Nory Ryan's Song (8 page)

C
HAPTER
15

C
elia came back that dark night and slid onto the straw of our bed without stopping to kneel for her prayers. She didn’t say a word to me but twisted and turned, pulling our covers one way and then another. I thought we’d never get to sleep.

Days later she told me Cunningham had laughed at her feet without shoes, and the stain on her dress. “You won’t be here long enough to work,” he had said. “You’ll be out of your house and onto the road because you cannot last, and I will see sheep grazing where your house had been.”

I knew I’d never forget the terrible look in her eyes. “Celia,” I said. “Do you know what Maggie said about you?”

She shook her head.

I put my hand on her thin shoulder. “She said you are loyal and true. And that is what I say. No one could ever ask for more.”

She blinked, trying not to let the tears fall. “I always worried,” she said. “Worried when it rained that the thatch would leak, worried when the sun was hot that the thatch would burn.” She brushed the back of her hand over her face. “But if we live through this, I’ll never worry about things like that again.”

“You might even sing,” I said, trying to change what I saw in her eyes.

“A rusty gate, I am.” And then she patted my hand on her shoulder. “I saw the dog,” she said slowly. “The dog you gave to Anna. She’s penned up in a cage with the other hunting dogs.”

“Anna loves Maeve!” Before I could say anything else, Granda came through the door to tell us the road people had sent him away too. It was only Sean Red who would be working on the road, Sean because he was tall and looked older than he was.

Liam and Michael were leaving Maidin Bay to walk to the port of Galway. They’d leave without a penny between them, with only the clothes on their backs. “We must have a ship to fish,” Michael had told Granda. “Or a ship to sail. We will go wherever it takes us. Our shoulders are broad enough to find work on the way.”

Again we walked to the crossroads. Mrs. Mallon’s face, always red, was blotched and swollen. This time Patch and I were the only Ryans going with them. Granda had started a cough and Celia stayed with him to give him some of the cure I had made with Anna’s garlic. Poor Sean was off on the road, breaking up huge chunks of rock.

We waved at the brothers until they turned the corner; then Devlin came along on his horse.

“We have taken down the shed,” old Granny Mallon told him. “You will see, if you look, that it is gone.”

“You have ruined the property?” he said. “Lord Cunningham’s property, Lord Cunningham’s shed?”

“What?” Old Granny looked dazed.

Mrs. Mallon pulled her away as we looked up at him. How could he be so cruel? We backed up against the edge of the road as he rode past us, the horse’s hooves spewing mud and clay.

We walked slowly. Mrs. Mallon weaved back and forth on the path, trying to hold old Granny up. She looked as old as Granny herself, with sunken cheeks and loose gray flesh.

And Patch couldn’t keep up either. His arms were like sticks and his legs white and bowed where they hung out of his skirt. “Come, Patcheen,” I said. “We have to go home.”

Instead of hurrying, he sank down on the ground and put his arms out to me.

People walked around him. That was another thing, the people. Where had they come from? They wandered along the roads in twos and threes. They were mostly women carrying babies. Little children held on to their skirts.

It was such an effort to walk to Patch, to put my arms around him and pick him up. And when I did, there was nothing to him. All we’d been eating were the few fish we’d managed to poach from Cunningham’s stream and once in a while a wild onion or an old potato. I sank down next to Patch on the wet ground and watched the people. Some of them had circles of green around their mouths.

I wondered what it was.

I wondered how I could get some.

And then I knew. “They are eating grass,” I told Patch.

“Me,” he said. “I will have grass.”

I stood up again and looked at the sea grass that bent itself over the rocky road. I pulled a piece up and put it in my mouth. “Sharp enough to cut your tongue,” I told Patch. I pulled another piece off for him. “Be careful.”

He leaned against a rock, and I leaned back with him. We lay there, sucking on the blades of grass. Clouds rushed against the blue of the sky, changing shapes as we looked. “There,” I said. “That looks like the cat Mallons had once.”

Patch looked up too. “Yes—Lizzie.”

The Lizzie shape turned into a pig. Muc. Muc hadn’t had anything to eat except for the grass around the house. She looked thinner every day.
Don’t think about that
, I told myself.

“I wonder if these same clouds get to Brooklyn.” I pictured Maggie looking up, seeing the cat in the clouds, and Muc, and maybe even me.

Maggie.

Brooklyn. Horses clopping. Milk in cans. No one hungry
.

Liam could build a shed for himself if he got there, and it would be his own.

Across the fields was Anna’s house. Suddenly I realized there was no smoke coming from the roof. I held my face up to feel the wind. The smoke should have been drifting toward me. I pulled myself up and waited until a bit of dizziness passed.

Next to me, Patch was asleep now, his thumb in his mouth.

“Stay then, and rest,” I whispered. “I will come back for you.”

The walk across the field seemed much longer than usual. I stumbled against the potato plants, dry now, stiff, crumbling underneath me. Then I was at Anna’s door. Her cow was nowhere in sight; neither was her pig. “Anna,” I called, feeling my lips crack. They had been as sore as Celia’s for days now. I ducked inside to see Anna lying in her straw bed, stiff and unmoving.

For a moment I felt as if I couldn’t breathe; then she turned toward me. “Are you all right?” I asked.

“An old woman can lie in her bed if she wishes,” she said. “And there’s milk. I saved it for you.”

My mouth watered. “I didn’t come for milk.” I wanted it so much I felt weak.

“I’ve had so much milk today,” Anna said, “I couldn’t drink another drop.”

“Well then, I will,” I said. “And if you don’t mind, I’ll take a wee drop for Patch.”

I went to the pail in the corner. I was too weak to lift it and pour some into a cup, and there wasn’t that much in the pail anyway. I bent over and tipped until I felt the warmth of it on my tongue. I had to make myself stop. Patch was so hungry on the road, and Anna …

“Did you really have enough to drink?” I asked.

Her eyes were closed but I could see her nod.

“Where is your cow?” I said next, still tasting the milk.

“I sent her away this day.”

I went closer. “Sent your cow away? What do you mean? Sold her?”

“Gave …”

“Gave her to …” I repeated, and then I knew. “Devlin?”

She made a small sound. “I cured his stomachache with a blackberry root, but he forgot that.”

I leaned closer. “Devlin took her for the rent?” I swallowed. All the milk would be gone now. What would Anna eat? “And the pig? Did he take the pig?”

She didn’t answer. She turned again, the straw settling under her. I stood there, heart pounding, remembering the coin. It would have paid the rent.

I took a wooden cup and poured a mouthful into it. I knelt by her bed with it until she turned her head and drank. “You are a good girl,” she said.

I blurted it out then. “Your coin didn’t even help to save the Neelys,” I said. “I dropped it into the well.”

She reached out with both her hands and put them on my cheeks. “The well, but why?”

I spread out my hands. “I thought the bailiff was in back of me, but it was only the dog.”

“The dog,” Anna said.

I couldn’t tell her where the dog was. Instead I sat there staring at the fire. “When Da comes home …,” I began. “I haven’t forgotten. We will give the coin to you first. Somehow.”

Anna leaned forward. She traced the line of my chin with her hand. “We will talk about this,” she said. “I have things to say to you. But now you must take the milk to Patch.”

I hooked the pail’s handle under my fingers and went to the door with it. “I know so much about the plants now.” I stopped, looking down at the milk. “I’ll never forget.” I’d be like Anna now, able to heal.

“And something else,” I said. “I will never leave you. I will stay with you always, and take care of you.”

She raised her head, smiled, and shook her head the slightest bit.

I took the pail to the end of the field, glancing around to be sure no one on the road might take it away from me. I kept calling until at last Patch raised his head and came to me across the wall.

C
HAPTER
16

A
fter Patch finished the milk we ran our fingers around the inside of the pail, licking each finger until there was nothing left. I began to think. If Devlin had taken Anna’s cow and her pig, if Devlin had come for the rent …

What about our rent, and Da not home with the money?

What about Muc? What about Biddy and her sister?

I left the pail on its side. I took Patch’s hand. “We must go home,
a stór,”
I told him. “We must go quickly.”

We went down the road, Patch dragging his feet. My own legs felt like pieces of lumber that had washed up in the surf: numb and heavy. But somehow we crossed the stony field to our doorway.

Granda was on the floor, rooting through one of the baskets, mumbling to himself. Celia was kneeling at the hearth, blowing on the turf. No one else was there. I leaned against the doorway, holding my side, trying to catch my breath. They looked up. Celia’s nose twitched—a sign she was going to say something I didn’t like. “I’m going to kill Biddy’s sister,” she said. “She hasn’t laid an egg in days. She doesn’t have enough to eat.”

My mouth watered.
Poor sister
. I couldn’t help it.

Granda glanced up at me, waiting for me to say it wasn’t a good idea. But I couldn’t. He went back to rooting in the basket and pulled out an old frieze jacket. “Warm enough for this weather,” he said, brushing it.

I hardly paid attention. “Devlin hasn’t been here then,” I said.

Granda stopped brushing and Celia turned away from the hearth, still on her heels.

“He took Anna’s cow,” I said. “And her pig.”

Celia rubbed her hands on her skirt. “We have to count on Muc and the piglets to come.”

“Six piglets,” Patch said.

“We don’t have the money for the rent,” I said, shaking my head.

“If only Da were here.” Celia lowered her head. “Was he ever this late in coming?”

He’d always come by this time, I thought. “If he could be anywhere, he’d want to be here.”

“I know that,” she said. “Do you think something has happened?”

I didn’t want to answer. The ship might have foundered. He could have starved on the road. He could be sick.

Granda sat, thinking. “When Devlin comes, you will ask him for a few days,” he said. “I will go to Galway to find your father.”

Celia said, “I will go.”

Just then we heard the horse coming down the road. My hands began to shake. With one movement, Celia grabbed up Biddy’s sister and was out the door with Patch in back of her. She darted around the side of the house, holding on to the hen. I shooed Biddy out, but there wasn’t time to do anything about Muc.

At the doorway I watched the horse come closer. Devlin was on his way from the Mallons’, coming toward us. Outside Biddy’s sister clucked, more than clucked, screeched. Inside I heard Granda fall over something, metal clattering against the stones of the hearth, Granda groaning.

Devlin wheeled the horse around, dust flying. “I’ve come for the rent,” he said.

I hardly paid attention to him. I went back into the house to Granda. He pulled himself to his feet and I reached for him, holding him tight.

Devlin had followed me inside. “You know why I’m here.”

“My da …” I could hardly speak. “He’s fishing out of Galway. As soon as—”

“The rent is due, and half from last time.”

I shook my head.

“I will tumble the house and put you out on the road,” he said. “But for now I will have the pig and the hen.” He walked back to the doorway, his hands sweeping over the field.

By the mercy of God the other hen had stopped screeching.

“You will still owe the rent.” He glanced across the yard at poor Biddy pecking on something, at Muc trying to find a blade of grass to ease her hunger. He pulled a small book out from under his cape and wrote something in it. “Bring them to the dock. They’ll have a sea trip to England.”

Then he was on his horse again, following the road away from us. Granda sat down heavily in front of the fire, and Celia appeared with scratches on her face and hands.

“You saved the hen,” I said, and ran my hand along her reddened cheek. “You are a great girl,
a stór.”

“And you,” she said, “you as well.”

That afternoon, I thought, was the saddest in my life. “Send the sister off,” I told Celia. “We will keep Biddy.”

“Eat Biddy?” Celia asked, shocked.

“Never,” I said.

She nodded. “That is why we must keep the sister and let Biddy go.”

I knew what she was saying. If we did not eat soon, how could we go on?

We made a meal of the sister, closing the door tightly, hoping that no one would come. Still, I saved two morsels for Anna. I would have saved a third for Sean Red because he would have done that for me, but they had sent him down to work on a road near the bay and I didn’t know when he would be back.

When the poor little meal was finished, Granda stood up. “I will go down to Galway to find your father before it is too late.”

Once his mind was made up, neither of us could change it. Celia and I stared at each other, thinking of what had to be done. I spoke first. “Celia will go with you. She is older and stronger.”

Words I would never have said before. And what I didn’t say was that staying in this house alone at night with Patch was the worst thing I could think of and I couldn’t do that to Celia.

“And Nory will watch out for Patch.” Celia bit her lip. “She will wait on the chance that we miss Da.”

Only one road went to Galway, and it wound along the coast like a ball of yarn let loose, Da had said. “You won’t miss him if he’s there,” I told her. “Just stay on the road.”

Celia and I stared at each other. We knew we might never be together again. “I will hear you singing always,” she said.

They left early the next morning, moving slowly enough for me to take the comb out of the basket and run after Celia with both pieces. “Take it,” I said. “Keep it, half yours and half mine.”

“I know why you said you’d stay,” she said, taking one of the pieces and pressing the other into my hand. “I will never forget it.”

I wanted to tell her I remembered that day we had broken the comb, remembered her staring at Patch’s bed and deciding not to take the road to Galway. If she had, I thought, she wouldn’t be taking this terrible trip now. She’d be in Brooklyn, America, safe. I couldn’t say that, though. I’d never get the words out. I ducked my head. “Celia, loyal and true,” I managed.

She ran a strand of my hair through her fingers the way Maggie had done. “Stay alive.”

I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t even speak.

She ducked out the door. She grabbed Patch up from the step, hugged him, then took Granda’s hand. She turned one last time. “Someday …”

I knew she was thinking of Smith Street, Brooklyn, and all of us together. Except that she didn’t know they would be there and I would be here. I could never leave Anna. I owed it to her to stay.

We stood there and waved, Patch and I; then it fell to me to wrap Biddy, limp and quiet, in a bag, and to tie a rope around Muc’s neck.

Muc. How we had counted on her piglets! I remembered when Da had brought her home. “One day,” he had said, eyes crinkling, “we’ll have piglets for the rent. With turf in the hearth, potatoes in the pit, and a thatch on the roof, we’ll need nothing more to keep us happy.”

“Unless it’s a bit of soil that belongs to us,” Granda had said sharply. “A land that’s free of the English.”

I shook my head, then left Patch with Anna and took the road to the harbor. I wasn’t alone. A long line of people were leading animals. Mrs. Mallon with two goats, someone with a pony and three or four pigs.

I thought about singing. I even opened my mouth, but my throat was dry and not a sound came out. Instead I just walked with the others. All of us were quiet; only the animals made sounds.

One of Devlin’s men rattled by on a cart with a few pieces of furniture: a wooden chair, a settle, a pile of rusty tools.

At the dock in the noise and the rain, I saw Anna’s cow and her pig, and men whipping animals onto planks of wood that led to a ship. It was a ship filled with food that was going away from us forever.

And then I hurried home to smoor the fire. Patch and I went to bed without food, to think about Brooklyn, New York, and Celia and Granda out on the road to Galway.