Mulligan Stew by Deb Stover

his sister's past culinary efforts. They went straight to the stove and cupboards. Bridget removed a pan from the oven, and placed food into serving bowls and plates while Maggie set the table. Within a few minutes, the table was filled with fragrant, steaming dishes. Riley stared, stunned to silence. His sister, the worst cook this side of Dublin, had done this ? His mouth watered in anticipation. No, Maggie couldn't have prepared this food.
    Mum bowed her head and gave the blessing. Jacob tried to cross himself, but did it backward. Bridget pinkened, but Mum simply showed the lad the correct way of doing things.
    A moment later, Jacob dove for one of the scones. He split it open, then scooped up a ladle full of gravy, the likes of which Riley had never seen or smelled. In fact, everything looked unusual but tempting.
    He shot Maggie a questioning look, but she merely grinned. He glanced at Bridget, who imitated her son's actions, as did Mum and Maggie. Riley took a scone, testing its weight in his hand.   Light as a feather. Imitating Jacob, Riley covered it with thick gravy, then took a rasher and placed it on his plate as well. He looked around the table for black pudding, but there was none. Still, to be spared another of Maggie's attempts was worth the sacrifice.
    He speared the gravy-covered scone with his fork and took a bite. Pausing, he savored the flavor for several moments, then added two fried eggs to his plate, and tucked into the unexpectedly pleasant task of satisfying his hunger.
    Jacob took another scone, but this time he spread jam on it. With a shrug, Riley decided that wasn't a bad idea and split open another steaming scone. The outside of it was golden brown, but the inside was light and fluffy.
    Mum held one in her hand. "They're so light. What do you call these?" Mum asked.
    "Bridget calls them biscuits," Maggie said, a worried frown creasing her brow. "I showed her our tin of biscuits in the cupboard, but she said those are what they call cookies back in Tennessee."
    Bridget said, "At home I would've used buttermilk and sourdough. I hope they're all right."
    "They're delicious, but like nothin' I've tasted before." Mum took another bite and chewed, nodding. "I like the lightness. Quite tasty."
    "Thank you." Bridget fidgeted with pleasure, much like her son had done earlier.
    Riley swallowed with difficulty. He looked around the table, and down at Jacob, who ate with the abandonment only a lad his age could muster.
    Despite Riley's dislike and mistrust of the woman, hadn't he seen evidence of her love for the child? Satisfied that the food was safe—not to mention tasty—Riley resumed eating what Bridget called a biscuit.
    Riley examined the scone again, then covered it with jam and took a bite. Delicious, indeed. He took another bite, then decided he preferred these odd biscuits with the gravy, rather than the jam, and prepared himself another serving.
    "Men always go for the gravy," Bridget said, smiling. "Grandpa ate biscuits and gravy every mornin', and he was healthy as could be. Until he got shot, that is."
    "Shot?" Maggie paused, fork in mid-air. "Someone shot your granddad?"
    Bridget shook her head and sighed. "No, I'm afraid he shot himself."
    Mum gasped and crossed herself. Maggie stared, eyes wide. Even Riley couldn't believe what the crazy woman had just said, especially in front of the lad.
    Bridget looked around the gathering, seeming to recognize her blunder. Then she did the strangest thing. She started laughing.
    "I see nothing amusing about suicide," Riley said, his voice hushed as he reached for his tea. "And it's unseemly to mention it." He captured Bridget's gaze and directed his own toward Jacob. Surely the foolish woman would see the error of her ways.
    "Great-Grandpa didn't shoot hisself on purpose, silly," the lad said, chuckling along with his crazy mum.
    Mum and Maggie exchanged worried glances and Riley shook his head. The lad shouldn't even have known what the word