The Killing Snows

by Charles Egan

  He smiled at her. ‘No, we wouldn’t, would we? And God knows, you’re worth more than five shillings a day! Or even a share of Danny’s business.’

  ‘Well, I hope I am.’

  ‘You are. You know that too well for the teasing. And I don’t want to lose you.’

  ‘Why would you lose me?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s all to do with Mayo, Winnie. It’s a different place now. All the suffering, all the dying. But it’s not just that. I’ve seen hunger before. I’ve seen family and friends dying of fever. But at least, through all that, I was always on their side.’

  ‘And aren’t you now?’ she asked.

  ‘No, I’m not, and you know that as well as I do. The hunger has changed everything. It all started months ago, the first time I started working on a Selection. Carrigard, that was the worst. My own friends, my own people, we had to refuse them. No, I had to refuse them. I’ll never be forgiven for that.’

  ‘But it wasn’t your fault. You did what you had to.’

  ‘I know, but nobody in Carrigard or Kilduff will ever see it that way. Nor Brockagh. I’m one of ‘them’ now – I’m the enemy. Just like Morton. I help him grinding people’s faces into the mud. I could kill the bastard. They hate me here, they hate me in Carrigard. Mayo isn’t my home anymore.’

  ‘I don’t hate you,’ she whispered.

  ‘I know that. You’re all I have. I don’t want to leave you, but I don’t think I can stay in Mayo.’

  ‘Where would you go? America?’

  ‘I don’t know. Danny, he says England. But maybe America would be better.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘You’ve always said that.’

  ‘Not always.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘Remember that first time we talked about it together. That was the first time I ever said about America to anyone. Even to myself. I’d never even thought about America. I was supposed to have the farm, I wasn’t supposed to be going off to foreign places. But when you asked me, I just said it. And then I looked at you, God, I hardly knew you, and I thought – would she come too? But it was only a dream.’

  ‘But now you know the answer.’

  ‘Do I?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes you do, Luke. Yes, you do. Don’t pretend.’

  ‘You’d come to America?’

  ‘Anywhere. So long as it’s with you.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘Yes. We’d have to be married first.’

  ‘But your father…’

  ‘We’d have to ask him. Isn’t that it?’

  ‘And what would he say?’

  ‘I don’t know. He might still say no, but I know this for sure, his ‘no’ won’t be as strong as before. And it’s about time we got him used to the idea.’

  They walked along for a few minutes more. He noticed that they were no longer accompanied.

  ‘Where’s Young John?’

  ‘Oh, he said something about a rabbit burrow up the hill.’

  They walked on until they came to a small shed with turf and hay in it. She went inside. He followed, his heart pounding.

  For a few days, he said nothing to Gallagher, but Winnie was now his lover, and there was no way back. But was there a way forward? What would happen if Gallagher refused? Could she leave her own family, leave them forever?

  In the end, he could no longer defer it. He was riding one morning with Gallagher to Ardnagrena. He decided to be straight.

  ‘I must tell you, John, I want to marry your daughter.’

  Gallagher spun around in the saddle.

  ‘You what!’

  ‘You heard. And yes, I know you’ve reason enough not to like me, Government man and all. But which or whether, that’s what we’re intending.’

  ‘You’re intending! Are you now?’

  ‘We are, but it would be better with your blessing…’

  ‘And if you don’t have my blessing…’

  ‘Then it will be worse for both of us, Winnie and me.’

  They had halted. Gallagher turned his horse around to face Luke. ‘You know, all this time I reckoned there was something between ye. But you told me there wasn’t. You were lying to me.’

  ‘I wasn’t lying. When I told you that, there was nothing.’

  ‘But from that time since, the pair of you have been going on and telling no one.’

  Luke leant forward on his horse.

  ‘Don’t tell me you didn’t know.’

  ‘I’d heard stories.’

  ‘Well, then?’

  Gallagher shook his head, still angry.

  ‘And at a time like this, with everyone dying.’

  ‘I know, but the famine is the reason I’m here, so there couldn’t have been any other time.’

  He was beginning to feel he had the advantage, and decided to press it home.

  ‘I know when I came here first, you didn’t think much of me, and why should you? But we’ve been working together long enough, and you’ve had time to get to know the kind of man I am. Yes, there are hundreds here hate me. But the question is – do you? And before you say it, I reckon I know the answer to that. You might have once hated me, but you don’t anymore. Now you know me, and if you know anyone better for Winnie, you can tell me. But if you don’t…’

  ‘You sure as hell think well of yourself.’

  ‘Maybe I do, and maybe I shouldn’t. But it’s what your own family think. Young John. Una. Winnie for sure. But most of all it’s what you think. Am I good enough for your daughter? That’s the question, isn’t it?’

  He said nothing more. He knew Gallagher too well, and knew it was best to leave him talk and come to his own conclusions.

  ‘But what would ye do if you were married?’ Gallagher asked him. ‘When all this is over, what then?’

  Luke tried to hide his surprise. Gallagher was already looking to the future when he and Winnie were married. The answer was yes. Just like that.

  ‘I’m supposed to be taking over the lease on the farm,’ he said. ‘We’ve a twenty one year lease, runs through to 1867, and my father, he wants me to take it over.’

  ‘Forget your father. What about you? What are you really thinking?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Luke answered. ‘My first plan is to get past the hunger, and then we’ll see. There might be other chances outside of Mayo.’

  ‘But where else is there?’

  ‘God only knows. We’ll see.’

  ‘And if you leave – what about your lease then?’

  ‘I’ve got a younger brother. And I know for certain he’d take it.’

  ‘Aye,’ Gallagher said. ‘It might even be better that way. Before all this, I’d have advised ye to stay in Mayo, one way or the other. But now I don’t know, I just don’t know.’

  They reached Ardnagrena and rode down through the lines of workers. The women’s shifts were torn, many showing skeletal thighs. One old woman’s shift was torn at the top, and through the side he could see shrivelled breasts hanging down, swinging backward and forward as she swung the pick.

  That evening he wrote to his parents in Carrigard, informing them of his marriage plans. Early the next morning he rode down to Knockanure to post the letter. He thought of his letter to Danny. It was still in his coat pocket. Yes, it was the right decision not to go to England, and not just because of Danny’s methods. Winnie was his future now, if not in Mayo, then in America. He posted both letters.

  When he returned to Brockagh, things moved fast. In his letter to his father and mother, he had not mentioned anything about their attending, knowing how difficult it would be for them to come at such a time. He asked his mother to have the banns read from the church in Kilduff though, and waited for a response.

  As soon as Mrs. Gallagher heard of Luke’s proposal, she had Father Nugent read the banns
from the altar in Brockagh, asking if any man knew a reason that Luke Ryan and Winifred Gallagher should not be wed. Luke was concerned about this. Again he wondered how wise it would be to celebrate a wedding in the middle of a famine. But Mrs. Gallagher insisted. No objections were heard in Brockagh Parish.

  In the meantime, she had found a small cottage in the village whose owner had emigrated to Canada. She negotiated a small rent with the man’s parents, who maintained their right to the cottage. She and Winnie scrubbed it from top to bottom, and lit a fire to warm it and dry out the damp.

  When Luke received news from Carrigard and Kilduff, it arrived from a most unexpected source.

  He was riding between Lisnadee and Ardnagrena when he saw McKinnon coming towards him.

  ‘This is a surprise,’ Luke said. ‘I hadn’t been expecting you.’

  ‘I hadn’t been expecting to be here myself,’ McKinnon replied.

  ‘Morton wants more inspections, I suppose.’

  ‘Well, yes and no. That’s my excuse anyhow, but it’s not the real reason I’m here. It’s about the banns.’

  Luke froze in the saddle.

  ‘Surely…’

  ‘There’s been an objection.’

  He stared at McKinnon, unbelieving. He should have known. Seeking happiness in the middle of the horror, it was wrong, it always had been wrong.

  ‘Who…?’ he asked

  ‘Fergus Brennan.’

  ‘Fergus!’

  It had started to rain. McKinnon dismounted, Luke following. They both sat hunched on the stone wall beside them, their coats pulled over their heads.

  ‘Yes, Fergus,’ McKinnon said. ‘It seems that he’s got your spiritual welfare at heart, the bastard. Your mother tried to get Father Reilly to read the banns, but Flynn insisted on reading them. Made sure to read them at every Mass too. But Fergus was the real problem. As soon as he heard, he started asking around Kilduff and up the Mountain. He spoke to as many of your mother’s people as he could find. The Kellys. And the Brennans.’

  ‘The Brennans?’ Luke echoed.

  ‘That was your grandmother’s name.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘Anyhow, it’d appear one of them – Una Brennan – married a fellow called John Gallagher from Brockagh.’

  ‘Una! Una was a Brennan!’

  ‘She was. And Fergus knew that.’

  ‘But how in hell could Fergus have known about her?’

  ‘Because she was a cousin of his mother’s. And she was your mother’s cousin too.’

  ‘But that’s impossible,’ Luke said. ‘I’d have known of her.’

  ‘Why would you? She left the Mountain when she was only a child. She was brought up by an aunt of hers in Foxford.’

  ‘But Mother never said a word about her.’

  ‘She wouldn’t remember. She was only a baby. And Una wasn’t much older.’

  Luke stared at him open-eyed.

  ‘But Winnie. She’s a cousin of mine, then?’

  ‘Seems she is. A second cousin.’

  McKinnon offered to accompany him back to Gallaghers, knowing how difficult it would be to explain everything, but Luke refused.

  What he found most unbelievable was that Fergus had gone to all this trouble on a hunch. But for a man who wanted vengeance, it was a hunch worth checking, and it had turned out to be true.

  So before he returned to Gallaghers, he questioned McKinnon about everything. Mrs. Gallagher had never mentioned anything to him about having relatives near Kilduff, but like McKinnon had said, this was not surprising if she had left the Mountain so many years before. Like Sorcha, she would not have kept contact after her parents died. Did she even know?

  When he was sure of his facts, he left McKinnon, and rode back to Gallaghers.

  He said nothing at first. He still found it almost impossible to believe what McKinnon had said, but now he knew it had to be true.

  Over dinner he questioned Mrs. Gallagher. It was as McKinnon had said. Her maiden name was Brennan, and she had come from the Mountain. Her aunt, who she had always regarded as her true mother, had told her, but she had never thought it important. But she remembered now.

  He asked her where. Baile a’ Cnoic.

  ‘Baile a’ Cnoic,’ he said. ‘It’s only a few miles from Carrigard and Kilduff.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know,’ she said. ‘It’s all such a long time ago. I was only three when I left.’

  ‘Maybe you knew the Brennans so?’ Winnie said.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I did.’

  Yes, indeed I did. Kitty and Fergus. He would never have to explain that now. It was time to tell the rest of the story though, he could avoid it no longer.

  ‘In fact, you know what, my mother was a Brennan. She came from Baile a’ Cnoic.’

  ‘So, your mother might be related to Ma then?’ Winnie said, excited.

  Luke saw Gallagher frowning in the background. Gallagher was always sharp. He knew what was coming.

  ‘They’re related sure enough,’ Luke said. ‘I know that for certain. Una’s mother was a sister of my grandmother’s.’

  ‘Isn’t that great!’ Winnie said.

  ‘No, it’s not great,’ he said. ‘In fact it’s terrible. Terrible news entirely.’

  Mrs. Gallagher was staring at him now, shock spreading across her face. Now she knew too.

  ‘You see, my love,’ Luke said, ‘that means that your mother and mine are first cousins, and you and me are second cousins. And that means we can’t marry. The Church won’t let us marry.’

  There was a silence as the news sank in. Mrs. Gallagher had already come across the room, and was standing behind Winnie. Winnie’s eyes opened, her lips trembling.

  Gallagher asked him to tell what had happened. Mrs. Gallagher was sitting beside Winnie, hugging her into her shoulder. Luke explained it all, just as McKinnon had told him. When he finished, Gallagher said nothing.

  ‘So that’s the end,’ Mrs. Gallagher said.

  ‘It is,’ Luke said.

  He stayed in Gallaghers that night, but he knew it was impossible to stay longer. He could not live in the same house as Winnie. He would just have to let her mother take care of her, and he would have to go.

  The next morning he paid Mrs. Gallagher for his board and lodgings. Then he slung his pack over his back, and walked down to the cottage that he had rented for himself and for Winnie. He threw himself on the bed, and stared at the rafters.

  The next weeks were among the worst of his life, worse even than the end of the affair with Kitty. He was numb from the speed of it. Only a single week had passed. When he had first come to know Winnie, he reckoned he would never be able to persuade Gallagher. But Gallagher had agreed. They were to be married, and now, in a matter of days, it was all over.

  Again he felt the pain of nothingness. He thought back to Kitty and all the pain and shock then. But that was different. She had been a married woman. He had deluded himself then, it could never have lasted. Now he was paying the price. Fergus had taken his revenge, and he could not blame him. If he had not been so embittered against Luke, he would not have gone to the Mountain and Baile a’ Cnoic, and he would never have found out.

  He thought of the morning in Knocklenagh during the snow, the priest telling him the meaning of God. What kind of God was this? The kind that allowed hunger and fever; let men and women and children die in pain and hunger. Yes, he had sinned with Kitty, and he had to suffer for it. He thought of the bruises on Kitty’s face the last time he had seen her. She was suffering, she would suffer for the rest of her life. And so would he.

  He had brought it all on himself. But it was not just Kitty. Winnie too, loving her, grasping for happiness when people were suffering and dying around him. That was wrong. It could never have lasted either.

  The day after he
left Gallagher’s, he bought a bottle of poitín in the village. He started to drink, and by midnight it was gone. The next day, he suffered the worst hangover of his life. He lay in his bed all day, brooding.

  What was left for him now? First Kitty, now Winnie. No woman to stand by him, no future, no hope. Yes, he could still take the farm. Michael was tough, but could he protect him against those who hated him. Luke Ryan, the man who brought Sorcha to the Workhouse, the man who refused so many the Works ticket that was their only chance of life.

  What now? England?

  Yes, and admit to Danny that he had been wrong. And the other men? Would they know stories from home? They surely would.

  America then?

  Yes, and all alone. No woman, no family, no friends.

  America?

  He went to the priest’s house.

  ‘I need confession.’

  He knelt.

  ‘There’s no need to kneel. Sit up here at the table.’

  The full story came out – Kitty, his father, Fergus, a long tale of pain that had once been joy. He told too of sinning with Winnie, but the priest dismissed that with a wave of his hand. At the end, they prayed. Five decades of the Rosary, something he had not done for many years.

  Then he was absolved.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Liverpool Mail, January 1847:

  The immense influx of Irish paupers into Liverpool, chiefly women and children, and the deplorable exhibition daily witnessed in front of the parish offices in Fenwick Street have excited very general disgust and alarm. The inhabitants of Liverpool, much as they had seen of Irish degradation in the close and crowded courts and cellars which are the resort of immigrants from the sister country, and much as they had heard of the destitution caused by the failure of the potato crop, had, comparatively, no previous knowledge of the lost state of the Irish peasantry, until the sickening and heartrending spectacles had been presented to their view.

  Danny had other matters on his mind, and food was not one of them.

  Luke’s refusal to join him had disappointed him at first, but the more he thought about it, the less important it seemed. If Luke had not the foresight to see the possibilities, then perhaps he was not the sort of partner that was needed in railway contracting. But that meant that he was now on his own, and he would have to rely on his own energy and capabilities, without anyone to share the workload.