Mary sat down again, more collapsing than moving voluntarily. Her eyes filled with tears and she looked at Mr Fisher-- Harry, all but begging him to stop. "Please, just say you're jokin', sir. It's all in fun, I know, but it's... thank you..." She took the refilled glass automatically, barely glancing at it. "Ma just didn't--" but it was too much and the thought of her father brought a sob. He wasn't much in her memory but a figure more shadowy than her brother- just a collection of sounds and the scent of horses and whiskey, but she'd loved him. A shaky deep breath and she tried to school her features.
Part of her understood sure, he'd been 17 and what would he have done? There weren't no way his coming back would have changed anything, but part of her didn't much care about that reasoning. He would have been there, that's what. He'd left her and... she put the glass down and looked up at Harry, her gaze wary.
"If you're really my brother, you'll remember the time you lost me down near the docks. Where'd you find me, then?" 'course, it hadn't been Harry she'd run off from (it wasn't nice to admit your own mother lost you), and it hadn't been nowhere near a dock. She wasn't too sure where he'd found her herself, but she remembered the old tree she'd been sitting under. Honestly, as many times as he or Ann had had to pull her out of the way of carriages, yank her away from edges of buildings or a dozen other dangers, it was half a wonder she'd survived at all.