Silence the Dead

by David Crossman

  Thomas didn’t know where the figure came from. He must have heard it somewhere. “I think. About that.”

  Tiffin had read otherwise, but he kept it to himself. “That’s not so bad,” he said.

  Somewhere under the hood that enveloped her, Katy coughed again. Thomas reached down and put a hand on her forehead. It was warm. “You want me to carry you a bit, Kate?” Without a word, she stopped and held up her hands. Thomas took a deep breath and picked her up. Despite the sodden state of her wardrobe, she was light. Much too light. The veins on the hands she put around his neck stood out blue against the milky whiteness of her skin.

  “There now, my love,” he said comfortingly. He’d never called her that before – his pet name for her was Pinch, for no particular reason other than he liked the sound of it – but their father had always called her “my love,” and wasn’t he more father than brother to her now? She pressed herself against him, and somehow, he felt himself suffused with a strength he hadn’t had the minute before.

  Chapter Three

  Early that afternoon, they passed through Tinnahally. Thomas, having carried Katy for hours, was too tired to take the long way ‘round the town, which wasn’t much of a town, at any rate. Bigger than Farran by a few farms, apparently just big enough to justify a pub, which Farran didn’t have. He pressed on along the rough street of cobblestone and had nearly reached the far side of the village when he became aware that Tiffin’s footsteps were no longer echoing his own. He turned to see his little brother standing at the door of the tavern.

  “Tiffin!”

  Tiffin turned his face toward him.

  “What’re you doin’, boy? Come along!”

  Tiffin didn’t budge.

  “Tiffin! Come along this moment,” Thomas said in his harshest whisper. “D’ye hear me?”

  Still, Tiffin didn’t budge. Thomas hoisted his sister, who had been sleeping, a little higher on his hip, and somewhat animated by the heat of his anger, quickly retraced his steps to the pub. He was formulating a rebuke when Tiffin spoke.

  “They’ve got a fire in there.”

  “Aye,” said Thomas sharply, “and they’ve got a landlord who don’t want the hearth taken up by the likes of us, with not a penny to spend on bread nor beer.”

  “I’ve got a penny,” said Tiffin, holding out his hand in which was not a penny but a shilling.

  “Where did you get that?”

  “I have more,” he said. Reaching amidst the folds of his garments, he withdrew a handful of coins. Seven shillings in all.

  Thomas’s eyes widened. “Where did you get it?”

  “Three from Doc Murphy,” said Tiffin matter-of-factly, “two from the Father, and two from Miss Meredith.”

  “An’ why’d they give ‘em to you and not me?” asked Thomas, suspicion giving rise to the fear that his brother had turned thief and they’d soon find the whole countryside turned out against them as a result.

  “Because you’re too proud,” said Tiffin.

  Thomas shifted Katy to his other hip. “What’re you sayin’?”

  “You’re too proud,” Tiffin repeated. “That’s what they said.”

  “Who said?”

  “Doc Murphy, Father O’Shields, and Miss Meredith.”

  Thomas felt as if he’d been hit by something. “All of ‘em?”

  Tiffin nodded, tucking the coins back among the recesses of his clothing.

  “I am not too proud,” Thomas said weakly.

  “You are, too.”

  “I am not!”

  “You wouldn’t have taken the money, would you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Why?”

  “Because.”

  “Because you’re too proud,” Tiffin declared, and without further debate, he opened the door of the pub, crossed the threshold, and stopped, holding the door open. “Are you coming?”

  “We can’t,” said Thomas, suddenly feeling the younger of the two. “We need to save that money.”

  “I think you’ve got that backwards,” Tiffin replied philosophically. “Right now, this money needs to save us. Katy, anyway.”

  Thomas looked at Katy. No girl of nearly six should be light enough to carry as far as he’d carried her. He raised his eyes to Tiffin, who held the door a little wider and let his brother pass in first.

  “Close the blessed door!” said a scrawny woman behind a small counter. “And don’t let it bruise y’er backside on the way out. On with ya!”

  Thomas drew himself to his full height. “We just want to sit by the fire a bit and dry ourselves.”

  “Dry yourselves on your own sod,” said the woman.

  “Now, Hetty,” said one of two round men at a tiny and equally round table near the fire. “What would Father Flynn say? Come on in, boys…”

  Thomas and Tiffin cast an unsure glance at the woman who, with a noise of disgust, turned her attention elsewhere, then at the men by the fire.

  “Come along,” said the second man with a gesture and a wink. “She don’t bite . . . except the mister now and then.”

  He laughed as the boys approached the fire. “Now, what’s that you’ve got?” said the first man as Thomas sat down. At the same time, he reached up and pulled back Katy’s hood. He looked at Thomas. “She’s sick, aye?”

  Thomas nodded. Tiffin took off his outer coat and squeezed it onto the hearth, where the water turned at once to steam, which flew up the chimney.

  “How long’ve you been on the road?” asked the second man, clearly a merchant of some kind, and not a poor one.

  Thomas related the story of the last few days, careful to omit mention of anything he felt might prejudice them against him, or his father.

  The first man, introducing himself as Major Bright, stood up and in a single, gentle motion, removed Katy’s waterlogged cloak and hung it on the mantle. “When did you eat last?”

  “Not too long ago,” said Thomas.

  “Pride always has a full belly,” said Tiffin, staring into the fire. “We haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

  “And you’ve been walking all that way since?”

  Tiffin flashed a glance at his brother, challenging him to deny it. Thomas simply hung his head.

  The Major turned to Tiffin. “And he’s been carrying her the while?”

  Tiffin nodded.

  The men looked at each other. “Well, America’s a long way off, you know. While bellies full of air might keep you afloat, it’d only be long enough to drown without some food in ‘em as well. Hetty!”

  With ill grace, Hetty took the Major’s order for oatcakes, thick milk, marrow-bone stew, and ham. “You’re wastin’ ye’r money on the likes o’ these,” she said, tossing a spiteful glance at Thomas in particular. “Encourage beggin’ an’ ye’ll have the whole blessed county pickin’ y’er pockets.”

  “We have money,” said Thomas.

  “Aye, sure ye do . . . a liar and beggar both, he is,” she nodded toward the men in self-affirmation.

  Tiffin drew out the fistful of shillings and displayed it.

  “Thieves!” said the woman immediately. “What’d I tell ye!?”

  “That’s a lot of money, boy,” said the other man, regarding Tiffin closely with an interrogatory tilt of the head. “How’d you come by it?”

  Tiffin explained without embroidering the facts in the least.

  “Well,” said the Major. “You put that back in your pocket.” He regarded Tiffin’s costume, “or wherever you keep it . . . and save it for another day. This meal’s the treat of Mr. Castor,” he nodded at his friend, who smiled and nodded back, “and myself.”

  He could see that Thomas was about to object and held up a pre-empting hand. “I know that, as gentlemen yourselves, you’ll accept the offer of other gentlemen with good will.”

  “And hearty appetite,” said Mr. Castor.

  “In that case, I’m gentleman enough for my sister and me,” said Tiffin. “Thomas will have to decide for himself.”


  The men, impressed by the impertinence and unexpected eloquence of the younger boy, laughed warmly. “Well said, lad. Well, and here it comes.”

  Hetty, every inch the shrew, brought the food to the table and set it before the men. “That’ll be eight pence,” she said, holding out her hand.

  “Eight pence!” said the Major.

  “If they’re payin’, aye,” said the woman. “Money so easy come by should be easy let go.”

  “And if we pay?” said Mr. Castor, with a twinkle in his eye.

  “Fourpence three farthings.”

  The Major counted out the money and dropped it in her open palm. “We’re paying.”

  Indignant, Hetty turned and sashayed away, or as nearly as someone of her bony, hen-like demeanor could approximate. The Major bent close across the table and gestured the boys to lean in. “She’s not had an easy life, has Hetty,” he whispered. “You mustn’t be too hard on her.”

  “At the same time,” Mr. Castor cautioned, “don’t imagine there’s a heart of gold beneath that exterior of pumice and brimstone. If there is, I’ve never seen evidence of it . . . and I’ve known Hetty since the egg!” He raised his voice. “Isn’t that right, Hetty!”

  “What’re you on about?” said Hetty from the bar.

  “We’re just discoursing on your many charms to these young people.”

  “Take another drink,” Hetty snapped, “an’ ye’ll have an excuse fer ye’r foolishness.”

  The children gorged their eyes on the feast set before them. Apparently, things weren’t as lean all over Ireland as they’d been at home. “Well,” said Mr. Castor, “tuck in . . . but eat slow, or you could make yourself sick.”

  The Conlans hadn’t eaten so well, or been so warm, or felt so welcome, in a very long time. The men, both English, oddly enough – which had Thomas examining some personal notions – were convivial and seemed to take a genuine interest in their situation.

  “It’s not an easy crossing, you know,” said the Major, stroking Katy’s head at the conclusion of the meal. “I’ve taken it myself a time or two, and in much better conditions than you’re about to endure. And it wasn’t easy. Do you think this little one is up to it?”

  “There’s no choice,” said Thomas. “We’ve got free passage in one hand and nothing in the other.”

  The man nodded. “Of course. Well, I’m sure, young as you are, you’ll adapt quickly to life aboard ship. I will tell you this, try to be first aboard, and when you select your berth, choose one near ventilation of some sort rather that near a fire.”

  This seemed contrary to reason, to Thomas. “But, won’t it be cold?”

  “As to cold, we’ll have Hetty bundle up a couple of blankets for you,” said Mr. Castor.

  “As to the fire,” said the Major, “when the noise and mess of meals are done, it’s the place where drinkers and brawlers congregate.”

  “Not conducive to rest. And too much smoke, anyway. You’d be sick all the time.”

  “And get on the good side of the cabin boy, if he has one,” the Major advised in conclusion. “The crew may salute the captain, but he might as well be God for all you’ll see of him. No, the power to make your journey bearable . . . or intolerable . . . lies with the cabin boy.”

  By the time the last of the dishes were taken away – for all she may have been both mean and disagreeable, Hetty was a good cook – their clothes were dry and Katy’s fever had dissipated. Thomas, who had never been in a pub before, had absorbed the surroundings, and the mistress’s taciturnity aside, was warmed by them.

  Fresh blankets tightly tied with course rope were provided, and the young people prepared to depart. First, Thomas asked directions to Queenstown and had Tiffin write them down. “Thank you, sirs,” he said, shaking their hands in turn. “You’ve been kinder than I’d expect of Englishmen, and that’s a fact.”

  Something about his comment must have amused the gentlemen, for they laughed aloud.

  “What I mean to say,” said Thomas, a bit abashed, “is we thank you. And if there’s anything we can do, you just look us up in America, and we’ll do it for you.”

  The Major smiled. “We will do that, young man. As to whatever little favors we’ve done, well, it’s been our pleasure and worth ten times the price in companionship alone.” He held the back of his hand confidentially against his lips, and leaned toward Tiffin. “You saved me from having to spend the entire evening trying to wring intelligent conversation out of this old windbag,” he said, with a jerk of his head toward his companion.

  “I heard that,” said Mr. Castor, “and I was thinking the same thing myself.”

  Both men laughed, then as Thomas gathered and distributed their things among them, the Major became serious. “We wish you the very best of fortune, Master Conlan,” he said. “You’ll allow us to supplement your fortune with this . . . ” He handed two sovereigns to Tiffin who, taking them, turned wide eyes to Thomas.

  “These are the biggest coins I’ve ever seen!”

  While they were thus occupied, Hetty was engaged in furtive conversation with a couple of young men at the bar. Thomas didn’t much like their looks, but as they left the pub shortly thereafter, thought nothing more of them.

  “Not so large they won’t fit in your pocket, are they?” said Mr. Castor.

  Tiffin tested the hypothesis. Wherever he put them, they apparently were secure.

  The Major sat back and slapped his knees. “Well done, lad. Now, you’d best be off if you hope to make Killgorlin by nightfall. It’s miles yet.”

  The trio made their way to the door when Katy, overcome by the impulse to express her gratitude, let go of her brothers’ hands and ran back to the fireside. There, she threw her arms around the neck of each flustered benefactor in turn and kissed them loudly on the cheek. “Fer all y’er Englishmen and devils,” she said softly, and with touching sincerity. “I’ll pray y’er souls get to heaven anyway.”

  For a moment, the men were too astonished to say anything, then smiling broadly, the Major patted her on the head. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to us, child. May the Good Lord hold you to your promise, hear? For I surely shouldn’t want to miss the chance of your companionship in heaven.”

  “That’s where me Mum and Papa are.”

  Mr. Castor pulled the hood of Katy’s cape up over her head. “Then it must be heaven indeed, lass. Now, you be good and do as your brothers say, hear?”

  Katy nodded, her whole wardrobe nodding with her, ran to the door and, before taking a brother in each hand, curtsied awkwardly to Hetty, who glared at them from behind the bar. “Thank you, Ma’am. The food was very good.”

  “Stolen meat is always sweetest,” Hetty snapped, then rounding the bar with a cautious glance at the Englishmen, who were mounting the stairs to their rooms, she leaned close to Thomas. “You’ve not pulled the wool over my eyes, laddie. And when those chasin’ after ye . . . an’ I know they are, fer all y’er starin’ at the door an’ startin’ like a scared rabbit every time it opened . . . I’ll be tellin’ ‘em ye stole from me. Aye, that I will, and ye’ll have no fine gentlemen to say me naught. It’ll be my word, as a respectable lady of this town. So remember that . . . whatever happens to ye, ye’d best nivver darken this door again, or I’ll have ye up on charges. All of ye!”

  Thomas was bewildered by the woman’s unconcealed hatred of them, but the mystery was nearly forgotten once the door slammed behind them. The world they stepped into was not the same one from which they’d sought refuge. The rain had passed, and the late afternoon sun, spilling like liquid gold over the hillside, was filling the valley with warmth. They were reasonably dry. Their bellies were full. Their fortune had been more than quadrupled with the addition of two sovereigns – more than enough to provide necessities for the voyage and set them up for a month or more in Boston once they got there – and, best of all, Katy’s fever had broken. She fairly skipped across the cobblestone street that led out of town.
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  In the space of an hour, life had turned around.

  Traveling along a proper road, with virtually no other traffic and Katy able to walk on her own, the miles were passing quickly. Once in Killorglin, perhaps they could find a barn to sleep in and straw to lie on.

  As they drew near the outskirts, however, Thomas began to feel a tingling at the back of his neck, as if someone was watching them, following them. Surveying the lights crowning the hill ahead, which suggested a town far bigger than any he’d ever seen, Hetty’s words returned in full force, and the tingle on his neck became a shiver up his spine. He could practically feel the woman’s breath as she hissed her hate-filled words in his face. He had no doubt that she would fulfill her threats if given the chance. His mind told him there was no one following, but his imagination was winning the argument to convince him otherwise.

  “This way,” he said, making out a sheep trail leading into the valley.

  “Why?” said Tiffin. “The town’s straight on.”

  “I smell trouble there,” said Thomas. “That’s why.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “How do I know? It’s just a feeling.”

  “I think if we knocked at one of these farmhouses, they’d let us sleep in a barn or a loft,” Tiffin argued. “Maybe even someplace with a fire.”

  Thomas had taken Katy’s hand and pulled her up the path. “We’re going this way.”

  Tiffin knew when debate was pointless. He fell in behind his brother and sister. “What’s this way?”

  “I don’t know,” said Thomas. “Maybe a shepherd’s hut or something. We’ll see.”

  “Can you see where we’re going?”

  “Well enough.”

  “I hope so.”

  “I can’t see nothin’,” said Katy. “And I’m steppin’ in sheep shite all the time.”

  “Oh, nice language for a lady!” said Thomas, giving a sharp tug at Katy’s hand.

  “That’s what Papa calls it,” Katy replied, somewhat chastised, “it smells like sheep shite.”

  Tiffin laughed.

  “You shut it,” said Thomas. “If she thinks it’s funny, we’ll never hear the end of it.”