole way, even though I volunteered to spell him. He just laughed. "I never got to drive much before I was out on my own. After we were married, Alison always wanted to drive everywhere we went." This last part was colored with enough venom for me to take notice. My memories of Canada are beautiful. We took long walks in pine forests where the tall trees arched over us as an endless cathedral and the needles made our footsteps disappear. We swam in a cold lake near our cabin, kicking our feet through the water. After awhile it was so cold, we couldn't feel our bodies anymore. I felt myself being pulled into the landscape. When I came out of the bathroom the first night, I found Torin in the middle of a phone call. "Put your sister on," he said. I squeezed his shoulders from behind. "Hi Yvonne." I trailed my fingers up his neck. "I miss you too, sweetie. Are you being good?" I wrapped my arms across his chest and he shrugged me away. Cold, I went into the bedroom and I was asleep by the time he was finished. I stirred when the bed dipped under his weight. He smelt like pine needles. When he rolled over, his hair tickled my nose. Then he draped his arm across my waist and I knew it was silly, but it made me feel better. Aoife fell ill – or claimed that she was ill. Lir sent for doctors and wizards but they couldn't find anything wrong with her body. They whispered to Lir that it was her mind that was sick. Aoife stayed in her room for a whole year. After we got back from Canada, Tom and Yvonne slept in our bed for weeks. They showered us with attention and sticky petting. One morning, I woke up with both of them curled into my back and Torin's breath on their necks. Their small hands were resting on my side, fingers clutching me faintly. I rolled over carefully. Torin's arms were wrapped around them and I imagined that his gusty sighs would melt their delicate skin. Yvonne fussed in her sleep, reaching out her arms for me. Torin kissed her absently and she settled. Under his touch, they always became well-behaved. When I stood upright I felt nauseous. Clutching my stomach, I barely managed to make it to the bathroom. I was weak. I felt empty. I waited until after breakfast to tell Torin. "I'm pregnant," I said, the words filling me up with something that felt like satisfaction mixed with dread. I didn't know how he would react. I was frightened of how he might treat me afterward, strange as my body was going to be. It was like possession. Of course Tom and Yvonne were there. They jumped up shrieking and came to touch my stomach. "I can feel her kicking," Yvonne cried. "She's kicking me." The last part was spoken with a certain amount of childish reproach. I shook my head. "She's very small yet." "She kicked me," Yvonne insisted. "Like this." Her foot shot out and connected with Tom's shin. He squealed and fell on his sister, punching her over and over until they were both fighting and crying. Torin pulled them apart, still kicking at each other, and dragged them off into our bedroom. Automatically, I started clearing away the breakfast dishes. I felt terrible inside, sicker than I had before. When I heard Torin's voice rise and fall, the noise was regular and soothing. The sound faded my sickness into nothing. When people heard Torin speak they all looked as if they could spend years inside the sound of his voice. I wondered what he was saying to Yvonne and Tom. Torin didn't believe in disciplining the children and in my more energetic moments I suppose I didn't either. Their natural energy was hard to contain sometimes and it wore me out. Right then I was tired as I scraped egg into the garbage disposal. I felt as if I could sleep for a year without any trouble at all. Lir doted on his children. He frequently would fall asleep in their room so that they were the last thing he saw at night and the first thing he saw when he woke up. Weeks bled into months so seamlessly that I hardly noticed them passing. I kept time in my swelling stomach. Some mornings when I looked into the mirror it took me a long time to recognize my own face. Everything on my body was becoming rounder. Torin stopped sleeping in the bed with me. "It's just your snoring," he said, tweaking my nose. It was true, I had to sleep on my back, but understanding didn't stop me from missing his body next to mine. He slept on our longest couch, but it still wasn't quite big enough to fit him. When I found him twisted up the first morning, I touched his shoulder and he started awake. "You can't be comfortable," I said. "Enough," he mumbled. But it was after that when I started hearing the noises. One night, the baby was restless and so I was restless. Lots of women will tell you that the most amazing thing in the world is when the baby quickens, but it terrified me to feel the creature moving inside. I lay awake that night and imagined horrible monsters. I imagined giving birth to a child with a human face who was all swan below. Her feet were black webs with claws. She beat her wings inside me and I cringed. At first I thought I was imagining the sounds: creaking floorboards and the squeak of the children's door, childish whispers and someone talking in a low voice. I didn't want to hear the sounds or think about what they might mean. I stayed up every night for a week after that until I became pale and haggard. Torin would coo with concern over the breakfast table and encourage me to eat more. "You've got to keep up your strength," he said, but then I thought I saw him exchange a knowing look with Tom and Yvonne. Every night was the same as the first. The sounds filled the house, they squirmed through the heating vents and slid around corners. I'd catch Torin looking at the children too intently, his face filled with love and something deeper. It became clear that he no longer cared for me. Their bodies were young and slim as water reeds. I didn't know what to do. I felt weighted down by my swan child. "You see these four children? They have taken my place in Lir's heart," Aoife said. She was plotting a way to destroy them all. My thinking became confused. I wanted to confront Torin, but I felt that my voice was lost to the creature inside me. There were moments when I wanted to send Tom and Yvonne far away so that Torin would have to forget about them. But then I thought about the house without them and I was swallowed by its emptiness. The children seemed happy and so there were some days when I doubted my own suspicions. I took to hiding in deep shadows of the house at night to watch. If I caught Torin, then I would know what I should do. Somehow, he must have realized I was there because he stayed still. I was sure he was only pretending to sleep because as soon as I went back to the bedroom, the noises would surround me. I saw all three of them together, their snowy limbs rubbed against one another until they reddened. In the pile, I couldn't tell where each twining body left off. Their sighs lingered together, it was the fluttering of birds. My child fluttered in sympathy and I clasped my stomach as if I could hold off her fate with my hands. Torin insisted on feeding me rich foods. He said I was too thin, that it wasn't good for the baby. I could see the desire in his eyes. He wanted another child to be just like Tom and Yvonne. I tried not to look at his face while I was eating. It made me gag. One afternoon, when Torin was at the grocery store, Tom and Yvonne came into my room and sat on the bed. It felt like ages since I'd seen them last, but then they laid their heads on my shoulders. In their own way, they were just as charming as their father. "What are you naming her?" Tom asked. I'm not sure when we all started calling my baby "her" but it seemed to fit. "I'm not sure yet. I haven't talked to your dad about it." "I think you should call her Petunia," Tom recommended. "Like the goose in Petunia Beware!" "Maybe." "Can you tell us a story?" Yvonne asked. She rubbed her head on my shoulder, just like a little cat. I wondered if Torin had taught her how to be coy and my heart filled with blackness. I tamped it down as best I could. "Please," Tom added. The children turned their faces into my cheeks and fluttered their eyelashes madly. They ravaged me with butterfly kisses. "Stop it! I'll tell you a story." My bird child turned over. She was listening too. The children of Lir felt hot steam tingling along their legs and arms. The tingling grew stronger until it felt like pins and needles, and then they found that they could no longer feel their bodies. For a moment they went deaf and blind. Aoife transformed them into four beautiful swans. Do you know Donkeyskin? The king goes mad and tries to replace his dead wife with his daughter. She holds him off with clever tricks, but eventually she has to flee the kingdom and take a job as a servant to hide from her father. They listened intently and their little faces were thoughtful. My voice had cast a deep spell over them. When I looked at them it was as if I were seeing their fragility for the first time. They were as thin as I, but I could mold their limbs into anything I wanted. I could make wings of their arms and set them on the breeze for hundreds of years. They would be gone and safe and I would hug Torin to my breast to keep him from going after them.