The Blue Horse

by Marita Conlon-McKenna

  They came to a large white house with a neat driveway bordered with multicoloured flowers. Francis told everyone to stop, then he ran up and rang the doorbell.

  No one answered.

  ‘Ah hell, the lady must be out. We’ll have to come back again.’

  ‘What about the other houses? Can’t we try them?’

  He looked uncertain.

  ‘I’ll try,’ suggested Katie.

  Two or three modern redbrick houses stood beside each other. Katie went up and knocked at the first door. Through the window she could see the children watching a large television set. It was blaring loudly. She knocked again. One of the girls got up, came out and answered the door.

  ‘Yeah, what is it?’ she demanded.

  ‘Could you help us, please?’ Katie lifted up the large white plastic container. ‘We need some drinking water as –’

  The girl half-closed the door and shouted up the stairs.

  ‘Mum, it’s a gypsy, she wants something.’

  Katie couldn’t hear the reply.

  The girl reopened the door wider.

  ‘Sorry, we’ve nothing for you.’

  ‘It’s only water –’ Katie began.

  The girl was not listening and shut the door quickly.

  Katie noticed her go back to the television set. At the next house a man was busy mowing the small front lawn. As they got nearer he switched off the mower, strode towards the garden gate and banged it shut. Then, turning his back towards them, he started up the machine, its loud noise breaking the quiet of the morning.

  The twins knocked on the door of the last house. A smartly-dressed woman answered the door.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m rushing out.’

  ‘Please, Miss,’ Francis pleaded, ‘we only need some water. We’re camped down the road a bit.’

  ‘Look, I’m sorry, but I’m in a bit of a hurry. Why don’t you try next door?’

  She came out onto the front step, pulled the door shut after her, and with her keys and bag in her hand quickly got into the small silver car in the driveway and drove out the gateway in the direction of the town. They stood watching her, still clutching the empty plastic containers in their hands.

  ‘Best get back,’ murmured Francis.

  ‘Mam’ll kill us if we’ve no water,’ said Brian.

  ‘Look, we’ll try later,’ said Katie, irritated.

  As they walked back towards the camp they noticed a car in the driveway of the first house.

  ‘Will we try again?’ asked Katie.

  ‘No harm,’ laughed Francis, going up and ringing the bell.

  A middle-aged woman opened the door. Her eyes brightened when she saw Francis.

  ‘It’s the boy from down the road, isn’t it? More water I suppose!’

  He nodded. ‘We called earlier. These are the Connors. They moved in yesterday and need some water too, if that’s all right.’

  A shadow seemed to pass over her face – maybe she thought she’d be swamped with travellers looking for water now – but was quickly blown away. She brought them into a small room off the kitchen, where there was a washing machine, a tumble-drier and an ironing board, and one shelf was stacked with washing powder and cleaning stuff.

  Francis had already started to fill his container, placing it in the large sink and running the tap. The others copied him when he had finished. The lady of the house disappeared back into the kitchen.

  When they had filled up, Francis knocked on the kitchen door.

  ‘Well, I hope that’s all right for you all,’ the woman said.

  They smiled and thanked her. She handed them a packet of biscuits.

  ‘Have one each.’ They were chocolate chip.

  ‘Look, Francis, if I’m out when you call and you need water, why don’t you leave the containers on the step outside this door and when I get home I’ll fill them for you and you can collect them later.’

  ‘That’s very nice of you, Ma’am.’ Francis blushed.

  ‘With this heat, everyone needs plenty of water. It’s the least I can do.’ She smiled kindly.

  Thanking her again, they left and began to walk back to the camp.

  The full containers were really heavy. The twins carried one between them, stopping every few seconds to have a rest. Katie hadn’t quite filled hers, as she knew if it was more than three-quarters full it was impossible to lift.

  It seemed ages before they got back to the campsite. The glaring sun highlighted the peeling paint and the ramshackle condition of many of the caravans. Some were new and shiny and stood out like sore thumbs.

  With the heat of the day the rubbish around the site had begun to smell and clouds of buzzing flies hung heavy in the air. Katie hoped there weren’t any rats.

  Francis helped her lift the water up into the kitchen.

  ‘Would you like to see the goats and meet my Gran?’ he asked.

  She looked at Mam.

  ‘That’s all right, Katie, once you’re back in the middle of the day,’ Mam said.

  Katie followed Francis as he wound his way through the field and down towards a small sea-green caravan, that reminded her of an egg-box. An elderly woman lay stretched out on a battered-looking deckchair making the most of the fine day, whilst keeping up a conversation with a pure white goat that grazed beside her.

  ‘Delighted to meet you.’

  For an instant Katie wasn’t sure if the woman was talking to the goat or to Katie herself. But Nan Maguire’s welcoming handshake reassured her.

  ‘The Connors girl, is it?’ she said, searching the young girl’s face.

  Katie took an immediate liking to this old traveller woman. Her grey hair was pulled back in a bun and she wore a striped T-shirt and a floral skirt. Her face was lined but looked happy. But it was her eyes that attracted Katie like a magnet – they were the colour of the sky overhead, and when they focused on Katie, she felt as if the old woman could see right into her, to her very soul.

  ‘Kathleen – yes it’s a good traveller name. My grandson Francis here is named after the good saint who loved all the animals. Naming is important.’

  Katie looked at the ground, unsure what to say.

  ‘Come on. I’ll show you the rest of the herd,’ Francis offered, leading the way to where a make-shift pen held some of the goats.

  Two were not much more than kids and they stared at her with huge clear eyes and pushed against her clothes looking for a loose end to grab and nibble or chew.

  ‘That’s Gertie, and this is Old George. Be careful of him, he’s a bit cross. And these two are Goosey and Gilly. The rest of them are up on the hillside.’

  Katie touched them gingerly at first.

  ‘Some people give goats a bad name but I like them,’ Francis declared. ‘Ever since I came back here to live with my Gran when I was nine, I’ve helped with them. So I’ve been at it this past six years.’

  Katie smiled to herself – they were almost the same age then.

  When he talked about the goats his face kind of lit up. ‘People from the town often come to the field inquiring about the goats’ milk. It’s meant to be great for children and babies who are allergic to cows’ milk. If we had a piece of land and a whole load of goats I’d say there’d be plenty of money in it.’ Suddenly he stopped as if he had said too much, given his hopes away. ‘Let’s get back – it must be one o’clock.’

  * * *

  Day after day Katie seemed to spend more and more time with the ‘goat-boy’, as Mam had nicknamed him. He was a good listener and she told him about all the towns they had visited, and about Sister Mary in the national school who had helped her to learn to read and write.

  It was a strange thing being a traveller that even though you were always surrounded by your own family and the other families on a site, it was very hard to become a really good friend with anyone, to have someone special to talk to. The minute you got friendly with someone they could suddenly go off to the far side of Ireland. Sometimes Katie felt very lonel
y. In the last two schools she had gone to, she had noticed the way the other girls all had a best friend. She had found herself always on the outside of that. Now at night and even when she was washing the cups she wondered if a boy could be a girl’s best friend. Were Mam and Da best friends once?

  Francis told her all about himself and his grandmother. He was very fond of animals, knew more than a hundred books would tell you. He and his gran were always moving.

  Nan Maguire’s fame as a fortune teller was known far and wide. Every Tuesday, when the other women went off begging door-to-door, all sorts of people would make their way to the tiny caravan and spend between fifteen and thirty minutes having their fortune told. On sunny days, the crowds of giggling girls and older, worried-looking women waiting their turn would sit on a fallen tree trunk that served as a bench. If it was cold they sat in groups or in cars up on the road.

  Some of the others living on the site resented the old woman’s way of making a living and were jealous when they saw the crowds every week.

  ‘More power to her, that’s what I say,’ Mam declared firmly.

  ‘Do you think she has the gift really, Mam? Do you believe it?’ asked Katie.

  ‘Indeed I do. There are lots of our people touched with gifts – nature meant it so.’ She looked at Katie. ‘Those people that come to her may have lost their way a bit. Someone to help them put a foot on the right path or tell them the strings to break – that can only be a good thing.’

  ‘Has she told your fortune, Mam?’

  ‘No, lovey, I know my fortune. I got the man I love and I got the children I love. I’d be afraid what I might hear, so it’s best left well alone.’

  As every day passed Katie longed more and more to get Nan to tell what lay in store for her.

  Chapter 4

  THE FORTUNE TELLING

  An icecream! Katie longed for something cool.

  I scream!

  You scream!

  We all scream

  For icecream!

  The chant went up among the younger children and Katie ended up taking Hannah and two of the cousins on a walk about a mile up the road to the shops. It was sweltering. Davey sat in the old buggy and the rest of them walked slowly in the heat.

  The small newsagent and sweetshop was set in the middle of a cluster of houses. Prices were far too high for the weekly groceries but they went there for the odd thing. When they got through the heavy swing door they all stood at the icecream cabinet looking at the pictures and trying to decide which one to choose.

  Two boys aged about eleven or twelve came in after them and stood near the biscuit shelf watching them.

  ‘I want an orange ice-pop,’ Katie’s cousin Miley decided.

  ‘Hannah and I want a choc-ice,’ said Bridey.

  ‘Chocky,’ gabbled Davey, waving his fat little hands in the air.

  Katie slid back the top of the cabinet and put her hand down to get the icecreams.

  ‘Jeepers, look at that dirty tinker putting her filthy hands into the icecream,’ said one of the boys, pointing at her.

  ‘That’s gross,’ his fat friend added.

  A waft of cold air from the fridge chilled Katie while at the same time a tingle of fear stabbed at her.

  ‘Look at these cute little plaits!’ The first boy came up behind Bridey and tugged at her hair.

  ‘Let me go, you’re hurting me,’ pleaded Bridey, her head at an angle trying to avoid the pain.

  ‘Leave those children alone.’ The shopkeeper came out from behind the counter. Bridey broke free and ran up near the buggy.

  Katie pulled the money out of the pocket of her shorts to pay for all the icecreams and quick as lightning pushed Davey and the rest of them back outside onto the footpath. They walked along cautiously and had only just started to eat their icecreams when they spotted the two boys on their bikes, cycling up towards them.

  Katie stopped and pretended to tie her shoelace, hoping the bikes would pass by, but instead they slowed and stopped right in front of them.

  ‘A hole in your shoe, is that it?’ one of them taunted. Katie blushed, but tried to avoid their eyes and push Davey on.

  ‘Have you got that pen-knife, Conor? I fancy that little black plait – you can have the other!’ Horrified, Katie swung around. One of the boys had grabbed Bridey and was making scissor actions with his fingers at her hair. Furious, Bridey was trying to kick out at him.

  ‘Dirty tramps,’ jeered one of the fellas. ‘Knackers!’

  ‘We’re not tramps,’ said Katie, ‘we’re travellers.’

  The boys didn’t listen.

  ‘Let go of her,’ Katie demanded.

  ‘Buzz off, Ginger,’ one of the boys shouted at her.

  ‘I’ll hit him for you, Katie,’ Miley said. Even at ten he looked only half the size of the other fellow.

  ‘No, Miley, just keep quiet. We don’t want any trouble.’

  Suddenly – how it happened Katie didn’t know – Hannah ran forward and kicked the boy holding Bridey in the stomach. ‘Take that, you big bully,’ she screamed.

  Shocked and winded, he let go.

  Quick as a flash, Katie rammed the two boys with Davey in the buggy, his melting chocolate icecream staining their T-shirts.

  ‘Run for it,’ she shouted to the others and made a second ramming attack, this time at the bicycles which she shoved off the path. They clattered and scraped as they fell into the road.

  Then she took to her heels with Davey frantically trying to hold on to what was left of his icecream.

  She was half-waiting for the boys to grab her, but then she realised a car was hooting – the driver had almost run over the bikes and was out of his car shouting at the boys.

  ‘Run! Run! Run! Keep running!’ she yelled at them all.

  They were exhausted by the time they got to the campsite. Hannah was limping slightly as she had fallen in the rush and badly grazed her knee and hands. She had surprised them all with her burst of bravery. But by the time they reached home, huge, heaving, gulping breaths were taking her over and she was shaking. She was so white Katie could see the veins under her eyes.

  God, wouldn’t you know it. Mam wasn’t there. Hannah was crying now for all the world to hear. Miley and Bridey were telling everyone about the bully boys.

  ‘Bring her over to me, Katie!’

  Nan Maguire was standing at the door of her little caravan with a mug of tea in her hand. Katie handed Hannah up to her. Luckily Davey had fallen asleep with all the excitement, and she moved the buggy so that part of him lay in the shade. She hoped a bee wouldn’t come along and sting him, he was so sticky.

  ‘Uh, uh, uh,’ sobbed Hannah.

  ‘Hush, hush. Little Hannah, isn’t it?’

  Hannah nodded.

  ‘Sit down here quiet a minute.’

  She led Hannah inside to the small seat under the window. It was covered with multicoloured cushions. The old lady took Hannah by the hand and began to stroke her hand, then her arm and finally stood near her rubbing her shoulder.

  ‘Let the tension go, pet, cry it out, no need to be scared, pet, you’re safe here with Katie and me.’

  Hannah sniffed and tried to catch her breath.

  The stroking kept on going round and round in circles and almost in time to it Hannah’s breathing slowed and steadied.

  ‘Put on the kettle there for more tea, Katie, and wet that old towel a bit till I cool off Hannah’s face.’

  Taking the damp material she dabbed gently at Hannah’s tear-stained, dirty face.

  ‘Now, a nice milky cup of tea, always good after a shock.’

  Through the window, Katie could spot Bridey jumping around, trying to see what was going on. Noticing her, Hannah began to brighten up.

  ‘I hear you’re a great brave girl,’ murmured Nan. ‘Is that true?’

  Suddenly shy, Hannah whispered, ‘I suppose.’

  ‘No supposin’ about it. Let me look at your hand, lovey.’ She turned the small hand over e
ach way. The fingers long and narrow, the nails cut unevenly and in need of a good scrub.

  ‘Hmmm.’

  Katie moved closer. Hannah’s eyes were wide and her lips were open with wonder.

  ‘Destined to give love and be loved, a good strong heart that will fight for those you love. Some clouds, some mists, but yet I see the sunshine always shining through for you. I see music and song and a time to dance and play. Good fortune, sweet girl.’ She stopped. Hannah was enraptured.

  ‘Is there any more?’ she pleaded.

  ‘You’re too young yet to speak of that far ahead, but you will marry. This is not the hand of an old maid.’

  Once her hand was let go, Hannah jumped up. ‘I must tell Bridey.’

  The old lady tried to look serious and hide her smile. ‘Away off with you now. I’m glad you’re feeling better.’

  Pushing the door out, the little girl disappeared. Katie wordlessly took her place. Nan stared at her. It’s my turn now, thought Katie.

  ‘Will you tell my fortune please, Mrs Maguire?’

  Taking a sip of tea from her mug, the old lady looked straight into Katie’s eyes. Katie spread her hand on one of the cushions. Nan lifted it and studied it.

  Katie’s hands were rounded, the fingers fairly long but broad at the tips; her nails were slightly bitten and she realised that the back of her hand still had a bit of dried icecream on it.

  ‘Working hands, hard-working hands, toil but yet at times able to be gentle, caring. A long lifeline and a good life, hard but good. Changes, a lot of changes.’

  ‘What kind of changes?’ Katie asked nervously. It was obvious, being a traveller and moving from place to place, that there would be changes.

  Nan was staring at her hand and then locked her eyes to Katie’s.

  ‘Changes of the heart, changes of the soul even. Things destroyed.’ Nan stopped. A frown ran across her forehead. ‘Something loved destroyed, an animal I think, I’m not sure.’ Nan’s voice was slow and the girl knew she was being cautious with the words. Fortune tellers never gave bad news.

  ‘My future,’ Katie pleaded. ‘Is it bad?’