Since his mother’s illness had been discovered last fall, the family had been in turmoil. Though Marcus and Declan had been oblivious, Ian had overheard the conversations, mostly about money, insurance, hospital bills, treatments. No matter how hard his father worked, there wasn’t enough to make his mother well and support seven children.

Grandmother Callahan had money. A lot of money. But their mother had steadfastly refused to ask her for help. When the annual invitation had come from Ireland for all the Quinn children to visit during summer vacation, Paddy and Emma Quinn were finally forced to accept. But only for the three younger boys.

Ian’s other brothers, Rory and Eddie, were old enough to find jobs and his sisters, Mary Grace and Jane, would help keep the house and care for their mother. Ian had begged to stay, promising his father that he’d find work, but in the end, he was sent away, too. Nine years old just hadn’t been old enough.

There had been no hugs or welcoming smiles when they’d arrived at Porter Hall, no assurances that they’d have a good time during their summer vacation. Instead, they’d been hustled inside by their grandmother’s driver, Mr. Grady, then escorted into the library by her butler, Mr. Dennick.

“Well, then, how is your mother?”

Ian blinked. He wasn’t sure how to answer. “She’s fine, ma-I mean, Nana Callahan.”

“She’s not fine or you wouldn’t be here,” the old woman snapped. “I know she’s sick.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ian murmured. The fight between his mother and his grandmother must have been a big one, he mused. His father’s parents wrote lovely long letters and sent cards and gifts on their birthdays and at Christmas, at least until Grandma Quinn had died last year. But no one ever talked about Grandma Callahan. Only whispered.

For good reason, Ian thought. He already hated her. She looked down her nose at them as if they were nothing more than trash. And though her house was ten times bigger than the house they’d left behind in South Boston, it was cold and dark and smelled of musty, old things. The sooner the summer was over, the happier he’d be.