by Charles Egan
Sabina dropped her cleaning rag and came over. ‘Isn’t she beautiful.’
‘Of course she is,’ Eleanor said. ‘What did you expect?’ She handed the baby to Sabina. Brigid smiled.
The next morning, after McKinnon had gone again, Sabina came down to the house. She was startled to see Kitty, but she too was sworn to secrecy. Even so, it was some weeks before the three women explained their plans about Brigid’s education. Sabina was stunned. She looked from one face to the other in amazement.
‘A teacher! We can’t afford food, and you’re talking about training colleges for the child.’
‘We are,’ Kitty said.
‘You’re mad! Stark, raving, mad.’
‘That’s right,’ Eleanor said. ‘Raving mad. All four of us.’
‘Four,’ echoed Sabina. ‘Which four? You’re not including me, I hope.’
‘Us three and the child,’ Kitty said. ‘What do you think, little Brigid? You too? We’re all mad.’
The baby smiled – at Sabina. ‘And you make five it seems,’ Eleanor said.
It was a long time before Sabina could be convinced that the others were serious. Then she asked who would pay for Brigid’s education. But Kitty deftly changed the subject, and it was only when Sabina was walking home that night that she realised the answer.
It had started to rain. After a while, they sheltered under a whin bush, their coats grasped tightly over their heads. The rain got heavier.
‘Oh, to hell with this,’ Michael said. ‘We’re not going to do much work this morning. We might as well go home.’
Luke followed Pat and Michael, their boots squelching in the mud. The morning was only half gone. Michael opened the door of the house, and Luke followed them in. There were four women at the table – Eleanor at one end, Aileen and Sabina beside her. Kitty was closest to the fire, cradling the baby.
Luke saw her, and drew back towards the door. Her face was grey and bruised.
‘What the devil is she doing here,’ his father shouted, glaring at her.
‘She’s here to see the baby,’ Eleanor said.
‘I want you to get out,’ he shouted at Kitty. ‘Now.’
No one moved.
‘Did you not hear me?’
‘She’s the child’s godmother,’ Eleanor said. ‘She’s every right to be here.’
‘Not in my house, she doesn’t. Not after all the trouble she’s caused.’
Still no one moved. Luke had never seen his father so furious. Aileen was crying.
‘Shush there, Michael,’ Eleanor said. ‘You’re upsetting everyone.’
‘I won’t be silenced in my own house, and not in front of a woman who has shamed my son.’
‘It takes two,’ Kitty whispered.
Luke thought Michael was going to strike her. ‘No, Father…’
Michael stopped dead. ‘And what are you on about?’ he shouted. ‘Aren’t you the fool?’
‘Maybe you’re right,’ Luke answered. ‘Maybe we’re both fools.’ He nodded towards Kitty. ‘We made fools of each other.’
‘Two fools, is it?’
Luke dropped his eyes. ‘Yes, Father,’ he whispered.
For a few moments there was silence, only broken by the sound of Aileen’s sobbing. Michael ignored her. He looked across to Sabina.
‘And what are you doing here? What have you got to say about all this?’
‘I’m here to help out with the child,’ Sabina replied. ‘And since you ask, I agree with Elly. Yes, Kitty was foolish. Yes, she’s caused us all trouble. But she is the child’s godmother, and she was Nessy’s best friend too. Nessy died so this baby could live. Is it any wonder that Kitty might love her?’
‘And what about her husband? What will Fergus Brennan think?’
‘I doubt he’ll care,’ Sabina said.
‘He cared enough to beat the hell out of Luke.’
‘And his own wife too. And what does that prove?’
Michael stared at Sabina, taken quite by surprise. He turned to Kitty. Seeing the bruising, he drew back. ‘He beat her?’
‘He did,’ Sabina said.
‘And not for the first time,’ Kitty added. ‘Or the last.’ Silence again.
‘So that’s the way it is,’ Michael said at length.
‘Yes, a ghrá’ Eleanor answered him. She took her husband by both arms. ‘That’s the way it is,’ she whispered, ‘and that’s the way it’s always going to be. And there’s nothing we can do about it.’
‘And what about him?’ Michael asked, pointing at Luke. ‘You’ll be worrying him with your goings on, dangling her in front of him.’
Eleanor hung a pot of meal on a crane and swung it over the fire. ‘We’re trying not to bother him,’ she replied. ‘She wouldn’t have been here, only ye came in on us so sudden.’
Michael said nothing more.
‘I’ll leave early this morning, so,’ Kitty said. She kissed the baby on the forehead. ‘There you go, little Brigid,’ she said. She handed the child to Aileen, and crossed to the door.
‘I’ll see ye all in a few days,’ she said to the women.
‘Of course you will, alanna,’ Eleanor said.
Chapter Nine
Telegraph or Connaught Ranger, August 1846:
The Potato Disease. The dreadful reality is beyond yea or nay in this County. From one end to the other the weal has gone forth that the rot is increasing with fearful ability. From our own personal knowledge as well as the reports we have received from the rural districts, we regret to say no description of potatoes have escaped – late as well as early planting are rapidly decomposing.
As to – Sir Robert Peel Lawlors Hotel
Houses of Parliament Naas
Westminster Co. Kildare
London
August 28th 1846
My Dear Robert,
You will see from the address that I have now arrived in Ireland. As I had feared, the news is not good. Already I have met with a number of the Friends, in particular Goodbody and Odlum, who have briefed me well. Conditions in Dublin, Meath and Kildare are appalling. At least a half of the potato crop in the fields has been lost. The farmers here tell me that those that have been stored are rotting, and fear they may lose them all.
There are reports of much worse from further west. The Friends are talking of organising relief in the western counties, and I intend to travel with them. I have already written to Caroline to this effect.
I will send you further news as soon as I have it.
With true affection to Lady Julia and yourself,
Edward Yardley
Michael had sent Luke to continue digging the potatoes. It was raining. Michael had finished the milking and was shovelling the manure out of the shed when Luke returned.
‘You’re back early.’
‘Yes, Father. I thought you’d like to look at the potatoes yourself.’
‘Not good?’
‘Not good at all. I think most all of them are gone.’
‘All of them. That’s impossible. Let’s see.’
They walked back the rutted lane to the potato patch. Luke pointed to where he had been digging.
Michael looked at the potatoes. ‘They look alright to me.’
Luke picked one up and squeezed it. Pulp seeped out through his fingers. Michael stared at it, his eyes widening. Then he picked a large lumper and squeezed, holding his fist to the sky. Pulp and fluid dripped down his forearm. ‘Are they all like this?’
‘Some of the ones over further aren’t so bad yet. But the rot’s there.’
Michael flung the putrefying mess against the stone wall. He watched as it fell away from the stones and into the ferns. ‘We’ll have to dig them all up. The good ones we’ll clamp. Some of the others, we might be able to cut out the badness
, but we’ll have to eat those over the next few weeks.’
‘And what about seed potatoes?’
‘We’ll have to keep them back. How many times do I tell you that?’
Over the next few days, the few potatoes they put into storage rotted. Any that were only half rotted, they brought back to Eleanor, and she cut out the good parts, but then these rotted too. By the end of another week, all the remaining potatoes in the ground were a brown, oozing mess.
One night they sat around the table, eating meal.
‘They’re all gone,’ Luke said. ‘We’ve nothing left. Nothing at all.’
‘Let’s wait,’ Michael said. ‘See how it’s going with everyone else.’
Luke lay in bed that night, unable to sleep. He knew there was no point in waiting. He was home, Pat was home, and there was no money coming in from England. They had some left, but that would not last. They might make some money from selling oats, but that would hardly be enough to pay the rent. If they sold all the oats, the horse would have little food and would have to be sold. If they didn’t, the cow would have to be slaughtered or sold. Someone would have to go to England. But the English harvest was over, and the only choice was the railways. Yes, Pat could go on the railways, but he had no experience of it. He would have to go to Leeds himself. Would Burke evict them if he went? If he stayed, they could not pay the rent, and they would be evicted anyhow. He suspected Burke would be happy enough to be paid the rent, and the only way that could be done was by working on the railways himself. Go to Leeds? Yes, and admit to Danny he had been wrong all along.
All through the summer, Eleanor and Aileen had joined the corn lines, paying for corn with money from England. Even now, Michael would not allow Eleanor to join the free line. Luke wondered when they would have to admit defeat, and be fed for free.
It did not work out that way. One evening, Eleanor returned from Kilduff. ‘They’ve stopped the corn lines.’
‘What!’ Michael said.
‘They’ve stopped them. They’re gone. Nobody knows anything.’
‘And what about Dillon?’ Luke asked. ‘Isn’t he selling corn?’
‘I don’t know, the shop was closed. But I don’t think it’d matter anyway with the price they say he’s charging.’
‘Damn it to hell,’ Michael said, ‘we’ve got to do something, we can’t just wait around and starve.’
‘I’ll go up and see what’s happening,’ Luke said. He took some coins and left the house.
When he arrived in Kilduff, he saw a lamp burning inside Dillon’s house. He knocked on the door.
‘Go away,’ shouted a voice from inside. He knocked again.
‘Didn’t I tell you to go away.’ He knocked again, and the door opened. Dillon was there, furious. ‘Can you not understand English? You’re not wanted.’
‘Let him be,’ a voice came from inside. ‘Come on in, Luke.’
Dillon still glared at him, but then he opened the door. Father Reilly was sitting at the table. ‘Sit down, we’re just having a little chat here.’
‘I never invited him,’ Dillon said.
‘Well, he’s here now.’
‘I’m only looking to buy some corn,’ Luke said.
‘We’ll see about that,’ the priest said. ‘How much did you say you have, Mr. Dillon?’
‘Forty bushels left.’
‘And what’s coming?’
‘I’ve eighty on order from Westport, but who knows when that’s going to arrive. Or even if it will arrive.’
‘We can only pray for that. But if we agree you have the corn, and we agree you’re going to sell it, we still have to agree the price.’
‘That’s between me and the buyer.’
‘Maybe it’s between you and God, Mr. Dillon, and it most surely will be, if you’re over-charging starving people. So what’s your price?’
‘A shilling and ninepence a stone.’
The priest looked up at him. ‘A shilling and ninepence. What’s that – a penny ha’pence a pound.’
‘It is. It’s the same all over the county. That’s the price in Castlebar. And Claremorris. And Westport.’
‘But I hear the depots are selling it at sixpence a stone.’
‘Sevenpence, Father, but they’ve nothing left, and this is business. One and ninepence, that’s my price.’
The priest thought for a moment. ‘If that’s your price, Mr. Dillon, then no sacraments, for you. Or your family.’
‘You can’t do that.’
‘That’s business too. God’s business.’
‘Damn you, that’s excommunication. I’ll write to the Bishop in Achonry.’
‘I can’t stop you, but he won’t receive the letter for two days. And after Mass tomorrow the whole parish will know.’ He stared into Dillon’s eyes. ‘Tenpence a stone is the price. That’ll give you more profit than you need.’
‘A shilling.’
‘Tenpence.’
The merchant was silent. Finally he nodded. ‘Tenpence.’
‘And you’ll open tomorrow.’
‘I will, God damn it.’
A few minutes later, Luke and the priest left the merchant’s house. Luke was carrying two pounds of American corn. ‘You’re a hard man, Father.’
‘Hard times, Luke.’
He was in the quarry with his father. Pat was still digging rotten potatoes, though they knew there was little hope left. But Michael worked on as they always had. It was time to repair roads again. Once more they were levering rock out from the overhangs in the quarry, smashing it, breaking stones and piling heaps of it ready for filling ruts and repairing the damage from winter rains and frosts.
Luke was nervous. No matter what he did was wrong. Yes, he wanted to stay at home and take over the farm. Perhaps he would in time, but it was impossible now. Would it be impossible for ever? Was there no future in Mayo? Would he have to go to England and never return?
There was Michael too. If he wanted to leave, even for a year, he would have to defy his father. Would Michael accept it? Or would it create a rift between them so that he could never come home again, good times or bad? He decided he had to press ahead.
‘It will have to be Leeds, Father.’
‘What!’
‘The railways. It’s the only way. We need the money.’
‘I know,’ Michael said. ‘I didn’t tell you, I had a word about it with your mother last night when you were all asleep. It’ll be hard on Pat and him only home, but he’ll have no choice.’
‘I wasn’t thinking about Pat,’ Luke said.
Michael put the sledgehammer down. He looked at him, eyes narrowing, whether in surprise or fury, Luke could not tell.
‘You’ll not go to Leeds,’ Michael said. ‘We’ve been through this before. You’re to work this farm, and that’s all about it. We’ll send Pat, and there’ll be no more argument.’
‘I’d agree with you, Father, except for the times that are in it. We can’t do it that way anymore.’ He stopped. Perhaps he would have kept his mouth shut. No. His father was tough, but there would come a time he would have to be tough too.
‘Go on,’ Michael said. ‘I’m listening.’
‘It’s the hunger, but it’s not only that. The price of corn is rising, it’s double what it was a few weeks back. Sure, Pat can go on the railways, but it’s like what you said before, it’ll take him months to work up to it, and we don’t have months. I know one thing for certain, I can get to four shillings a day, five maybe, and I can do it fast. You’ll need that money, and it’s not just you. There’s other people around will need money if we don’t.’
He knew his mother still owed money to Aileen, and he knew his father did not know of it. He would have to find a way of getting that money to her, perhaps through Sabina. The problem was his father knew what he should be
earning, and what he could expect. He wondered how many more hours he would have to work to pay Aileen too.
‘Fine,’ Michael said. ‘Supposing we said you should go, what then? You know as well as I do, you’d never come back. You’ll have the taste for it, and some girl in England will tempt you. No matter how much you say it, there’s no way around that. And what about the lease? If they knew you weren’t returning, what would happen then? What?’
‘Would you take my word, Father?’ he asked. ‘If you think I’m fit to take over the farm, then you must know I’m fit to be believed.’
‘And what would you promise? ‘ Michael asked. ‘That you’d come home. When?’
‘I’d be home as soon as the hunger is over.’
‘And what if it isn’t over?’ Michael asked. He turned from Luke and went back to breaking stones.
They worked on. Luke was disturbed and angry. Was his father to have his own way for ever? Would he always have to give in to him? He had come back to Mayo because his father had demanded it. No asking, no request, just an order. He had given up Kitty on his father’s demand too. But this was a test of wills now. His father would not believe his promise. And there would be a time when his father would not be able to run the farm. When that time came, would Michael let him run it without interference? There was no point in waiting. The time had come to stand up for himself. He stopped smashing rock. ‘If it isn’t over, I’ll come home next year, and we’ll send Pat then.’
‘You’re staying, and that’s an end to it,’ Michael said. ‘This argument is over.’
‘No, it isn’t over.’
Michael stared at him, disbelieving. ‘You’ll not argue with me.’ He half made as if to strike him. Luke caught his wrist. ‘I’ve always obeyed you, but you never listen to me. This time, you’ll hear me out.’
‘Let go of me.’
Luke released his wrist, and Michael moved away.
‘By God, don’t ever do that again.’ He picked up his sledgehammer and started smashing rock again. Luke grasped the handle. Michael tried to wrench it back, but Luke still held it.
‘If you want me to run this farm, Father, you’ll have to respect me. Respect goes both ways.’
