Spirited Away - A Novel of the Stolen Irish

Spirited Away –

A Novel of the Stolen Irish

Maggie Plummer

Copyright © 2012 Maggie
Plummer

All rights reserved.

DEDICATION

To
all the people and organizations combating modern-day human trafficking

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would like to thank my poetic
Irish Catholic grandmother, Eleanor Brennan Plummer, for inspiring me to write
this story. I would also like to thank those who helped me get this novel
written. Among them are: my talented friend and colleague Mary Barmeyer
O'Brien, who edited the manuscript and cheered me on; writers' group buddies
Phyllis Walker and Milana Marsenich, who supported me with their wise, generous
critiques; fellow writers Kathy Sager, Bob Marsenich, Gary Acevedo, and Julie
Wenner, who encouraged me to keep going; and Cris Aguilar, who shared her
infectious enthusiasm about electronic self-publishing. Last but not least, I
want to thank: author Sean O'Callaghan, who wrote
To Hell or Barbados: The
ethnic cleansing of Ireland
(Brandon, 2000); and author Padraic O'Farrell
for his book,
Irish Toasts, Curses and Blessings
(Sterling Publishing
Company, 1995).

PREFACE

     
A few years ago, I was
reading about Irish history and stumbled across this information:  During
Oliver Cromwell's Reign of Terror in the 1650s, a majority of Ireland's
Catholic population was either slaughtered, exiled to the west, or sold into
slavery in the Caribbean. I did a triple-take, amazed. How could it be that I'd
never heard of that? Others hadn't either. The more I read about Cromwell's
Reign of Terror in books and Internet articles, the hotter my Irish-American
blood boiled. These massacred, ousted, or enslaved people were my ancestors. I
had to write something about this obscure yet pivotal period of Irish history.

       That is how the novel's main character,
Freddy O'Brennan, came to be. With the exception of Cromwell, all of the
characters in the novel are fictional. The story, however, is based on
historical accounts of events that took place.

       In 1649 Cromwell led an invasion of
Ireland that m
any
historians call genocide, or ethnic cleansing.
During the 1650s, Ireland lost about 41
percent of its population. The infamous Irish Famine of 1845 to 1852, by
comparison, resulted in a loss of 16 percent of the population.

       Cromwell hated
Catholic
ism and wanted to punish Irish Catholics for
the
rebellion of 1641
. Catholicism was
banned. Priests were wanted men. Irish Catholics were murdered, thrown off
their land, or "spirited away" to the Caribbean. An
estimated
100,000 Irish people, mostly women and children, were
sold to sugar
plantation owners and literally worked to death. Some were flogged to death.
They toiled
long
days and suffered horrific conditions, disease, starvation, and torture.

       "
The curse of Cromwell
upon you" is still a popular Irish saying. To this day, Irish mothers
threaten their misbehaving children with the ultimate punishment:
"Cromwell's going to get you!" The bitterness caused by what took
place during the 1650s has been a powerful source of
Irish nationalism
for more than 350 years.

       Irish slavery
was an atrocity that should not be forgotten
. I find it outrageous that so few know about
it. My hope is that this novel will help bring it to light.

chapter
1

March
1653

Over
the far rise they came at a full gallop, Freddy's black curls streaming behind
her. She rode bareback, her wrinkled skirt tucked up between her legs and her
hands resting on the horse's neck. Firewind, her handsome brown and white Gypsy
Cob, flew along the hedgerow, his long white mane rippling. His leg feathers
and silky tail floated in the spring air, as pure white as a morning mist. The
powerful steed seemed to glide above the rolling green fields of County
Kilkenny.

       As
she gripped Firewind with her knees and inhaled the scent of wet grass and new
oak leaves, the sun went behind a cloud. The cream-colored flowers were thick
on the blackthorn, among budding wild cherry bushes. Freddy's cheeks were
rose-pink from the brisk wind. Suddenly a shiver ran through her. Mam had
insisted she wear a dress this morning instead of the boys' clothes she
preferred to wear for riding. Freddy was sure she'd have been warmer in Da's
old breeches. It was time they headed homeward, though. The peat fire would
warm her bones. Her mouth watered at the thought of Mam's fresh bread dipped
into a steaming bowl of stew. After dinner she and Da would plant the barley.
She loved working in the fields with her father.

       Tall
for thirteen, Freddy was bigger than her tiny mother. The girl was an exact
reflection of her Da, Laurence O'Brennan. That's what Mam said. Not only did
their eldest mirror his height and his wild black hair, she also had his wide
green eyes, dark eyebrows, long nose, and – Mam liked to point out with a frown
– his fiery temperament.

       Across
the verdant field she spotted a group of men walking down the lane. With a
gasp, Freddy realized it was Da followed by four soldiers, their muskets
pointed at his back. She pulled on Firewind's mane so he would stop. She would
know Da's gait anywhere. That was him, all right, being marched away by
military men. Cromwell's soldiers! She shivered again, this time with dread. Da
had said they would not come until after harvest. The pungent sting of smoke
hit her nostrils as she scanned the landscape. Beyond the row of distant trees,
a column of ebony-colored smoke rose into the sky. The Kealy place!

       The
sun came back out. Freddy shaded her eyes and noticed a uniformed man standing
with Mam in front of the cottage. Goose bumps ran up her arms. 

       "Run,
Firewind!" Freddy kicked him lightly, and the strapping horse lurched into
motion. They thundered down the hill and streaked across another field to the
house. A thin curl of smoke floated lazily from one chimney. An English soldier
towered over Mam, shaking his finger at her.

       Freddy
raced up to the yard. Three-year-old Cathleen and Ryanne, six, clung to their
mother's legs, hiding in the folds of her patched work dress. Mam still held
her broom with both hands, gripping it so hard her knuckles were as pale as her
pinched face. Her hair was covered by her white work scarf. Eleven-year-old
Aileen seemed frozen in place behind Mam. Standing there like that, she looked
like a smaller version of Mam. Nessa was nowhere in sight. The military man
leaned on his musket. His other hand rested on the handle of his sword, which
hung in a scabbard from his belt.

       In
one swift motion, Freddy swung her leg over, yanked her skirt down, and jumped
off Firewind. Leaving him to graze near the rock wall, she ran to Mam, who was
backing away from the soldier. Freddy moved in front of her mother, breathing
hard. She stared at the man.

       "Where
are they taking Da?" Freddy blurted, pointing to the lane.

       "Hush!"
Mam said, dropping the broom. She wrapped her arms around Freddy's waist from
behind, holding her fast.

       The
soldier's face was shaded by a metal helmet, which sported a tall scarlet
plume. He turned his head to the side and spit a tobacco-colored stream into
the mud.   

       Mam
tightened her hold on her daughter. "Let us not be keeping this soldier
from his duties."

       "But,
wha—"

       "I
said hush now!"

       Freddy
could feel Mam trembling.    

       "Who
might this one be?" The soldier removed his helmet and scratched his
greasy-looking head. 

       "Our
eldest." Mam leaned forward to press her cheek against Freddy's.

       "And
does your eldest have a name?" He put his helmet back on.

       "Frederica,"
Mam replied in a tight voice.

       He
nodded and leaned in close, pointing his finger at them. Mam shrank away,
pulling Freddy with her. “Ye’d best be gone when we return at dawn,” the soldier
growled. He turned on his heel and marched off down the lane.

       Firewind
tossed his head and let out a sharp whinny.

       Freddy
exhaled and turned to face her mother. "Where are they taking Da?"
she whispered, her voice catching in a sob.

       "They
said they'd spare us if he agreed to go fight in Spain, for the Crown."
Mam covered her mouth, her blue eyes filling.

       "But
Da…" Freddy wilted. 

       "He
goes for us, macushla," Mam said softly, easing her daughter's head onto
her shoulder.

       "Don't
cry, Freddy!" Cathleen let go of Mam's legs and fiercely hugged her oldest
sister's, then lifted her arms. Her face crumpled.

       Freddy
bent down to lift the wee one and hold her tight. "There, now, see? I'm
all better." She balanced her on one hip and kissed her plump cheek.
Rubbing the tip of her nose on Cathleen's, she ran her hand through the
toddler's black curls, so very like her own. 

       Mam
gazed toward the lane, wringing her hands. "The devil's plague on cursed
Cromwell!" She hid her face in her hands and Freddy drew her into a
one-armed embrace. Nine-year-old Nessa sprinted from the house and threw
herself at Mam, sniffing. Aileen and Ryanne joined them in a huddle. Mam
wrapped her arms around them all as best she could. The younger girls
whimpered, and began wailing.

       Mam
shook herself, straightened her shoulders, and wiped at her eyes. "Come,
my darlings, we must hurry. Those Englishmen will be back to do their worst. We
must leave at once…"

       "Where
will we go?" Freddy asked breathlessly.

       "Kate's.
We're blessed to have her there, in the west. But first we must eat, quickly
now, there is much to do…"

       Aileen
led the way inside, promising the younger girls slabs of warm bread with honey.

       "Me,
too!" Nessa whined, following them.  

       "Mmmm,
it smells good," Freddy said, forcing herself to sound cheerful. "I
am famished!" In truth, she was not sure she could eat. Her stomach felt
strange. She cleared Mam's mending from the wooden table and placed it on a
shelf in the dark corner. Two narrow, deep-silled windows provided shafts of
sunlight that pierced the gloom. The white walls were plain, punctuated only by
wooden shelves, a small cupboard, and Mam's rosary. Freddy glanced around the
small room, wondering how much they could bring with them. Da had crafted the
family's simple furnishings – two rocking chairs, the table, a straight-backed
chair, and several stools. Freddy moved to the stone hearth. "Nessa,
please bring the bowls." 

       Aileen
quietly sliced the loaf of brown bread, piled thick slices on a plate, and carried
it to the table. She slathered two slabs with honey and put them in front of
Cathleen and Ryanne. Cathleen just sucked her thumb, her eyes huge. Ryanne
picked hers up and took a small nibble. Freddy ladled mutton stew from the
soot-blackened pot into wooden bowls, and Nessa carried them to the table. 

       Mam
rushed in, carrying the wash. She put the basket on the dirt floor and took her
wooden rosary from its peg. Closing her eyes, she kissed the crucifix and put
the rosary over her head to wear like a necklace. "God and Jesus and Mary,
keep us and guide us," she murmured, tucking the rosary inside her dress.
She pulled off her work scarf and smoothed her brown hair back. Sitting in Da's
place at the head of the table, she took Cathleen onto her lap and hugged
Ryanne close. The others pulled their stools up.

       "Let
us say Grace and pray for Da's safety," Mam said. They all bowed their
heads, folded their hands, and were silent. Mam was the first to pick up her
spoon.      

       "Aunt
Kate will be happy to see us," Aileen said, stirring her stew.

       "She
will, she will." Mam took a piece of bread from the plate. "Please
pass the butter."

       "We
can help with her new babe," Freddy offered, noticing a deep crease
between Mam's eyebrows. 

       "I'll
help too!" Ryanne blurted.

       Mam
smiled at her. Her smile faded as she realized none of them had touched their
food. "First, help by eating your dinner," she began. "Come, my
girls, we must be strong for Da. He would tell you to eat as much as you can,
for the journey."

       "A
journey to the west," Aileen said dreamily, dunking her bread into the
steaming stew. "We'll pretend to be tinkers! We'll cook outdoors like
them, and sleep under the stars!"

       "I
wanna be a tinker!" Cathleen hollered.

       "Me
too!" Ryanne put in, taking a big bite of bread.

       "And
me!" Nessa crowed.   

       "I'll
ride Firewind alongside the cart," Freddy said, her mouth full of potato.
"That way there'll be more room for the rest of you."

       "Yes…"
Mam chewed on the back of one knuckle as she fed Cathleen stew. "Right.
Freddy, I'll need you to harness Big Blue to the cart. Check his shoes, feed
and water him, pack his oats, and bring the cart to the door…"

       Freddy
nodded, slathering butter on another chunk of bread.

       "Aileen,
watch the wee one while I pack provisions and clothing. Cook up the rest of
that mutton so we can take it, then fetch water to douse the fire. Nessa, roll
up all the blankets for the journey, pile 'em by the door. And wrap the Bible
in my shawl."

       "What
about me?" Ryanne asked.

       "I
could never forget you, my sweet," Mam said, brushing the tip of Ryanne's
little nose with her finger. "Can you wash up all the bowls and spoons,
dry them, put them in a sack, then sit in the window and watch the road?"

       The
girl nodded eagerly.

       Mam
finished her stew, stood, and glanced around the room, again wringing her
hands. "Remember, girls, evil returns to the evil doer. We hold our heads
high. Freddy and Aileen, I want you to wear your rosaries. Now, we must make
haste!"

        Freddy
carried her bowl to the wash shelf and headed out the door. She spotted Big
Blue in the middle field, still harnessed to the plow, his head drooping. Da
had just shoed the gentle draught horse last month. Surely he was ready for the
travel.

       She
stopped to soothe Firewind, hugging his neck. "Good boy," Freddy
whispered to him. He was the best friend she'd ever had. Mam didn't care for
him, though. She particularly disliked the way her headstrong daughter rode him
through the fields, astride and in knee breeches. 

       "Frederica!"
Mam hollered out the door. "Catch the milk cows and tie them to the back
of the cart, and fetch the milking bucket. Quit your idling with that
confounded shaggy beast! Ye'll be the death of me, girl…"