The Killing Snows

by Charles Egan

  Then, one morning, he walked across to Carrigard. He had attended Mass in the church in the Workhouse with all the inmates, and the stink still clung to his nostrils. But his mother gave him a plate of cabbage and potatoes, and he began to feel better.

  That afternoon Edmond White came to visit. Eleanor was a little surprised and apprehensive when she saw him, but brought him in. Michael took out a bottle of whiskey, and White joined everyone around the table.

  ‘So what have you decided?’ he asked them.

  ‘Luke will still go to America,’ Michael answered, ‘but he’s coming back in two years, just as ye asked.’

  ‘So what will he be doing in America.’

  ‘Working on the railways,’ Luke answered.

  ‘Hard work, I’d say.’

  ‘I’ve done it before.’

  ‘In America?’

  ‘No. In England.’

  ‘So why not go there instead of America?’

  ‘There wouldn’t be a chance of getting work. There’s thousands of fellows looking for work there.’

  ‘There are,’ White said, ‘and the most of them Irish too. But wouldn’t it be the same in America?’

  ‘It would,’ Luke said, ‘but I’ve already work set up. Martin Farrelly – he’s an old friend of mine from the railways in England. He’s working on the rails in Pennsylvania, along with a lot of other Mayo lads. There’s a job there for me.’

  ‘Martin Farrelly? He wouldn’t be one of the Farrellys of Liscreggan?’

  ‘That’s right,’ Luke said. ‘John Farrelly’s son. He’s been on the rails in England for twenty years. Went over to America a few months back.

  ‘Did he now?’ White said. He took out a notebook, and scribbled in it. ‘They should be well able to pay the rent so.’

  ‘They should, I suppose,’ Michael said.

  White sipped at his whiskey. ‘A good whiskey, I’d say, Mr. Ryan.’

  ‘It is,’ Michael replied. ‘All the way from Dublin. And it’s not every day we’d have it out.’

  ‘Indeed not,’ White said. ‘But now, there’s one other matter I wanted to discuss with you. All the land that was used up by the roadworks – we had promised to make it up to you.’

  ‘Yes,’ Michael said, ‘I remember.’

  ‘It must have been a fair amount.’

  ‘Extending the quarry – I reckon that took half an acre,’ Michael said. ‘Putting the road across the land – I haven’t measured that. Must have taken an acre anyhow, more perhaps.’

  ‘Yes,’ White said, ‘I’d been meaning to talk to you about a rent reduction, but we feel now there might be a better solution. You’ll know that Fordes have gone to Boston.’

  ‘Of course,’ Michael said.

  ‘We’re looking for someone to take over the tenancy. Someone reliable.’

  Eleanor glanced across to Michael and Luke and Pat. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘We can’t.’

  ‘You shouldn’t feel bad about it,’ White continued. ‘They’re in America now. They weren’t evicted. The farm is there and available for anyone who wants to rent it. The Fordes will have a better life now, they’re not concerned about the farm.’

  ‘But there’s growing crops on it,’ Eleanor said.

  ‘We won’t insist that you pay for what’s there already,’ White said.

  ‘But they’re not our crops. They belong to the Fordes.’

  ‘I don’t think they’d be too worried about them now.’

  The room went silent.

  ‘But you can think about the matter,’ White said. I’ll be back in the morning. I’ll need your answer then.’

  Eleanor saw White out. She came back to the table.

  ‘What do we do now?’ she asked.

  ‘Well, it’s going to be your choice too,’ Michael said.

  ‘But it’s land grabbing,’ Eleanor said.

  ‘No it’s not,’ Michael said. ‘It’s just as he said. Fordes are gone. It’s not their concern. And just like he said, they’ve taken two acres of our land. They have to make up to us for it.’

  ‘It’s not just that, though,’ Eleanor said. ‘It’s taking advantage of the famine. All that suffering, and now we profit out of it.’

  ‘But the O’Briens are taking the Grogan farm,’ Michael said. ‘They didn’t feel guilty about it. There’s no need to worry yourself about it.’

  ‘Father is right,’ Pat said. ‘We’ll take it.’

  His father looked up sharply. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I said we’ll take it.’

  ‘I didn’t think you’d have an interest in it,’ Luke said.

  ‘I didn’t say either way. And anyhow, what business is it of yours?’

  ‘Shush now,’ Eleanor said. ‘There’s no call for that.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Pat said. ‘But one way or another, he’s off to America for two years, and we’ve got to decide now. And like I say, I think we should take Forde’s. If we don’t, someone else will.’

  ‘That’s it so,’ Michael said. ‘We’ll take it.’

  An hour before dusk, Pat left to return to Knockanure.

  Afterwards Luke drove the cow down to the cowshed for milking. As he followed the cow inside, there was a movement in the shadows.

  ‘Who’s there.’

  ‘Whisht, we mean you no harm.’

  ‘Who are you? What are you doing here?’

  ‘We’re walking to Westport,’ the voice replied.

  ‘For America?’

  ‘Yes, America. America it is.’

  Even in the remaining light, Luke could see how thin they were. There was a man with a woman, two children and a baby. He heard a moan behind him. He turned and saw a youth lying on the hay. He was not moving.

  ‘Is he alright?’

  ‘It’s just how he couldn’t keep walking. He’ll be better in the morning.’

  Luke milked the cow. Then he went to take the milk to his mother.

  ‘Hold on here, I’ll be back.’

  He told his mother and father what had happened.

  ‘Perhaps we should ask them over,’ Eleanor said.

  ‘We’ll do no such thing,’ Michael said. ‘They might have fever.’

  ‘We can feed them at least.’

  ‘Haven’t we little enough for ourselves.’

  ‘Maybe so,’ Eleanor said, ‘but we must try to help.’

  She gave Luke half a brown loaf and buttermilk. He brought the food across to the cowshed.

  ‘God bless you,’ the woman said. ‘We’ll not be troubling you beyond the night.’

  When Luke returned to the cowshed the next morning, the youth was dead. The woman was keening, the two children looking on, wide-eyed. Luke knelt, and examined the body. There was no sign of fever. He had been killed by hunger only.

  ‘We didn’t want to be bothering you,’ the man said, ‘but we’ll have to bury him. Perhaps you could help us with that. Ye have a cart?’

  ‘We do.’

  He went back to the house, and explained the situation to his father and mother.

  ‘God, is there no end to it,’ Michael exclaimed. ‘We’ll be carrying bodies for the whole county.’

  Luke hitched up the horse and cart, and brought it to the cowshed. They lifted the corpse inside, and the rest of the family climbed up. Luke drove the horse towards Kilduff.

  ‘Where are ye from?’ he asked the man.

  ‘Baile a’ Cnoic,’ he answered. He nodded towards the corpse. ‘We could not travel so far with him the way he was.’

  Luke was going to mention about his mother coming from the Mountain, but decided not to.

  ‘What family are ye?’ he asked.

  ‘O’Ceallaigh,’ the man replied.

  Luke was startled. O’Ceallaigh – O’Kelly
– his mother’s name. He knew that all of Eleanor’s family had left the Mountain, but it could well be that this man was a cousin, or at least a second cousin of hers. He decided not to pursue the matter. If it turned out this family was related, he would have to drive them all the way to Westport, and that he did not want.

  When they arrived at Kilduff, he drove straight to the graveyard. There were two men inside, digging a trench. At the side, four decomposing corpses were laid in line.

  One of the gravediggers looked up from the trench as Luke and the man took the corpse down from the cart.

  ‘Just leave him there beside the others,’ he shouted.

  They did as they were told. The woman vomited.

  ‘Will he not get a blessing,’ the man asked. ‘He needs the priest.’

  ‘The priest will be along, don’t worry,’ the gravedigger replied.

  They stayed on, the woman keening over the corpse while holding the baby close to her breast. Then her husband took her by the arm, and pulled her up.

  ‘Come on, Máire. ’Tis time to go.’

  Luke watched as they started to walk out the Castlebar road. Then he led the horse and cart out of the graveyard, and drove back towards Carrigard.

  On the few occasions that all the women met together, Brigid’s future education was a matter they always discussed. The suffering all around them only increased their determination that one at least would be able to escape hunger and fever.

  It was a matter that Winnie and Eleanor talked about every day when the men were out working. Eleanor foresaw a time when Brigid would return to Mayo from wherever she might have been trained. Maybe she could teach in Kilduff school or Liscreggan. By that time Father Flynn might be dead, and Father Reilly might have taken over. To have one of their own teaching would be a matter of intense pride, but Eleanor knew that this was not the only reason. It was for Brigid too, and for the future.

  One evening as the men returned from the fields, Luke sensed there was something in the air. He sat down at the table with his father, and waited as Winnie laid the table.

  Eleanor ladled out the cabbage. She leant over Michael’s shoulder as she spooned it onto his plate. ‘We’ve decided that Brigid is going to go on to teacher training college,’ she said.

  Michael looked around abruptly.

  ‘What are you on about, woman?’

  ‘Teacher training. She’s going to be a teacher.’

  ‘Arra, will you stop being stupid. Pass the potatoes along, would you,’ he said to Winnie.

  Luke was staring at his mother. So that was why Sabina had talked about education. It was all beginning to make sense. He remembered how Sabina had spoken of Kitty, and how quickly she had backed away from it. Training colleges! Could it have been Kitty’s idea? Perhaps, perhaps not, but she certainly would have known of it.

  Winnie laid the bowl of potatoes in front of Michael. He took one, and cut into it, looking for rot. There was none. Without further comment he began to eat.

  ‘We’re serious, Michael,’ Eleanor said.

  ‘Serious!’ Michael said, spluttering. He gulped down the potato. ‘We can hardly put a bite into our mouths, and now you want us to have teachers. ‘

  ‘That’s right. So as we’ll never face hunger again.’

  ‘Never face hunger, is it? Would you have a bit of sense, woman.’

  ‘No,’ Eleanor said, ‘it’s you who’ll have to have sense now. We’ll do it with you or we’ll do it without you. Brigid will be a teacher. And it’s best you’re with us. Murty too, though it’ll be harder on him.’

  Michael took another potato, and cut into it. It was clean.

  ‘Has Sabina been giving you ideas.’

  ‘It wasn’t her idea,’ Eleanor said. ‘But whoever thought of them, they’re the right ideas.’

  She had no desire to say whose idea it had been. If Michael knew Kitty had first said it, Brigid would have no further education, that was certain.

  Michael took a forkful of cabbage with the potato. He started on a third potato, examining it as if to find wisdom there.

  ‘Are you in on this?’ he asked Winnie.

  ‘Of course. I married into this family, didn’t I? I always believed the Ryans could do great things.’

  Luke was holding a forkful of bacon in the air. He put it back on the plate, and waited for his father to speak.

  ‘Great things, you say?’ asked Michael. The potato was sound.

  ‘Great things,’ Winnie repeated. ‘Brigid can do it. We can all help her do it.’

  ‘Murty was a teacher. Look what happened to him.’

  ‘Yes,’ Winnie said, ‘but he was the wrong kind of teacher. He wasn’t trained their way.’

  Luke was looking at her in surprise. ‘You never said anything of this to me before.’

  ‘You never asked me,’ Winnie said.

  ‘And it’s just as Winnie says,’ Eleanor said, before Luke could reply. ‘The old ways are gone. They beat Murty. But they’re not going to beat us.’

  ‘By God, that’s fighting talk,’ Michael said.

  ‘It’s fighting talk alright,’ Luke echoed. ‘All this time, the women are talking among themselves and never telling us a word. And now we’re going to take on the whole damned world.’

  ‘And we’re going to win too,’ Winnie said. ‘Don’t forget that.’

  Michael put a large forkful of potato and cabbage into his mouth, and chewed it in silence. He looked at everyone, holding their eyes, Winnie’s longest of all. When he was ready, he spoke.

  ‘Where’s all the money going to come from for this?’

  ‘Everyone,’ Eleanor said. ‘Luke is going to send us money when he gets to America.’

  ‘Am I?’ Luke asked, feigning ignorance. ‘For schooling?’

  ‘Yes you are, and if you don’t, Winnie will do it for you. And Sabina will pay too. We’ll write and tell Danny what we’re doing, he’ll be sure to help. Murtybeg too. They have the money, from all accounts, and it might help them with their consciences too. The pennies will soon mount up.’

  ‘That’s begging,’ Michael shouted. ‘I won’t do it.’

  ‘No, Michael. It’s pride. Pride in Brigid. And pride in our family.’

  Again he ate, chewing with deliberation. He took another potato and cut it.

  ‘How are you planning to do all this, even if you get the money?’

  ‘There’s only one way it can be done to start, and that’s through the school in Kilduff, Liscreggan’s too far. She’ll have to stay four nights a week with Sabina, but that’s no matter. Then it’ll have to be the school in Castlebar. She has to get a higher class of schooling than Kilduff is able to give her. That might take three or four years more. After that, it’s a secondary school and then one of the training colleges – Galway, Belfast, Dublin, I don’t know. Glasgow even.’

  ‘Glasgow!’

  ‘Wherever. Believe me, Michael, this thing is going to be done, and we are going to do it.’

  Michael shook his head. ‘You’re mad.’

  ‘No, a ghrá. We might be women, but we’re not stupid, and we’re surely not mad.’

  ‘And when is this all going to start?’

  ‘Two years’ time. She’ll be three by then, well old enough for it.’

  Michael went back to his meal. Luke held his breath, not knowing what to say.

  ‘And what will Murty think?’ Michael asked at length. ‘It’ll be a right slap in the face for him.’

  ‘It will,’ Eleanor said, ‘and we’ll all have to do the best we can for him. But his school is gone, and there’s nothing we can do about that.’

  Michael finished his meal without a word. Then he turned to face the baby. ‘Well, by God, little Brigid,’ he whispered. He stood up from the table, shaking his head. ‘By God Almighty.’

&nb
sp; Aileen became more and more morose and lapsed into silence. Eleanor did what she could. She went up every day, she brought Aileen down to meet the other women – Winnie, Sabina and Kitty. But even Kitty was quieter than normal, and Aileen rarely said a word.

  Then Danny’s letter arrived. Murty sat at his table, and read it again and again, disbelieving.

  ‘What does he say?’ Aileen asked.

  ‘He wants us to go to England.’

  Aileen’s jaw dropped, and he saw the fear returning to her eyes.

  ‘It’s not as bad as it seems. He’s offering me a job, a good one too, some kind of supervisor. Contracts Manager, he calls it. He reckons with my knowledge and experience, I should be able to help him with the contracts on the railways. Wage sheets, requisitions, bids and contracts, that kind of thing. And he’ll have a house ready for us, Murteen will be living with us. And talking of Murteen, Danny’s sending him over here to take us back.’

  ‘But we’d have to leave Mayo.’

  Murty looked at his wife, remembering the old days when he first courted her, all the joy and laughter. The happiness too when her babies arrived – Nessa, Danny and little Murteen.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘We’d have to go to England. But we’ll be a family again. You and me, Danny and Murteen. Isn’t it what you always wanted?’

  ‘Yes, but…I don’t know.’

  Murty replied to Danny’s letter, accepting his offer. Four days later, Danny’s reply came, together with two pounds in cash. Transport would be arranged for them, and they were advised to be ready to travel at any time.

  ‘There’s a coach outside,’ Winnie said one afternoon.

  ‘I wonder who it is,’ Eleanor said, walking over to the window. ‘Whoever it is, he must be quality.’

  ‘Lord Clanowen, no doubt,’ Luke said from the table. ‘Decided he’d drop in for a chat.’

  ‘We’ll have none of that nonsense out of you,’ Michael said. ‘Just go outside, and see who it is.’

  Luke walked out, just as the coachman opened the door of the coach. Murtybeg stepped out.

  ‘Murteen, what the devil…’

  Murtybeg strode over, and shook Luke’s hand. ‘God, it’s great to see you again.’

  ‘But…!’

  ‘Didn’t you know I was coming? It’s all been arranged.’