He was right. I was being pessimistic, glass half empty, and not seeing that it could all go the other way. Who knew how I’d feel when the baby actually arrived? I gave him a feeble smile as I tried to feel more positive about things.
‘Maria, are you religious at all? If so, perhaps asking God for guidance would help?’
‘I’m not, really,’ I replied. It seemed like an odd question to ask. But then, Ireland’s a much more religious country than England.
‘That’s OK. But He’s there, if ever you felt like talking to Him.’
I smiled. ‘I think I do better talking to a person, face to face. You’re right, Declan, you are a good listener.’
‘Thank you. It’s part of my job, after all. Cheers. Sláinte.’ He raised his glass and clinked mine. I was about to ask him what his job was, when the musicians began playing. They’d arrived and set up while we’d been talking. Declan swivelled part-way round on his stool so he could watch them, and I settled back in my chair.
The band began with some traditional Irish folk songs as on the last time I’d heard them. They began with ‘Black Velvet Band’, then played ‘The Fields of Athenry’ again. Declan turned to me to speak into my ear. ‘That reminds me – the local hurling team are playing tomorrow afternoon. Do you want to go along?’
‘Hurling?’
‘A Gaelic game. Bit like hockey only they whack the ball at head height. Fast, furious and thrilling.’
‘I thought “The Fields of Athenry” was a rugby song?’
‘It’s actually about the famine – about a man who was imprisoned for stealing corn to feed his children. But it’s been appropriated by rugby, so it made me think of rugby, which we also play here in Ballymor, and that made me think of the match. Want to go?’
I grinned. ‘Why not?’
The next song was ‘The Leaving of Liverpool’. I loved the lyrics – It’s not the leaving of Liverpool that grieves me, but my darling when I think of thee. I thought of Michael McCarthy, who’d left Ireland as a young man and lived in America for a while, and wondered whether he’d had to leave a loved one. He’d had to leave Kitty at least.
‘You’re looking pensive?’ Declan leaned over and said into my ear.
‘It’s this song. It’s lovely.’
‘Ah, yes. It could easily be about all those people who left Ireland during the famine. Most never returned, although their cottages were left empty and waiting for them. Still empty and waiting, as you’ve seen up at Kildoolin.’
It was a poignant thought – the cottages standing empty for a century and a half, for people who never returned. Michael McCarthy had returned though, after a dozen or so years in America, and that’s when his search for Kitty had begun.
I listened in silence to the rest of the band’s set and, when they stopped for a break, Declan turned to me. ‘Well, I’m afraid I must be away now. Will you be calling at the church to look at the baptism and burial records tomorrow – see what you can find out about your ancestors? If so I can meet you there early afternoon – after one thirty. We could look at the records and then go on to the hurling match.’
‘Sounds great – I’ll see you then,’ I said, and Declan got up to leave. For a moment I thought he was going to bend over to kiss me goodbye, but he was just reaching across the table for his glass to take back to the bar.
*
Back in my room, and before I did anything else, I tried once more to call Dan and as soon as the call went to voicemail I hung up. If he wasn’t answering my calls, I needed to contact him some other way. This was too important to let it drag on any longer. I started up my laptop and sent Dan an email.
Dan
Yes, we were always careful. But do you remember that night on holiday in Rhodes, back in April? We were strolling along the beach on a balmy evening, the stars were beautiful and the silken sea was lapping gently on the beach. The beach was deserted, and it was all so impossibly romantic. We took a risk, didn’t we? My pregnancy, Dan, is the result of that night.
I am sorry I did not tell you earlier. Really sorry. I am so scared I’ll be a rubbish mother like Jackie has been, and I suppose I was in denial about it all, not wanting to change the perfect life I felt we had. I realise now I should have spoken to you sooner.
Dan, please call me. I can’t bear not being able to talk to you.
Love you, always
Maria
CHAPTER 12
Kitty
Kitty was worried – even more so than usual. Grace had developed a dry, hacking cough and was complaining of pains in her stomach. She’d had enough to eat lately – just – Kitty didn’t think she was starving to death the way little Jimmy, Éamonn and Nuala had gone, but she was very poorly, and had never been truly strong since the previous terrible winter of hunger had sapped her strength. The dear sweet-natured child. Kitty was fearful that it would not be long before Grace joined her brothers and sister, although she would do everything in her power to save her.
She was sitting at Grace’s side, mopping her fevered brow, when Michael returned to the cottage. Darkness had fallen a few hours earlier, Kitty had been back a long time from the worksite, and she’d begun to fret about him. He was carrying something beneath his jacket.
‘Surprise, Mammy. Don’t give out to me, but I came across a duck, so. I wondered if it might tempt Gracie, and might help make her well again. How is she?’ He put the dead duck down beside the fireplace and knelt beside his sister.
‘You’ve been poaching again, have you? You’ll get caught, and then where will we be?’ Kitty began to scold, but her heart wasn’t in it. Her little family was in a bad place even if Michael was never caught. And maybe the food in prison would be better, or at least more regular. ‘Gracie’s very sick,’ she continued, to answer his question.
Michael sighed, and took Kitty’s place at Grace’s side, also taking the damp cloth from her hand to mop his sister’s forehead. ‘Come on, Gracie, perk up, would you? There’ll be fried duck breast for you soon. I remember how you liked it the last time. Sweet, succulent duck meat. I’ll stay with you while Mammy cooks it, will I?’
Grace nodded weakly and murmured something.
‘Couldn’t catch that, Gracie. But if it’s hard to talk you just keep quiet there. Look, Mammy’s already preparing the duck. It’ll not be long till dinner.’
Kitty smiled sadly as she listened. Michael was such a gentle, caring boy. Before the little ones had passed over, he’d been a great help with them, taking the place of their dear daddy after Patrick’s accident. She would never have coped without him. And yet, when she thought of his beginnings, she still, even now after all these years, felt a shudder of revulsion pass through her.
Well, there was a duck in her hands that required attention. Maybe Michael was right and it’d help Gracie fight her fever. She set to work plucking the bird, jointing it, and placed the pieces in the cooking pot with some herbs. They’d eat well tonight.
When the food was ready, try as she might she could not persuade Gracie to take any of it. The child would only sip at some broth Kitty had made from the saved cooking water. It was better than nothing but Kitty was fearful. She resolved to fetch the doctor from Ballymor the next day. How she would pay him she did not know but there had to be some way she could save her daughter. She had to try.
*
The next day Grace seemed worse, weaker than she’d ever been, moaning in pain, and with a red rash spreading across her stomach and chest. Kitty asked Michael to stay with his sister while she went to town to find Dr O’Reilly. They were both having to give up a day’s work on the roads, a day’s wages, but Gracie was more important, and the duck Michael had poached had bought them some time.
It was a calm day, but a mist had rolled in from the sea, blanketing everything in white, muffling sounds and making everything seem strange, ethereal and confusing. The kind of day where you needed to watch out or the faeries would take you, as Mother Heaney used to say. Kitty had never b
elieved in any of that nonsense about the old faerie folk who lived in the hills, dancing in the stone circle higher up the hill, stealing children away to be their slaves, leaving changelings in their place. In days gone by, people had been afraid of the faerie folk, and had left appeasement offerings up at the stone circle – loaves, eggs, sacks of potatoes. They were always gone by morning. Kitty thought they were probably taken by the poorest folk in the village, but Mother Heaney had insisted the faeries came at night and took the gifts. If no gifts were left for a month or more, they’d come to the village and take a child instead, she’d warned. Kitty had smiled and paid no heed. It was just the superstitions of the older generation.
But on a day like this one, with everything shrouded in mist, and the endless bad luck they’d had in the years since the last peace offerings had been made to the faeries, it was enough to get you thinking, perhaps there was something in it, perhaps the faerie folk did exist and had ways in which they could influence your luck. There was some duck left over from last night’s meal. Perhaps, Kitty thought, she should take it up to the stone circle and leave it there, and maybe the faeries would take pity on her and do something to save Gracie and end their suffering . . .
She shook her head. What nonsense she was thinking. It was only the eerie quality of the mist that made you feel as though someone was following, just out of sight and earshot, behind. Kitty quickened her pace, thankful that she knew the way from Kildoolin to Ballymor so well she could walk it blindfold. She’d done it in the dark many times so the mist held no fear that she would become lost. Nevertheless, the sooner she reached the town and found the doctor, the better.
*
In town, she found herself drawn first of all to the church. She slipped into its quiet, dark interior and sat on a pew, bowed her head and prayed for God to spare Gracie and for some way out of this cycle of poverty and hunger. The faeries couldn’t help, but God could, if He chose to. She clung to her faith as a drowning man would cling to a raft. What else could she do?
The doctor’s house was one of those in the smarter part of the town. Kitty made her way there, only to discover he was not at home. He was employed on his fortnightly inspection of the poorhouse, she was told by his wife. Perhaps if Kitty waited outside she might catch him when he left there. She walked through the streets, past the National School, now closed, where in happier days before the famine Grace had studied, along with Michael, Little Pat and Nuala. At last she reached the huge brick-built workhouse which stood on the edge of town, its imposing presence looming over all those who went near. ‘We’ll not end up in the workhouse,’ she muttered to herself. ‘Not if I can help it. There’ll be another way.’
She was there for some time, during which the mist lifted and the sun came out. She wanted to think of it as a sign, a promise that things would get better, but that would be giving in to superstition. It was just a welcome improvement in the weather, that was all.
Finally, the workhouse gates opened and a trim man in a black suit, carrying a bag, came through.
‘Oh, excuse me, sir, but would you be Doctor O’Reilly? Only I wondered if you could come and look at my little colleen, she’s poorly so she is, but ’tis not the hunger.’
‘I am O’Reilly, yes,’ said the man. His voice was gentle and kind, but he sounded tired. Kitty felt a pang of guilt for bothering him. Surely he’d had far too much work for one man these last couple of years since the first potato crop failed. ‘Where is your daughter?’
‘She’s up at my cottage, above in Kildoolin.’ The doctor’s face clouded, and he shook his head.
‘I’m sorry. I haven’t the time to be going all the way up there. I was after thinking there was no one left living up there anyway?’
‘’Tis only myself, my son and my poor little Gracie left now. She’s too sick to come here. What can I do for her? Only I lost three little ones, and my other son last year, and my husband a couple of years before that, from an accident in the copper mines. I can’t lose another child. I can’t!’ Kitty could not help herself. The tears came, flowing freely down her face. She had not wanted to appear weak before the doctor, but it was too much to deal with.
‘Hush now. Sit yourself down here, on this wall, Mrs . . .?’
‘McCarthy. Kitty McCarthy,’ she replied.
‘Well now, Mrs McCarthy, you tell me what your Gracie’s symptoms are and I’ll see if I can advise you how best to treat her. And if I’ve time tomorrow I’ll come up to see her.’
Kitty described Gracie’s pains, fever, rash, the headache that had started it all, the diarrhoea that had begun that morning.
Dr O’Reilly looked grave. ‘It sounds like the typhus. There’s a lot of it about.’ He shook his head. ‘There isn’t much you, or indeed I, can do for her. Keep her cool and comfortable, give her sips of water if she can take them.’
‘Doctor, am I going to lose her?’ Kitty looked up at him, imploring him with her eyes to tell her no, typhus was not deadly, Gracie would pull through.
In response he put a comforting hand on her shoulder. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Here, let me give you this for her at least.’ He reached into his bag and pulled out a small bottle. ‘It’ll help her sleep, so she won’t feel so much pain.’
Kitty hesitated. This was the moment when she had to admit she could not pay for the medicine. She could not afford to reduce her child’s pain, and ease her passage to the next world.
‘It’s all right. There’s no charge,’ said the doctor, as if he could see her thoughts. He smiled at her, his eyes kind and sad, and pressed the vial into her hand.
She was too overcome to be able to answer in any way other than a nod of her head. He patted her shoulder, picked up his bag and went on his way.
Kitty pocketed the little bottle and set off back to Kildoolin. She walked even faster on her way back than she had on the way down, even though she was no longer fancying that faerie folk followed her. She wanted nothing more than to be by Gracie’s side, spending every last moment with her until the end came, as she now knew it soon would.
*
Michael met her at the door of the cottage. ‘She’s no better, Mammy. Did you find the doctor?’
‘Yes, and he’s after giving me something for her. Is she awake?’ The cloying, almost sweet smell of sickness assaulted her as she entered.
‘Just about,’ he said, standing aside to let her see.
Grace was lying covered in blankets, her face white and sweaty, her cheeks sunken. Kitty pulled back the covers to see the rash, which had extended over most of her body. Grace moaned slightly.
‘There now, Gracie. I have some medicine from the doctor. It’ll help you feel better. Can you lift your head a little to take it?’
She held Gracie’s head and dribbled the medicine into the corner of her mouth. Gracie coughed slightly but swallowed it and sank back onto the bed. Kitty wiped the girl’s forehead and held her hand, receiving a feeble squeeze in acknowledgement. ‘Sleep now, Gracie darling, and we’ll see how you are when you wake.’
Gracie smiled weakly, and closed her eyes. A moment later she was asleep. Kitty hauled herself back to her feet and sat in the one chair they had left. Michael stood beside her, his hand on her shoulder.
‘Will she live, Mammy?’ he whispered.
She shook her head. ‘The medicine will take away the pain, that’s all. The best we can hope is that she dies in her sleep. My poor angel.’
‘Oh no, Mammy.’ He pulled her head against his chest and stroked her hair. She allowed herself a few tears, but not many – she had to stay strong for him, and for Grace while she still lived. But she drew strength from him – strength to face whatever the night would hold.
*
Grace breathed her last in the early hours, in the darkest part of the night. Kitty had kept the fire burning and had sat beside her daughter, keeping vigil, mopping her brow, giving her sips of water and medicine whenever she woke, murmuring prayers and words of comfort to her. Mic
hael sat up alongside Kitty, even though she’d urged him to sleep so that he could work the next day, and that she’d wake him before the end so he could say goodbye to his little sister. But he’d shaken his head and stayed with her, joining in with the prayers, fetching her water, adding turf to the fire whenever it burned low. She’d been glad of his company. So many deathbed vigils in far too short a time. Her darling children, all of them, weakening, hollowing, crying and then just lying quietly, accepting their fate with dignity while she, their mother, thrashed and wailed and fought against it, all the time clinging on to her faith and trying to keep the other children alive, and herself strong enough to care for them. Why, Lord, why did she have to lose another? Grace had been the sweetest, the sunniest of all her children. Everyone had loved her. She’d brought joy into many hearts in her short time on earth. Sure it was God’s will to take her, but why, and for what purpose? Had Kitty not given enough children already?
She carefully pulled the blanket up over Grace’s head, and looked across at Michael, who made no attempt to check the tears that flowed down his face. ‘Well now. She’s gone. There’s no more pain for the poor child, only warmth and food and love.’
He nodded. ‘I’ll carry her down to the church in the morning for burial. She’ll be with her sister and brothers again.’
‘She will. And in heaven she’ll be with her daddy too.’ She caught hold of Michael and pulled him to her, her voice hoarse with grief. ‘My last baby. I’ll not see you die. I’ll never let another child die.’
*
They buried Grace the next day, in the same plot as her siblings, and with a simple wooden cross to mark the spot. Father John conducted a hurried ceremony, before rushing off to do his rounds at the workhouse, where several people required the last rites. To Kitty’s immense shame she could not afford an inscribed gravestone. At least she had not been put into one of the mass graves, where so many hundreds lay unnamed and unmourned.
‘I’ll never forget you, Gracie,’ Kitty whispered, as her daughter, wrapped in a blanket for they could not afford a coffin, was lowered into the ground. ‘Sleep well.’
The Girl from Ballymor Page 11