Through The Barricades: Winner of the SCBWI SPARK Award 2017

by Denise Deegan

  ‘I’m Missus O’Brien, from next door. Come in. Please.’

  Maggie hurried inside. Her gaze fell immediately on the bed. There, to her horror, Lily’s mother had been laid out. Lily was lying asleep beside her, an arm across her body.

  ‘I hadn’t the heart to part them,’ Missus O’Brien whispered. Then she bowed her head and blessed herself.

  Automatically, Maggie and Daniel did the same. Maggie felt her throat burn and her eyes well. She longed to scoop Lily up and save her. She waited for Missus O’Brien to finish praying then turned to her. ‘Does Lily have family?’ she whispered.

  Missus O’Brien shook her head. ‘Her mother asked me to take her in – and I will – but I don’t know how we’ll manage. There isn’t enough for my own.’

  Back at the food kitchen, Maggie followed her mother to and fro, from the queue to the boilers and back again.

  ‘She has no family! She’s alone in the world!’

  ‘Maggie, this is no place to discuss this,’ she whispered, looking around.

  ‘She could end up on the street! In the workhouse!’

  Her mother stopped, a billycan of stew in her hand. ‘We’ll discuss this at home,’ she said firmly.

  ‘Then let us go!’

  ‘Maggie, we have commitments here.’

  ‘God Almighty!’

  ‘Maggie Gilligan, do not take the name of the Lord in vain.’ Her mother took a ticket from a woman who looked on the verge of exhaustion.

  It took all of Maggie’s strength to walk away. She positioned herself at a boiler. And stirred with a ferocity that did nothing to help. Minutes passed like hours.

  ‘Maggie, it’s a lot to ask, taking in a child,’ Daniel said as though preparing her for the worst.

  ‘She has no one,’ Maggie insisted. ‘Only us.’

  ‘She has Missus O’Brien.’

  ‘Who doesn’t have enough for her own. You heard her.’

  ‘Perhaps we can help Missus O’Brien.’

  Maggie felt like hitting him. And screaming. People were being too calm about this altogether.

  ‘Good luck,’ Daniel whispered when it was time to go.

  Maggie looked at him and saw then that he was only trying to help. ‘I’m sorry. Only this is the one time I can make a difference. The one time.’

  ‘Every day you make a difference, Maggie Gilligan.’

  How she wished it were that simple. ‘Wish me luck – again.’

  He smiled. ‘Good luck – again.’

  It was dark when Maggie and her mother emerged from Liberty Hall. The street lamps dimmed in the wind. All across the city, church bells called rich and poor to pray the Angelus. Mother and daughter paused, blessed themselves and bowed their heads. Maggie thought that they’d never get home.

  And yet they did.

  Maggie closed the front door behind them. ‘Mam?’

  Her mother turned, taking the pin from her hat and resting it on the dresser.

  ‘We’re home,’ Maggie said expectantly.

  ‘Can we at least eat before we have this discussion?’

  ‘No! It’s too urgent!’

  Her mother sighed and removed her coat.

  ‘She’d be no trouble. She’s the sweetest thing. You should see how she cared for her mother – like she was the mother.’

  ‘Maggie, you’re asking me to take in a child, to care for her for the rest of her life. That is a tremendous responsibility.’

  ‘I’d mind her, Mam. I swear. You wouldn’t have to do anything.’

  ‘We barely get by on my income.’

  Then Maggie hit upon it, the winning argument. ‘She’s receiving no education whatsoever.’

  Her mother looked at her and for the first time hesitated. Education was her solution to everything.

  ‘Missus O’Brien is only taking Lily in because she promised. There’s not enough food to go round.’

  ‘Maggie,’ her mother said, gently now. ‘You must understand that before we can help Lily, we must first see how best to help.’

  She brightened. ‘So we are helping?’

  ‘Of course but Lily may wish to stay with the people she knows, the place she knows, the life she knows…’

  Maggie reached for her coat. ‘Let us find out!’

  ‘I have a family to feed.’

  David stuck his head out from the drawing room. ‘You go on,’ he said. ‘I’ll put on a few spuds.’

  Maggie beamed at him. He was so easy to love.

  ‘Will you boil a bit of ham as well, pet?’ their mother asked him. ‘You know how Tom likes his meat when he gets in.’

  David nodded. He reached for his mother’s coat and held it out for her.

  She put it on, shaking her head at herself. ‘I’m soft. That’s what I am.’

  Maggie looked at her. ‘How can it be soft to make a difference?’

  There were tears in Maggie’s mother’s eyes as she looked at Lily, still lying with her mother.

  ‘There’ll be a wake,’ Missus O’Brien was whispering, ‘then a pauper’s grave. God rest her soul; she was little more than a child herself.’ Her sigh seemed to slide to the floor under the weight of the world.

  Maggie’s mother straightened to her full height. ‘She’ll have a proper burial. Of that you can be sure.’

  ‘Oh, bless you, Missus,’ Missus O’Brien said as if a proper burial was more important than food, fuel, life itself.

  Lily awoke. At the sight of her mother’s motionless face, she began to cry. Maggie went to her, squatting down beside the bed so that, at least, Lily would know she was not alone.

  Then Lily turned to her, eyes wide and asked, ‘Who’ll I mind now?’

  Maggie had to run to keep pace with her mother as she dashed down the steps to the street.

  ‘Where will we find money for a burial?’ Maggie worried aloud.

  Her mother stopped and looked at her, eyes blazing. ‘I may not be a woman of means but I’m a woman with friends. Lily’s mother will have a proper burial and Missus O’Brien and her children will be looked after.’

  ‘And Lily?’

  ‘I’ll speak with Missus O’Brien – and Lily – after the funeral.’

  ‘So we might take her?’ Maggie dared.

  ‘If that is what she and Missus O’Brien want…but only if it’s what they want.’

  Maggie threw her arms around her. ‘Oh thank you, Mam. You won’t be sorry! I’ll-’

  ‘Maggie. It’s still only a possibility. I don’t want you to get your hopes up.’

  ‘I know. But I never thought you’d take her!’

  ‘Neither did I until I saw that poor little angel all alone in the world.’ She kissed the top of Maggie’s head. ‘Your father would be proud Maggie Mae, so very proud of how you’ve turned out.’

  Maggie bowed her head. A day didn’t go by when she didn’t think of him, miss him, and try to do what he’d asked of her. She understood what Lily was feeling, the longing, the ache, and she wanted so much to make her world better.

  Maggie awoke, gasping for breath and calling out. She felt a cool, soothing hand on her forehead.

  ‘You’ve not had that dream in a long time,’ her mother said, sitting by her side.

  Maggie sat up, her heart still racing. ‘How did you know it was the same one?’

  She cleared a tear from Maggie’s cheek. ‘You always call out for him.’

  The ache in her heart was so fresh. It was as if she had lost him all over again. ‘Poor Lily. She has no one now. At least I had you and David and Tom.’

  Her mother took her hand. ‘Come on, Maggie. Up you get. We have work to do.’

  Maggie rubbed her eyes. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Two in the morning.’

  Maggie smiled and got up.

  Down in the cellar, they collected carpets, rugs, drapes and clothing.

  Together, they carried a rolled up rug up the narrow steps. Nearing the top, Maggie screamed and dropped it.

  ‘Jesu
s!’ uttered the figure at the top of the stairs. ‘What are the two of you up to, down there? You frightened the life out of me.’ Tom lowered the hurley stick he had raised over his head.

  Maggie laughed. She could not imagine her brother being afraid of anyone.

  ‘Help us up and we’ll tell you what we’re about,’ their mother said.

  Soon she was explaining the possibility of a child coming to live with them.

  Maggie expected Tom to explode; it seemed to be his reaction to everything nowadays. But he didn’t explode. He volunteered to help. And so, he and Maggie followed their mother as she strode around the house, picking up one beautiful thing after another to be given away.

  ‘But Mam, these were gifts from your friends!’ Maggie pointed out.

  ‘Friends who would understand.’

  At the front door, a pile grew. And at sunrise, Madame arrived in her motorcar. They had to squeeze everything in amongst fuel and food. Then the countess and Maggie’s mother were away.

  To Maggie’s great regret, she had to attend school as usual. While she sat at her desk wondering what was happening with Lily, her teacher handed back essays. Sister Grace swished from desk to desk, slapping the sheets down, giving each one a pat and saying things like, ‘Good girl,’ or, ‘Not up to your usual standard.’ Maggie was beginning to wonder where hers was. She had never worked as hard on an essay and remembered it word for word:

  My heroine is the daughter of an arctic explorer. She married a count from Poland. She is an artist, an actress and a poet. She was born wealthy but has given much of that wealth to those in need. She feeds the women and children in the food kitchen at Liberty Hall. She is a countess but without airs and graces. She is unafraid of work. She knows that questions will turn people away, so she feeds and helps and asks no questions. Her dedication to others has lost her her family. Her husband has returned to Poland.

  Maggie especially loved that Madame wore trousers and smoked cigarettes because it meant that she did not give a toss for society. She did not include that in her essay, however, for fear that Sister Grace might be scandalised. The nun was walking between the desks towards Maggie now. Only one essay remained in her hand. As she approached, her face grew darker. Her brow creased into a frown. Maggie wondered what she had done wrong. She had been so careful. She could not think. Her heart thudded as Sister Grace, arriving at Maggie’s desk, held up her essay, looked into her eyes and ripped it in two.

  Maggie felt her face redden. Everyone was staring. Polly smiled.

  ‘I will not have that name mentioned in this classroom!’ Sister Grace bellowed, her face turning purple, her neck resembling a plucked chicken. ‘That woman is no heroine. She’s nothing but a socialist. And socialism, Maggie Gilligan, goes against the teachings of the Catholic Church. Or didn’t you know that?’

  ‘No, Sister,’ she said quietly. All she understood of socialism was that it meant equal rights for all. Was there something more sinister that she’d not heard? Sister Grace made it sound like the greatest sin on earth.

  ‘Well, you are better off not knowing,’ Maggie’s favourite teacher said, softening. ‘Of that I can assure you.’

  Maggie burst through the front door. She heard Tom and David in the dining room.

  ‘Where’s Mam?’ she demanded. ‘She wasn’t at the food kitchen.’

  ‘Out helping that girl,’ David said.

  ‘Lily,’ Tom corrected.

  ‘I need to know about socialism.’

  Tom looked at her in surprise. ‘You know about socialism.’

  ‘Not why it’s against the Catholic Church.’

  ‘Who said it was?’ Tom asked.

  ‘Sister Grace.’

  He threw down his fork. ‘I’ve heard it all now.’

  ‘She doesn’t lie; she’s a nun.’

  ‘Then she’s wrong.’

  ‘So it’s not against the Catholic Church?’ she asked hopefully.

  ‘Why would sharing power be against the Church?’ He stopped and frowned. ‘Unless, of course, the Church fears losing power! That would make such sense! At last, a reason why priests have not spoken out for the workers!’ He looked like he was having an epiphany.

  ‘Tom, that’s sacrilegious talk,’ David said as if fearing eternal damnation for his brother.

  Tom looked at him with pity.

  ‘Whatever about socialism,’ Maggie said, ‘Madame wouldn’t tear up a person’s essay in front of them.’

  ‘Sister Grace tore up your essay?’ Tom demanded.

  Maggie worried that he might go down to the school and make things worse than they already were. ‘It’s all right. I’ll be more careful in future.’

  ‘I’ve a good mind to-’

  ‘Well, don’t!’ she said firmly. ‘It’s my school. I’ll handle it.’

  He pushed his plate away and raised his hands. Then he left the room, carrying his anger in his shoulders.

  ‘Maggie, do you want me to speak to Sister Grace?’ David asked.

  She shook her head. ‘Next time I’ll pick Joan of Arc like everyone else.’

  He smiled. ‘Or a saint.’

  seven

  Maggie

  Lily arrived with a luggage of sadness. She did not speak. She did not eat. She reversed into corners, wrapping her arms about herself. A worry grew in Maggie's stomach and spread throughout her body. She knew – because she had lost her father – not to crowd Lily, not to try to make her happy. But she did not know what she could do. She wished the house quieter, her brothers smaller, especially Tom who was practically a giant. At least he was out most of the time with his scouting.

  ‘How’s Lily?’ Daniel asked, when they met at the food kitchen.

  ‘Lost.’

  ‘Have you tried one of your stories?’

  Maggie looked at him in surprise. ‘Why didn’t I think of that?’ Now she couldn’t wait to get home.

  When they finally emerged from the food kitchen, the rain was torrential. They stood in the doorway watching it.

  ‘Maybe it’ll stop,’ Daniel said hopefully.

  Madame arrived beside them and peered out.

  ‘Daniel, help me strap your bicycles to the back of my motorcar. I’m bringing you home.’ She took off then, out into the rain, she who never expected an argument.

  Daniel shrugged at Maggie then took off after her.

  Maggie ran to help.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he shouted over the rain.

  ‘What does it look like? We’re friends, Daniel Healy. One of us doesn’t stand by while the other gets drenched.’

  He stopped what he was doing and looked at her, rain dripping from his soaked hair onto his face. ‘We’re friends?’

  She hesitated. Polly had once been a friend. Friends turned. Friends did not last. And so she shrugged, wishing the words back in her mouth.

  Suddenly, he beamed. ‘Well, that’s the best news I’ve had all day, Maggie Gilligan. The best news,’ he said, shaking his head like he didn’t believe it.

  Relief flooded her. But she did not let on. ‘We couldn’t have got any wetter cycling.’

  ‘I have never been happier to be wet.’ Still smiling, he ran to open the door.

  They jumped inside.

  Happy was something Maggie had not felt for a very long time. She felt it now, though. It surprised and warmed her in equal measure.

  Madame opened the front door and threw Poppet in. Then she hurried behind the wheel. Poppet shook the rain from his fur, drowning Madame further, if that was possible. She laughed.

  My favourite socialist, Maggie thought.

  Then the countess took off like a bullet, accelerating so fast that Maggie and Daniel were pressed into the seat. Maggie’s stomach lurched.

  ‘How’s Lily?’ Madame called back, as if the child was a problem solved.

  ‘Still settling,’ Maggie said, wanting to sound grateful.

  ‘Your mother is an incredible woman,’ she said, looking back while travelling
forward.

  Maggie wanted to tell her to keep her eyes on the road.

  They were speeding through Rathmines when Madame tut-tutted.

  ‘I will forget my head someday. Any objections if I pop home for a moment?’

  ‘No!’ Maggie rushed – anything to get her to face forward again.

  Soon they came to an – abrupt – stop outside a grand house on Leinster Road. Madame hurried inside with Poppet.

  Maggie turned to Daniel, eyebrows raised. ‘This is Surrey House!’

  He looked at her blankly.

  ‘Where Madame hid Jim Larkin from the police that time he was ordered not to speak publicly but did anyway! Let’s have a look inside.’

  ‘We can’t just go in.’

  ‘We’re not going in.’ She leapt from the car. At least the rain had stopped.

  She hurried to the bay window, cupped her hands and peered inside, longing to see for herself where one of her heroes had hidden another. In the drawing room, the carpets had been rolled back, ornaments had been taken down and a great fire blazed. Furniture had been pushed aside and a swarm of boys wearing the same scouting uniform as Tom’s were busy with what seemed like first aid. Some wore slings while others fixed them into position. Older boys walked amongst them, inspecting their work.

  ‘What’s your business here?’ a voice demanded.

  Maggie turned to see a uniformed boy emerge from the shadows where he must have been keeping watch. He was taller than Daniel and so dark in contrast.

  ‘Well?’ he demanded.

  Maggie raised her chin. ‘I’m Maggie Gilligan. I help Madame at the food kitchen. This is Daniel Healy. What are Na Fianna boys doing in Surrey House?’

  He regarded her with interest. ‘You’ve heard of Na Fianna?’

  ‘Of course I have. It’s a scouting group.’

  He scoffed. ‘We’re far more than scouts.’

  ‘What, then?’ she asked longing to know what her brother got up to.

  ‘We’re modern day warriors, fighting for the defence of Ireland.’