by Charles Egan
She was curious. Perhaps this was one of the things that most attracted him to her. Kitty had never left Mayo. She had only ever lived on the Cunnane farm, and the Brennan farm after she married Fergus. But she wanted to see more of the world. She questioned him about the railways. Bath and Bristol and Corsham. Redhill, Ashford and Dover. And the big cities too – Dublin, Liverpool, Birmingham, London, she wanted to know all about them. He knew this was dangerous. If she ever hinted to her in-laws what she knew, they would wonder how she had found out. Perhaps she was too smart for that.
But it brought a deeper dissatisfaction in her, and it unsettled him too. Already he had the urge to leave Mayo, but Kitty’s constant probing only intensified it.
He found it incredible too that an older woman, so much more experienced, could love him above anyone else. Slowly he got to know her better. She had a wildness about her, but she was self-willed too, with a strong determination to see things through. How could she be so loving and gentle. Perhaps her strength came from fear. Would he ever know?
One day, they lay together, huddled close to keep out the cold.
‘You know,’ Luke said, ‘in one way we’re married already.’
She did not answer.
‘If you think about it, we were both god-parents to Brigid. Godmother and godfather. Surely we’re married in that way.’
Still she did not reply. He realised she was crying. Her eyes were closed. He shook her by the shoulder. ‘What’s wrong?’
She opened her eyes. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘Brigid. So small, so weak, I wanted to take her in my arms. And then to be her godmother. It was only right.’
‘Of course, alanna. Of course it was.’
She shook her head. ‘But I haven’t seen her for so long. I want to see her.’
He patted her head and stroked her, running his fingers through her hair. ‘But why don’t you, my love? Mother would be delighted. She understands.’
‘It’s not that though.’
‘No?’
‘It’s you.’
‘Me?’
‘Yes, you. How could I go to your house, meet with your mother and father with you there. They’d know at once. I just couldn’t do it.’
‘Yes, I suppose you’re right. I wouldn’t be able to do it either.’
‘But we’ll have to. We must.’
‘But…why?’ he asked. ‘Why must we?
‘Brigid – she’s why. She’s all we’ve left of Nessy. Nothing else.’
‘Yes…I know. You were very close to her.’
‘Closer than you could ever imagine. I don’t think I could ever explain it to you.’
‘I understand.’
‘No you don’t,’ she said. ‘She was my friend. And I killed her.’
‘Killed her! Don’t be silly. How can you even think that?’
‘It was that Corrigan bastard. If I hadn’t encouraged her, she’d be alive today. A real charmer, he was, just like Fergus.’
Her face crumpled again. He pulled her head in against his shoulder.
Afterwards they lay in the hay together, a rough blanket over and under them. He was drowsy, drifting away to sleep. She tickled him under the arm.
‘You remember that first morning together?’
‘How could I forget!’
‘There was something I never told you. Then or since.’
‘What was that?’ he asked, still only half awake.
‘That I’d always loved you. Even years back.’
‘Arra what? You expect me to believe that?’
‘It’s true,’ she said, her eyes watering.
‘True!’ Luke exclaimed, awake now. ‘If it’s true, wouldn’t you have waited?’
‘Oh, God,’ she said, turning her face away, ‘how can I ever explain it to you. You were only a lad when you left. You’re not much older now.’
‘Oh, thanks. Was it young lads you were after then?’
‘Not any young lad. I just remembered you as a lad, but I knew you were different. And you had gone away.’
‘I had to,’ he said. ‘You know that as well as I do. We could have lost the farm back then.’
‘I know, I know. But whichever…you’d gone away and Fergus was here. And you know Fergus. Always out for a laugh.’
‘Yes, yes. I’m mad jealous, but…’
‘But still you liked him.’
He thought about that. ‘Yes. I suppose I did. Not that I can remember much of him now.’
They fell silent. Then she leant across, kissing him on the lips. ‘I want to talk to you.’
‘About what?’
‘About us. What’s going to happen?’
He stared at the branches above him. ‘Damned if I know,’ he said. ‘Fergus will come home, or maybe he won’t. Maybe with all the hunger he’ll reckon it’s better to stay in England and make money for corn. Who knows?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘If only he’d stay away. And here we are, hoping for more hunger to keep him working on the railways. Starve and be happy.’
He slapped her. ‘Stop that. Stop it now. We’ll have no more wishing hunger on anyone. It’ll be a good harvest, and that’s all about it.’
She stared at him. ‘You hit me.’
‘I’m sorry. It’s just there’s enough suffering about without wishing for more.’
‘So what then? A good harvest? Then Fergus comes home, and we leave? Is that it?’
He thought about that. He shook his head. ‘I don’t know, my love. I just don’t know.’
Leave Mayo? He wondered if Danny was right. If perhaps he had been right all along.
As they parted, he walked towards the Ryan’s bog. Kitty started towards the Knockanure road. But she stopped and turned, watching him in the distance and thinking. Then she took one of the back roads, well behind the bog.
Eleanor had been preparing the feed for the hens. She was startled by a knock at the door.
‘Kitty, child.’
‘There’s no one in, is there?’ Kitty asked.
‘Only the baby.’
There was a long silence.
‘Are you alright?’ Eleanor asked in alarm.
‘For sure,’ Kitty replied. ‘Can I come in?’
‘Of course you can.’
She entered, cautious.
‘The rest – will they be out for long?’
‘What’s that – out for long? Sure the day’s only half gone. No, they won’t be back till they know their food is ready for them.’
‘It’s just that I wouldn’t want them knowing I’m here.’
‘Why ever not?’
Kitty did not answer. Still she stood, looking to Eleanor and then towards the blanket dividing the cabin.
‘Can I see her?’
‘Is that what’s wrong with you?’ Eleanor asked.
‘It’s just how I’d like to see her.’
‘Well, come on then.’
They both stepped behind the blanket. The baby was asleep, but awoke as they approached. She looked at the two women and started to cry. Eleanor took her up, leaning her into her shoulder, and patted her head.
‘There, there, little Brigid. There’s no need to cry.’
The baby quietened.
‘Can I hold her?’
‘Of course you can,’ Eleanor said, passing her over. The baby had started to cry again, but like Eleanor, Kitty held her into her shoulder, swinging from the hips and crooning. When Brigid had quietened again, she sat on the bed holding the baby in her lap, and for a long time she said nothing at all.
She left well before the men returned for their meal.
When Michael and Luke had eaten and gone again, Eleanor cleared the table and washed the dishes. Then she walked to the cot, took the baby out, and held her on her kne
e. She smiled, rubbing the baby’s lips. For the first time in her life, the baby smiled. Eleanor looked at Brigid, amazed. Then she spoke to her, still smiling and laughing. The baby’s smile widened. Eleanor continued playing with the baby, thinking.
A few minutes later, she stood up, holding the baby out from her.
‘Come on there, little Brigid. It’s time to see your granny. And you’re to keep smiling now, do you hear?’
With that she held the child to her bosom, the shawl wrapped around her, and opened the door. As she left, she took the flagon of poitín, and held it with the baby under her shawl. She walked up past the school where she could hear the chanting of children’s voices. She went on to the schoolmaster’s house and went in without knocking.
Aileen had her back to her. She was hunched over her loom, the shuttle rattling backwards and forwards.
‘Look who I’ve got here, Aileen.’
Aileen turned around, startled. She stared at the baby, a look of fear on her face. ‘I can’t take it. I won’t have it.’
Eleanor hid her own concern and laughed. ‘No one’s asking you to take her,’ she answered. ‘She only came up for a visit, didn’t you Brigid? Wanted to see your gran, didn’t you.’ She smiled at the baby, tickling her under the chin. A smile spread across the baby’s face.
‘She’s not mine, I tell you.’ The shuttle was rattling again.
‘Not yours! Would you listen to her, Brigid. Of course she’s not yours. She belongs to all of us. Don’t you, little girl?’
The baby smiled again. The rattling continued though.
‘And look what Brigid brought along for her Aunty Aileen.’
‘You said I was her granny.’
‘It doesn’t matter to her. You can be the one or the other. She brought you a present anyhow.’
Aileen looked around. She spotted the flagon, and the rattling stopped. ‘Wasn’t it very good of her,’ she said, still sarcastic.
‘Of course it was,’ Eleanor said. ‘She’s a very good baby.’ She took two mugs, pouring a measure of poitín into each. ‘Here you are. Brigid insists.’
Aileen looked at the poitín. Eleanor held her breath, still trying to hold her smile. Then Aileen grasped the mug and drank. She placed the mug back on the table, gasping from the harshness of the unwatered poitín.
‘And what about the baby,’ she said. ‘If she’s so smart, why doesn’t she have a mug?’
‘She’s only being kind,’ Eleanor said, ‘offering you first.’ She dipped her finger in her own mug and dabbed the strong spirit on the baby’s lips. Brigid’s face puckered, and she went as if to cry.
‘There, there,’ Eleanor said. ‘Don’t cry, alanna.’
‘At least she doesn’t think it’s mother’s milk,’ Aileen said.
‘No,’ Eleanor said. ‘And that might be no bad thing either.’
She laid the baby in Aileen’s lap. Brigid looked at Aileen’s face and again made as if to cry.
‘Stop that now, little Brigid,’ Eleanor said. ‘That’s Aileen. She’s a friend.’
The baby looked from one woman to the another.
‘Smile at her, Aileen.’
Aileen looked at the child and tried to smile. Once again, a wide smile spread over the baby’s face. Eleanor said nothing. After a few minutes, Aileen hugged the child into her breast.
‘I can’t keep her. You know that,’ she said.
‘Of course you can’t. Don’t I know. But sure we’ll take care of the little mite. She’ll still come to visit. Won’t you, Brigid?’
Aileen nodded. ‘Aye, I’d like that.’
Eleanor found a blanket, folded it three times, and spread it on the table. When the child was asleep, they laid her on the blanket, and Eleanor covered her with her shawl. Then she placed the two mugs beside the baby and filled them again.
An hour later, Murty returned. The two women were giggling. He looked from one to the other.
‘God, we’re finished now,’ he said. ‘Taken to the bottle, the pair of them.’ He picked up another mug and filled it with poitín.
It was late when Eleanor left Murty and Aileen. For the first time in years she was quite intoxicated. She returned home and put Brigid to bed. Luke and Michael both seemed surprised to see her drunk, but said nothing. She took out her pipe and smoked, looking into the turf fire. After a while, she stood.
‘The turf’s running low,’ she said, and walked out to the turf rick.
The night was clear, stars shining, the Milky Way arching overhead.
Then she stopped dead, and stood still. High over the Mountain, the sky was swirling with yellow and green.
Watching the aurora, her mind divided between wonder and terror. She thought of returning to Murty and Aileen, but dismissed the thought. Aileen was too superstitious. She would remember the last time they had seen the aurora and what had followed. That was all a long time ago.
1839:
On Little Christmas, it snowed.
It was cold when Luke and Pat went out for the milking. When they were finished, Eleanor joined them, and they walked down to Kilduff for the first Mass. There were few up so early. Around them, the fields were white, rising up the mountain to a metallic grey sky of heavy cloud. They walked briskly to keep warm, their breath condensing on the cold air.
Far to the west, there was a deepening depression in the ocean. The pressure at its heart had dropped to levels almost unknown in the north-eastern Atlantic. The winds had reached Storm Force. The storm was moving eastwards, pushing a warm front before it.
When they came out of the church, the snow had vanished. It was far too warm for January.
‘I’ve never seen snow go that fast,’ Pat said.
‘Me neither,’ Luke said.
As the depression moved towards the east, the warm air drifted upwards, and was replaced by a cold front carrying torrential rain. The pressure behind had dropped further. The winds in the ocean were at Violent Storm Force.
During the afternoon, there was a strong wind from the west. The temperature dropped again as it started to rain heavily. The family sat inside, listening to the drumming of the rain outside.
‘If it goes on like this,’ Michael said, ‘the hay will be wet through. I’ve never heard it so heavy.’
As the storm crossed the coast of Ireland, the pressure at its centre had dropped again. Its winds were well over Hurricane Force and still strengthening.
They saw a pool forming inside the door. Luke went out and started shovelling wet clay around the outside of the door as the water still rose. It was no use. The water broke through under the door. Within seconds, half the kitchen was under water. Eleanor sat back by the fire with the rest, watching the water creeping up towards them. The door was rattling on its hinges.
‘We’ve got to save the hay,’ shouted Michael. ‘The wind will carry it away.’
Luke went to open the door. It slammed back against the wall, rain and hail peppering his face like shot. The wind knocked him backwards. The roof started to rise. ‘Shut the door,’ Michael screamed. Luke went out, dragging the door shut behind him. Michael and Pat followed, fighting the door open. They were carrying ropes and a ladder. Luke held the door as the ladder was manhandled out. He dragged it shut again, and they made their way towards the haggard, backing into the wind.
Alicia was crying. Eleanor sat by her cot and sang to quieten her. The storm was still coming to its climax. Then Michael returned, dragging Pat with him. Pat’s face was contorted with pain.
‘What’s wrong?’ Eleanor screamed.
‘His leg.’
Alicia was crying again.
They laid Pat on the bed, and Eleanor rolled up his trouser leg, looking at the deep gash from knee to shin. ‘What happened, Michael?’
‘The big tree in the haggard – it came down on top of him.�
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Eleanor went to the kitchen, poured well water into a pot, and swung it over the fire. ‘Where’s Luke?’
‘He’s just getting the cow and calf in. If they’re still there.’
There was an abrupt roar. The thatch had started to rise at the gable end of the house. Within seconds the flickering rush lamps were blown out, and the fire scattered across the kitchen.
‘Get out, get out,’ Michael screamed. ‘It’s going to come down.’
He grabbed Pat by one arm, pulled it around his shoulders, and dragged him towards the door. Eleanor took up the child, held her tight, and followed Michael. The child was screaming in terror.
‘There, there, little Alicia. You’ll be alright.’
‘The cowshed,’ Michael shouted through the roar of the storm. ‘Come on. It’s our only chance.’
Eleanor gasped as they came out of the shelter of the gable into the storm, and were swept sideways. The rain had stopped, but the wind still screamed through what was left of the trees. She turned her back into the wind, and crouching over the baby, she made a run for the cowshed. Michael dragged her inside.
‘Where’s Luke, Michael,’ she screamed again. ‘He’s not back – where is he?’
‘He’ll be back soon, I tell you. Don’t worry. You hold onto Alicia, and I’ll take care of Pat here.’ He laid Pat down on the straw. Just then they heard a crash as the roof of the house came down, bringing one of the gables down with it.
Michael went out again. He came back, pulling Luke in with him. He had been within seconds of entering the house as it collapsed. Eleanor laid the baby on the straw. She ran through the dark cowshed, tripping over straw and manure, and embraced him.
‘I thought we’d lost you, Luke. I thought you were gone.’
The roof on the cowshed held against the storm. For the rest of the night Eleanor lay with her back against a wall, holding Alicia in her arms, rocking her gently. She could hear her cries of terror above the scream of the wind.
It was dawn before the storm subsided to a regular gale. An hour later, Luke and Michael went outside. Three of the house walls still stood. The rainwater had receded and was draining out of the house. In the haggard, much of the hayrick was still trapped under the trees. There was no evidence of either the cow or her calf.