An Irish Girl

by Marilyn Hering

  “And what sins do you wish to confess, my child?”

  He had immediately recognized Tara’s voice. But they both knew that whatever she told him in the confessional would never be known to any other human being.

  “I’m going to dinner with—a—British—officer. I feel I’m betraying my greatest love, Ireland, by doing this.” She broke down in tears. “But, father, since the potato rot we’ve only eaten one piece of bread a day to conserve for the worse days ahead. We have hardly any money and don’t know what will happen when the landlord comes to collect the rent. The money I do make goes to my mother’s doctor. My father and brother go out and look for work. But there is none. My thought is if I stuff myself at this dinner I can do without a piece of bread for myself for at least three days and that would be more for them. But this man—he’s British.”

  “Of course, you aren’t committing a sin. First of all what you’re doing for your family is a beautiful thing and the Lord, I know, blesses you for it. And hard as these times are and what you are doing, you must remember God loved the sinner, if you still think you have committed a sin. What I want you to do is pray for this Britisher so he sees the evil of his ways and gives us the freedom we deserve. That will be your penance. Say a rosary for him. And what is this you say of your mother? Isn’t she well?”

  “She has tuberculosis, father, but not the type that spreads. It’s getting worse and worse. My da and brother don’t know, though now that she’s laid up in bed, I’m sure they suspect it’s something serious.”

  He did not speak for a time.

  Finally he said, “I will pray for her every day. You have no real sins but say another rosary for your mother.”

  “I thank you, father.”

  Then he smiled. “And, my dear, accept as many dinners as you can get.”

  “Because of your permission, father, I will. I will.”

  He closed the confession box opening, and she sighed. She took out her rosary and went to the altar, praying for Captain Litchfield and then for her mother, feeling joy at having been absolved from the sins of the world.

  Father Boyle sighed heavily for Tara did not know, most likely would never know, that she was his daughter

  Saturday arrived. Though she hated lying to her mother and father, she told them she would be later that night because Miss Rouche needed her help on a rush order.

  “Then I’ll come for you, say around eight. I don’t like you riding home in the dark,” her father said.

  “No. It’s all right. I’m not afraid. And I’m sure it won’t be that long.” She was sorry her parents would be worrying about her for she knew she would probably be longer than expected. But she had no choice.

  Her mother smirked. “I hope she’s planning to give you some extra pay for it.” She began to cough, much more heavily than usual. Tara was glad she would be paid today so that she would have the money to take her mother to the doctor next week, although, as usual, she would complain and say they could use the money for other needs.

  Saturday night arrived and she rode Chestnut to LaVie Restaurant and tied him up in the back of the restaurant. As she stood waiting in front, she could not help but notice its impressive outside. Two large, tall, beautifully trimmed bushes graced each side of the door. The name of the restaurant was painted in gold gilt and the restaurant held a glass plating with the menu printed on it in gold lettering. She guessed the building must have been made of sandstone and it was painted in dark blue, which enhanced its gold lettering. As she stood waiting in front, a carriage pulled up and Captain Litchfield descended. He looked so debonair in his black, knee-high boots, navy blue pants, and red jacket adorned with gold braid. He beamed approvingly at her.

  “You look lovely.”

  “I’m afraid my dress is a little big. I’ve lost some weight.”

  “I think you look just fine.”

  When they entered the door, which was held open for her by the doorman, Tara was transfixed by the sparkling chandelier in the center of the room’s ceiling which reminded her of hundreds of diamonds. She noticed the wallpaper was a maroon and white stripe with a hand-painted border of flowers—roses, daffodils, hyacinths, marigolds,—so many others surrounding the room. She observed each table was adorned with a pitcher of fresh flowers and the dining plates and rest of the dinnerware was trimmed in gold. She could not understand why each place setting was surrounded on three sides by a total of five pieces of silverware. She would have to watch and see what Captain Litchfield used.

  Every eye in the room watched her as she was guided to her seat by the waiter. Who was this beautiful girl in such a somewhat dowdy dress? She certainly wasn’t a local girl and must be from the surrounding area. Daughters of the mothers and fathers who were there looked quite despondent. Captain Litchfield was so handsome and a great catch, since his mother and father, Countess and Count Litchfield, owned Carlyle Hill.

  The waiter handed them a menu, rather large and gold trimmed.

  “I must say the food here is excellent,” Litchfield smiled.

  She had no idea what to choose and some of the dishes looked like they were in a foreign language.

  ‘Why don’t you choose for me?”

  “Well, what do you like?”

  “I love fish. It’s so terrible how they kill animals and actually eat them.”

  He ordered salmon Lyonaise for her and the same for himself, feeling it would make her feel more comfortable.

  He thanked the powers that be he hadn’t ordered steak, lamb, or pork!

  “Won’t you tell me more about yourself?”

  “Well, there isn’t much to tell. You know I work for Miss Rouche. And I love flowers and animals.”

  “I noticed the beautiful red roses embroidered across the neckline of your dress. Did you embroider them?”

  “I did,” she blushed. “Red roses are my favorite flower. Someday I’m going to have a garden just filled with them.”

  “I don’t doubt it. You seem like the kind of girl who, when she puts her mind to it, succeeds.”

  “And of course I have my pets—Tessie, my pig; Deborah, Danny, Dooley and Donahue, my sheep. Donahue is pregnant so we’ll be birthing a lamb soon. It’s so exciting.” She clasped her hands together in glee. “And there’s Bessie and Tessie, our cows.”

  “And, of course, we have two horses, Spotty and Chestnut, who’s my horse.”

  “And how have you been faring with—the famine?”

  “We’re holding on. I’m so grateful for my job. It allows me to buy a loaf of bread each week and each day we have a piece.”

  “Good Lord! Is that all you eat? No wonder you look so thin.”

  “Well, we need to use the rest for my mother’s doctor. She isn’t well at all. She has tuberculosis. But don’t be afraid. It’s not the contagious kind. I also have a father and brother who’ve been searching for work for weeks. But there’s nothing. And what about you?”

  He realized this was not the time to delve into his childhood upbringing and background.

  “Oh, I’ve been in the Guards five years. Last year I was made a captain. And I’ve traveled and been stationed in many places—Tunisia, Egypt, Arabia, France.”

  She brought her hand to her chest.

  “You should be very proud of that. I doubt I’ll see any of those places. But it’s too bad you’re British.’’

  “Let’s not talk about political things. It will ruin our evening, I’m sure. But I must say I’m quite disturbed by the famine and what’s it’s doing to the Irish people. It’s heartbreaking. I want to see these terrible conflicts resolved. Why can’t we all live together in peace? I sound like an idealist I suppose.”

  She looked upon his face and saw genuine sorrow upon it. She realized immediately this man was not the typical Britisher.

  Dinner was served. She plunged into the sa
lmon with her fingers she was so hungry. The string beans and baked potato that came with it were eaten in no time. She saw the supercilious glances of people around her as she chewed the food but did not care. Captain Litchfield was eating his that way when he saw her doing it, so it must be correct.

  For dessert they had a caramel pudding with a dollop of whipped cream on it. She noticed he picked up a spoon to eat it, and so she did too.

  They talked for quite a time. He told her about where his mother and father were born, about his childhood but steered away from any indication of his wealth.

  When the check arrived, she saw it was twenty pounds; he paid quickly and left a generous tip. She had never seen that much money in her life.

  “I’ve had such a wonderful time being with you,” he said.

  She did not respond as he hoped she might.

  “Thank you so much for the dinner. Now I won’t have to eat for at least three days and that food can go to my family.”

  “You have a beautiful heart.”

  His eyes looked misty.

  He walked her to the back of the restaurant to Chestnut and helped her mount him. He kissed her hand and she could feel the passion sinking through him as he did.

  She rode home carefully on Chestnut, the leaves of the trees ink blots against a dark gray sky. She looked up at the stars and experienced such contentment for she felt nothing, except gratitude for the wonderful evening she had. If only Captain Litchfield were not British, in time she might have cared for him. He treated her like a lady and she certainly was not used to that.

  The following Saturday morning, with fear within her, she brought her mother to the doctor. The room they finally entered was white and sterile with a large white cabinet in the corner holding a stethoscope and various other instruments. Kathleen sat down on the edge of the cold examining table.

  “Good morning, Kathleen.” Doctor Beel smiled at her. He noticed a pale coloring upon her face which he had not observed the last time they met.

  “Will you please remove your blouse so I can check your lungs with my stethoscope?”

  She did so and he moved the stethoscope to her chest in six different places. Then he did the same as he examined her back.

  “You can put your blouse on now. As you can probably guess by the probable progress of your cough, your condition is worsening. Ideally you should be placed in hospital but we know that you’d never agree to that. Am I right?”

  “Yes. We could never afford it.”

  “So I’m ordering you to go home, take to your bed, and stay there.” He glanced at Tara. Then he went to the cabinet and produced a medicine. “Take this every five hours without fail.”

  Kathleen wrenched her hands.

  “But I can’t be bedridden. There’s too much I have to do. I—”

  “She’ll do as you say, doctor. Believe me.” Tara interrupted.

  “Kathleen, would you get dressed and wait for me in the outer office? I’d like to talk to Tara.”

  After she left and closed the door, he turned to Tara. “I’m afraid your mother’s situation is very grave. I’d give her a few weeks or so and then you will find blood in her sputum. After after that let us hope she’ll last a month more, if we’re lucky.”

  “Dear God! That soon?”

  “I’m afraid so.” He placed his arm upon her shoulder.

  “The fact that she’s eaten so little with the famine doesn’t help either. Though not contagious, this type of tuberculosis usually has a good prognosis, but the fact that she’s waited months upon months to come see me is working against her.”

  ‘You know how stubborn she can be about doctors, about doing anything for herself.”

  “I certainly do.”

  “Please, doctor, don’t tell my father or my brother the length of her illness. They couldn’t bear it. I’ll know what to tell them when the time comes. I think it’s because she still insists on doing so much, even with this awful cough, that it progressed faster. She hasn’t slowed down a bit. But, believe me, she will now.”

  Tara and her mother walked home in silence. The breeze fell softly upon them, the trees moving their leaves so soothingly in a myriad of colors. A scarlet cardinal flew past them. Her mother pointed at it and smiled, then observed the daffodils growing here and there with their faces bathing in the sun. And soon Tara knew her mother would never see this beauty again, never see her beloved Ireland again. She tried to regain her composure.

  “The doctor said that your staying in bed and eating as much as possible is the key to your recovery. And faithfully taking your medicine, of course. That’s what will give you strength—and hope you’ll recover.”

  Her mother smiled at her.

  “Yes, I’m very hopeful.”

  She did not notice Tara’s tear-filled eyes.

  1846

  1846 arrived, and another year of rotted potatoes. And famine. Yet, the beginning of hopefulness engulfed the Irish people. There was the establishment of a Relief Commission and food was brought into the country at long last. However, the Irish knew nothing of the strict limitation of that relief and thought the government was finally going to help them. They began to have confidence in the British and believed they would be issued free food.

  Six months passed since the rot infested the potatoes, and in many areas people began to starve, eating anything they could,—food that stank, diseased potatoes that brought sickness and death to their pigs and cattle. In some areas they were eating food so putrid they had to leave the doors and windows of their homes open. Soon illness, including fever from eating diseased potatoes,; made the situation worse in every county. Then came dysentery and fever.

  Boards of Guardian finally set up fever hospitals, but it was not a permanent measure. It expired in September of that year.

  The potato famine also endangered the payment of rents; a large population of the Irish was to prove unprofitable to their landlords and they were eager to rid their property of tenants who could not pay the rent. People were officially called upon by British officers for collection of rents, and their houses were demolished. They watched in horror as their roofs were destroyed, their walls crushed to pieces. Women wept as they clung to their destroyed property, clinging to shattered doors. The British forcibly removed them, children screaming with fright, husbands standing dazed and helpless. That night they slept in the ruins. The next day the foundations of their houses were razed, and no neighbor who had been able to pay the rent was allowed to take them in.

  It became common for the evicted to create what they called “a scalp.” They dug a deep hole in the earth, approximately three to four feet deep and wide, its roof composed of sticks and pieces of turf, and in this burrow the family lived. The evicted, when discovered, were hunted out and punished.

  Tara looked out the door of their cottage watching as the British soldiers on their steeds placed condemned notices on most of them. She knew soon they would be approaching theirs. They had barely managed to pay the rent last year, but, finally, this month they could not for she was using any extra money she received from working for Miss Rouche for extra food for her mother. She lay, wide eyed on the makeshift bed they had made for her near the warmth of the turf burning. Her father paced the floor helplessly; her brother, Patrick sat in a chair crying.

  The sound of the loud thump on their door filled them with terror.

  “Open the door! Rent is due!”

  Her father opened the door.

  “We don’t have it.”

  He began to ready the notice of condemnation and preparing to place it on their door.

  “No! Please!”

  She ran toward the officer; she was desperate. Then she immediately recognized him. It was Captain Litchfield.

  Their eyes met.

  “I swear we’ll have it next time,” she pleaded.

 
She could see the look of passion on his face, though he tried to disguise it. He delved into his pockets and brought out two large piles of coins and placed them on the table.

  “Consider your rent paid,” was all he said. Then he turned and left.

  They were dumbfounded, all except Tara. And she knew why.

  The Irish decided they would no longer take the treatment they had received from the British. Frightening reports began to reach the various villages. Starting at the beginning of April there had been in Kerry, Galway and Killarney Irishmen starting to gather in groups of hundreds of men led by their new, emerging leader, John Connally. A ship carrying provisions was plundered on the Fergus River. At Mitcheltown, a mob of about a hundred women and children held up carts going to the Commissariat store, slashed open the meal bags and stole approximately two tons. Similar events took place in the western and southern half of Ireland as well as some districts in the east. The only thing taken was food. The Relief Committee of the Gentlemen of Cork announced that on a trial basis Indian corn would be on sale. The result was startling. A huge crowd gathered and there was an amazing rush for the meal. A riot almost took place after they ran out of it. The Relief Commissioners, terrified by the shock of such mass hunger and also fearing an attack upon the Commission itself would allow no further distribution. The Commission later estimated four million people would have to be given food during, May, June, and July before the new crop of potatoes, they assumed, was edible. This, of course, was an impossibility.

  Although the situation of the famine haunted Tara every day and she was grateful to still be working for Miss Rouche, she continued to see Captain Litchfield who seemed to believe that perhaps in time Tara would grow to love him. The main daily concern she had on her mind was her mother’s illness. This beautiful, blue-eyed, auburn-haired woman turned into a skeleton with eyes closed most of the time, her lovely auburn hair now a dull lusterless gray. Patrick, Liam and she took turns sitting by her cot, now aware with the large gobs of blood that emanated from her each time she coughed that the end was near. Her mother could no longer speak. Tara also worried about her father who seemed in a daze. She turned to Patrick,