Under the Hawthorn Tree (3 page)

The woman raised her voice. She had moved away from the door. ‘We meant you no harm and God spare ye for we cannot stop. Come on, son, away from this place of sickness.’ The two gathered up their bundle of rags and set off down the lane.

Once the children were sure the danger was past they hugged each other.

‘Oh, Michael, what a funny brother you are,’ joked Eily. ‘How did you think of it? And yet you saved us all.’ Michael blushed pink even to the tips of his ears. ‘People will pay money to come and see you act. You’ll be a player, and famous too,’ added Eily.

With all the excitement, Peggy’s humour improved and she ran around the cottage making up songs about her brave brother.

The sky had begun to darken and the sun was going down when they heard another knock at the door. They all froze and could almost hear the pounding of each other’s hearts.

‘It’s me, children, it’s Mother.’

Quick as a flash, they opened the door and flung themselves at her, part in welcome and part in relief.

‘Wait, wait, you young scamps, don’t knock me over. Let me get my breath back,’ begged Mother. She had a few small parcels in her arms and she looked exhausted. Her hair hung loose around her face.

‘Mother, your combs – your beautiful combs, they’re gone too,’ cried Eily.

‘Your father always said he preferred my hair long and loose and free with the sun and the breeze through it. Well, now he’ll have his wish,’ said Mother, trying to smile.

‘What did you get? What did you get?’ asked Peggy, full of curiosity about what was in the parcels.

Mother put them up on the table and slowly opened each one. In times gone by the children would have paid no heed to Mother and her purchases from the village and would have kept on playing in the fields. But now their very lives depended on what was in those packages.

The largest was a bag of oatmeal. Then there was a bag with a few pounds of greyish-looking spuds, then a tub of lard, a few screws of salt, and lastly a small hard piece of dried beef. It wasn’t much.

‘There is a large sack of yellow meal too,’ added Mother, sensing their desperation. ‘Dan Collins said he would bring it over in the morning. He had
Moses with him and said it would save me the trouble of lifting it.’ Silence hung in the air.

‘Mother, it’s grand, really grand,’ assured Eily, kissing her mother and putting her arms around her neck. She put water on to boil – God knows, Mother deserved a sup of tea.

‘Put on a spud each to bake and we’ll all have a bit of dry beef too,’ said Mother, trying to cheer them up. She suddenly reached deep into the pocket of her apron and produced four rather battered-looking candles. She lit one and placed it on the table and put the others away on the dresser.

The turf fire burned warmly in the grate and the cottage glowed in the soft golden light of the candle. This was home, safe and sound. Spuds baking, it was almost like old times. Peggy sat on Mother’s lap, her thin face pressed to Mother’s breast.

‘Tell us a story, Mother, about when you were little before …’ Peggy stopped. ‘Please, Mother.’

Mother kissed her hair and told Michael and Eily to sit in near the fire. She was tired, but it was nice to remember.

‘Did I ever tell you about the time of my eighth birthday? Such a time, it was just lovely. My mother, your grandmother, had worked at making me the loveliest dress ever – it was sprigged cotton
and had the pattern of pale pink rosebuds against grey on it. It buttoned up the back and had a high collar with a lace ruffle and a lace petticoat to match. The day before, we called to my aunts Nano and Lena in their shop to invite them for tea. I can still see them standing in their white starched aprons, and fruit and pies and tarts spread out on the counter, and the shelf stacked with jams and preserves. Lords and ladies and gentlefolk and big farmers came from far afield to buy their confections and it was said that on market days you would hardly fit into the shop it was that busy. The aunts got very flushed when we walked in, and Mother winked at them.

‘On my birthday morning Mother and Father gave me a big package – I can still see it. I tore off the paper and inside there was a doll, a beautiful wooden doll with a proper face and hair, and, would you believe it, she had the same dress as mine and even the same pink ribbon in her hair. Oh, the wonder of it!

‘And then, later, a special tea. My Aunt Kitty and my four cousins came to tea. There were scones and fresh-baked bread and plum jam, and then Nano and Lena came and they had a tin with a special cake in it. It was covered in sugar icing and had tiny sweet violets laid on the top. I don’t think I’ve
ever seen anything as nice. We all clapped. Aunt Nano had baked the cake and Aunt Lena had decorated it. They were a great pair. Afterwards Father took out the fiddle and we all danced. My three brothers were as nice as pie and didn’t fight or shout all evening, and my Aunt Kitty gave us all a dancing lesson.’

Mother stopped. Three soft little faces were turned to her. She swallowed a lump in her throat. Would her little ones ever know such times? Their lives were so hard.

‘Come on, children, stir yourselves, the meal is ready.’

They savoured each mouthful, not caring that the potato was so hot it nearly burned their tongues. They cracked the crisp skin. They chewed the dry salted beef, washing it all down with a large mug of milk each. What a feast. They needed no cake after such a feast.

Eily and Michael cleared up and Mother helped Peggy undress for the night. The fire burned low and the candle cast flickering shadows on the wall. How Mother laughed when she heard about Michael, and praised them all on their level-headedness in the face of trouble. Peggy had dozed off. Mother carried her to the bed and tucked her in before settling down again.

‘Mother, what about the village?’ enquired Eily, wondering why Mother had avoided mentioning it all evening.

‘Oh, a ghile, what times have fallen on us all. Half the place is dying with the fever and the others have left their houses and taken to the roads, looking for work and food or just to escape the place. The whole O’Brien family is gone.’

‘You mean gone on the road, Mother?’ interrupted Eily.

‘No, a stór, into the ground every single one of them, all those five sons and Mary O’Brien, the kindest woman that ever lived. The Connors and Kinsellas have both left. Nell Kinsella had enough put by, and they plan to buy tickets and sail to America. No one knows where the Connors are. Francie O’Hagan has closed up her draper’s shop. She said what call would folk have for material and lace and clothing when they have hardly enough to put a bit of food in their children’s mouths.

‘Patsy Murphy, in the general store, was packed out – his store room was full of clothes and furniture and knick-knacks. You had to wait in a queue for your turn. There were two women with nothing to trade and not a penny either. Patsy is a good man, he gave them a few scoops of yellow meal each. I had to bargain with him. He could see
the fineness of the lacework and could tell Mother was a craftswoman – I put the combs in to seal the deal. All through the village there is hardly a sinner – not a child to be seen outdoors. The strange thing is there seem to be no animals either, the only ones I saw were Patsy’s horse and cart and Dan’s old Moses. Even the dogs have disappeared.

‘Poor Father Doyle is very bad and hasn’t stirred at all in weeks – his housekeeper Annie died a few days back. The few men that are left were sitting by the fire in Mercy Farrell’s, and not even one was having a sup of porter. I met Corney Egan – that poor man is nothing but a bag of bones. They wouldn’t take him for the roadworks, so there is nothing for him now. He told me that the roadworks were about twenty miles from the village and that a lot of the men around about are working there. He thinks that John is one of them. Imagine, your Father may be so near, and working. I should go to him and see if he is all right. He doesn’t know about Bridget or how bad things have got.

‘There is so much talk. Lord Edward Lyons and all his family have left and gone back to England and closed up the big house – only old Mags and her husband have been left to caretake the place. Jer Simmonds has total control over the farm and land
and can do what he likes about the lot of us. Tom Daly is his right-hand man. All the rest of the staff have been let go. Dan told me his daughter Teresa and son Donal have arrived back home as they’ve nowhere else to go. The world has gone crazy. To think – in a beautiful country like this, people are starving, children hungry. Men and women like ghosts walking the road and all afraid of catching the fever. Has the good Lord forgotten us?’

Eily felt a chill run down her back. She had never heard her gentle Mother talk so much or seem so upset and angry. Eily did not know what to say.

‘Then, Father is alive, he might come back to us with money and food and all kinds of things,’ blurted out Michael.

‘Michael, lovey, the roadworks are far far away. The men are weak and the work is hard. Your father is a strong hardy man, but breaking stones is the very divil. He’ll do his best for us all, that I can promise you. You miss him, we all miss him – say a prayer for him when you go to sleep tonight.’

With that Mother got up and went outside. Eily followed her. The sky was black and hundreds of stars twinkled up above.

‘Sometimes I wonder does God even know what is happening down here – his world is so vast and big,’ whispered Eily.

Mother reached out and put part of her shawl around Eily.

‘I know, pet, I wonder too. God acts in such strange ways and there is no sense to why life is so hard. We just have to make the best of what we have and each other and keep going,’ she said. She wrapped the shawl tightly around Eily, protecting her from the damp air. Eily had never felt so close to Mother.

CHAPTER 4

On Their Own

THE NEXT FEW DAYS
were busy. Michael went fishing in the river with Pat and his big brother Donal. They were away all day. Michael came home soaked to the skin, his teeth chattering. But, much to everyone’s surprise, from under his shirt he produced a large trout. They feasted on it for two days.

After a tip from Dan Collins, Eily and Mother rose very early on two mornings and walked up to the old cow pasture, to discover about a hundred wild mushrooms! With the addition of a spring onion added to the old yellow meal, they made a tasty enough dish. The rest of the mushrooms were despatched to Mary Kate’s for drying, as she often used them for her various potions. In exchange she gave them a full can of goat’s milk from Nanny, her only remaining goat.

Mother seemed restless and every day stood at the bottom of the lane, watching and waiting for an hour or so. The children pretended not to notice when she turned and walked slowly back to the cottage with tears in her eyes. After five days she told the children she was going to find Father.

‘I have to go to the works and find out what has happened. He may be sick or not be able to come for us. We have nothing left to trade or sell – how will we survive without help? It will be like the last time, but it may take a day or two.’

Eily was shocked by the enormity of her Mother leaving them, but accepted her decision.

‘Dan and Kitty will keep an eye on ye, but ye can’t go down to stay there as Teresa is coughing and I don’t want to take any chances. There’s enough to eat.’ An hour or two later, Mother took her heavy shawl and some food in her pockets and set off. They walked down to the end of the boreen with her. She hugged them each in turn.

‘Michael, my little man,’ said Mother, ruffling his hair, ‘and Eily, the little Mother, and Peggy, my baby – God keep ye safe.’

Eily could see Michael was upset. He kept biting his lip until it nearly bled. Peggy was like a wildcat. She clung to Mother and screamed and fought when Mother tried to leave her. Michael and Eily
had to hold her by the waist. The screaming quietened to huge sobs and she lay limp on the ground. They half-carried and half-dragged her back to the cottage. Her eyes and face were swollen with crying. Eily knew exactly how she felt and wished that she was still a small child and could scream and shout and let all her feelings out. But she was twelve and as the eldest had to take Mother’s place. For the rest of the day Peggy clung to her like a shadow. They all went to bed early, cuddling up together under the blankets.

‘I miss Mother, I want her. I want her now,’ cried Peggy.

‘Shush, Peggy. Shush, you must rest,’ said Eily reassuringly.

‘Tell me a story, Eily.’

‘I’m not so good on stories, Peggy.’

‘One of Mother’s stories about when she was young, and the aunts,’ pleaded Peggy.

Eily racked her brains. She smiled. ‘Did you ever hear tell about the two aunts and why they never married and ended up spinsters?’ began Eily.

Peggy relaxed against her.

‘Well, the two aunts were still living on the farm – this was before the shop – and they both got to know a fine young farmer called Ted Donnelly – he was a friend of their brothers. He liked them both,
even though they were opposites. Aunt Nano was small and plump with brown curly hair, and Aunt Lena was tall and thin with straight black hair. He started to court them. He had a big farm and was an only son. Well, the two aunts were both determined to marry him. Aunt Nano invited him to tea and the table was laden with a feast she had prepared – meat pies and bread and an apple tart and a fruit cake. However, the next week Aunt Lena went on a picnic with him and provided cooked chicken and scones and sweet cake and all kinds of fine things. Week in, week out, he had lunch or tea on the farm and they both made cakes for him, and his mother too called to visit.