Authors: Marita Conlon-Mckenna
Fields of Home (16 page)
‘Buy! Sure, they can’t even afford to pay the proper rent!’ guffawed the ruddy-faced man. ‘This farm would cost them at least forty pounds to purchase.’
‘Forty pounds!’ repeated Michael. ‘That’s what you’re telling me this place would cost.’
‘Yes,’ nodded Mr Hussey, glaring around at the few neighbours who had arrived and were now standing down by the gateway, watching.
‘’Tis done!’ shouted Michael, looking him square in the face, and catching a hold of the leather bridle of his horse.
‘What do you mean, done?’
‘I’m telling you the truth,’ said Michael. ‘Check with Mr Ormonde. The eviction order has been cancelled, and this land has been sold.’ A gasp went up from the neighbours. ‘Now, I’d advise you to stop those men, Mr Hussey, otherwise you’ll have to pay a large amount for the damage you’re doing!’
‘Where’s you proof?’ shouted Mr Hussey.
‘My proof is with Mr Ormonde. You can check it for yourself,’ said Michael.
Hussey jerked at the reins, turning his horse. ‘You little whipper-snapper, I’ll take my crop to you with your lies and falsehoods! I’ll find out what’s going on. You haven’t heard the last of me. I’ll be back and I’ll have the constable with me to arrest ye all and throw you off this property!’
‘They are no longer tenants!’ said Michael icily. ‘You can do nothing.’
William Hussey and his men abandoned the
battering ram and made their way across the fields, leaving the cottage standing, the frightened family staring out after them.
‘
IS IT TRUE
?’ Eily stood in front of her brother, while the youngsters hugged and kissed him.
‘Aye, ‘tis true,’ he said softly. ‘This house and the land that goes with it now belong to you and all your descendants, Eily.’
‘Michael, what in heaven’s name did you do?’
‘I sold Glengarry. She’s a fine mare. She’s won some of the best races in her day and has bred a few winners already.’
‘I can’t believe it,’ cried Eily, tears running down her face. ‘You sold your horse! But you had such plans for Glengarry.’
‘I reckoned Mr Ormonde was the kind of man who liked to have a bit of a bet. Turns out he knows Sir
Henry Buckland and had heard of Castletaggart stables. He’s a good judge of horse flesh, I’ll give him that, and he only had to take one look at the mare and he wanted her. He’s hoping to build up his stables. He doesn’t care about farming, he reckons racing’s the thing! Glengarry won’t let him down. She’s a good breeding mare.’
‘A horse is worth that much?’ said Eily, amazed.
‘A valuable racehorse is,’ said Michael. ‘And racing is all that matters to a gambling man like Mr Ormonde.’
‘Well! I still can’t believe it.’
‘I did promise him that I’d give him a bit of advice on getting that shambles of a stables he has into some kind of shape – to be run along the lines of my old place.’
‘Did you indeed!’ Eily half-smiled.
‘Eily, don’t forget there was also all that money you and John gave to Mr Brennan.’
‘You did all this for us, Michael!’ she said, overcome.
‘Eily, you’re my family. ‘Tis the very least I could do,’ he said proudly, his dark eyes shining. ‘Anyway, ‘tis all signed and sealed now, the holding is in your names.’
‘Come here, child! Let me give you a hug,’ called Nano, who was sitting, still very shaken, over by the fireside. Michael smiled to himself as his elderly aunt squeezed him tightly, and pushed his thick curls back off his face, just the way she used to do when he was a
young boy. ‘Michael, your parents would have been right proud of you,’ she said, her voice filled with emotion, ‘and I’m right proud of you – of ye all!’ she added firmly.
PEGGY TOUCHED THE NARROW BAND OF GOLD
that circled her finger. Married! She still couldn’t believe that James was her husband. Mrs James Connolly! It sounded grand.
She squeezed his hand as they sat side-by-side on the front seat of their wagon, and jogged along the worn, dusty trail through yet another field. Vivid blue cornflowers stretched skywards in the heat. Peggy was mighty glad of the simple white sun bonnet that protected her eyes from the glare. Already she could feel a warm line tracing a fresh batch of freckles across her nose and cheeks.
James and herself had been wed five days ago. Father O’Hara had married them in a simple ceremony after the twelve o’clock mass in the small parish church of St Patrick’s. John had given her away, and Sarah had
been her bridesmaid. Peggy had worn a light lavender-blue dress, and Sarah had lent her a new cream satin bonnet which she had dressed with sprays of flowers.
Oh how she wished that Eily and Nano and Michael had been there to share it all with her! Instead, Mrs O’Connor had appeared and made a big fuss over her. She gave her a present of a grandmother clock.
‘It’s far too much!’ said Peggy, but Mrs O’ Connor had insisted.
‘You have to have something to remember Rushton by, and all your years working in Greenbay.’ The grandmother clock had stood on the mantelpiece in Mrs O’Connor’s bedroom. Peggy knew that once she got settled, she would find a special place for it.
Afterwards they had a fine meal which Sarah had prepared, and Mrs O’Connor and Father O’Hara joined them. It was all very different from the lavish wedding party that Miss Roxanne had enjoyed, but looking around her at the table and seeing the love and affection in James’s eyes, and knowing that Sarah, her best friend was now her sister, Peggy’s happiness was complete.
Going west! They were on their way. Sarah and John’s wagon was up ahead of them. They had joined the wagon-train last Wednesday, and Peggy had stepped up into her very first home, a canvas-covered
wagon, with a roll-down mattress bed, a side-bench to sit on and a simple, low table. One half was given over to provisions for the journey and for their new life and homestead.
There were two other Irish families on the wagon train, the O’Hallorans and the Callaghans. Many of their fellow travellers were Dutch, and already she had met Ben Maasen, with his twinkling eyes, who had teased her about being a new bride. ‘You come and talk to my missus. She knows all there is to know about being married!’ he offered. Arlene, his wife, had smiled warmly at her, and introduced their four flaxen-haired children.
Peggy tried to put stories she had heard about Indians and stampedes of buffalo and wild mountain cats and grizzly bears out of her head. Adam Shelton, the wagon-train leader, seemed a good and sensible man who would guide them well on their journey.
Sometimes it seemed to Peggy that her whole life, well, all the important pieces of it, seemed to involve a journey of some sort or other. There was the journey when she was only a little girl, about the same age as Ben Maasen’s daughter, when she had walked until every bone in her body ached and her feet bled and the hunger pains in her stomach had all but driven her crazy in the midst of a starving people, holding onto her big sister’s hand. Then there was that awful voyage
from Ireland on the Fortunata, the ship on which she had first met Sarah and John and her beloved James. She shut her eyes, remembering it all.
‘Are you all right, Peggy?’ asked James, his voice full of concern, as he held the leather reins and guided the two horses.
‘I’m fine,’ she smiled. ‘Just fine.’ She leaned over and kissed his cheek. ‘James, I was thinking, the first town we come to, I must post this letter to my family back home. I want them to know all about you, and the wedding and how happy I am.’
He turned to her and smiled lovingly.
Ahead of them lay miles and miles of unexplored territory. It was a long road and a hard journey ahead, but that didn’t bother Peggy a bit, now that she had James beside her. She was on a wagon train, going near half-way across America, just imagine! But this was one journey she really wanted to make.
MARY-BRIGID STOOD IN THE CENTRE
of their cottage. The wooden door lay smashed to smithereens and the dresser was cracked. Through the hole in the roof she could see the evening sky, where the first star was appearing. All their furniture lay in a heap together. Two panes of glass in the window were broken.
‘Tomorrow we’ll start to fix the place,’ assured her father.
She followed the rest of them outside. Nano was leaning on Michael’s arm and John carried Jodie on his shoulders. It was almost dark and the scraggy shadows of thorn bushes and furze danced wildly. The fields and low stone walls lay spread out, dark and mysterious, around them. In the distance she heard the soft whinny of a horse – a young horse.
‘Morning Boy! Will ye stop that or I’ll have Ormonde
down here wanting to buy you too!’ laughed Michael.
‘I was afraid you’d sold him,’ murmured Mary-Brigid.
‘What makes you think I’d be so foolish as to sell one of the best racehorses Ireland’s ever likely to see?’ joked Michael. ‘’Tis going to be a lot of work looking after him, Mary-Brigid, now that his foster mother’s gone. And seeing I’ll be busy I’ll be needing some sort of a helper.’
‘Me, you mean?’ asked Mary-Brigid, her eyes sparkling.
Michael smiled at her delight.
‘Mary-Brigid, come over here to me,’ called Eily gently. ‘Look around you, Mary-Brigid.’ Her mother bent down and lifted up a heavy sod of earth. ‘Open your hands, pet.’
Eily placed the sod in Mary-Brigid’s open hands. The earth felt hard and heavy and damp. It smelt of peat and new grass and all the things that had grown in it for hundreds and hundreds of years.
‘Hold this sod, Mary-Brigid, and remember this day and this night! This is the day that these fields and this land and this hard-worked soil finally became ours!’
Mary-Brigid stood under the dark, spreading sky, and vowed never to forget.
