Under the Hawthorn Tree (2 page)

THE BREEZE CONTINUED
. It was great drying weather. Dan Collins had sent a message to say he would take them to the bog that morning. Peggy kept hopping from one foot to the other with excitement. Since the hunger and sickness had come, the children spent most of their time hanging around the cottage. Mother wanted them near her. From their door the O’Driscolls could see the curling smoke from each cottage chimney that made up their small homeland of Duneen. It was a beautiful place. There were plenty of good neighbours, but nowadays there was very little visiting. Each family tried to hide its shame at having so little. Anyway, not many had the energy or the heart for singing, dancing and storytelling any more.

But today was different – Eily, Michael and Peggy were going to the bog. They waved goodbye
to Mother, who looked tense and pale. Baby Bridget was still very sick. She slept most of the time and cried only when Mother put her down.

They each carried a basket for the turf. Also there was a can of cool water and some potato skins and a crust of dry bread to keep the hunger at bay.

Pat and his father were waiting for them. Dan Collins was a big man, with curly blond hair, and his eyes seemed to twinkle when he was in a good mood. He spent most of his time outdoors and always seemed to know where wild berries or mushrooms grew. Moses, his old donkey, stood with the empty creels tied to his back.

‘You bold young straps, holding us up on such a fine day,’ joked Dan as he put the empty baskets on top of the donkey. ‘Run on ahead and Moses and I will follow in our own good time.’ The donkey was old and slow and would not be rushed.

The children had plenty of time to play and cod-act as they gathered the dry turf into neat piles. Peggy busied herself picking wild cowslips for Mother.

At last Dan arrived and they began to load the baskets with as much as they could carry, which wasn’t too much. Old Moses was able for only a half-load nowadays.

In no time they were all hot and thirsty. They sat
down and gulped the cool water and ate what they had. Dan had a sup of tea and a potato cake, and then he helped them all in turn to carry their baskets as Pat guided and steadied Moses.

The journey home was long and exhausting. The fields seemed stonier and their arms and shoulders and backs ached. They had to stop and rest often. A few times, Peggy sat down on the ground and said she couldn’t walk any further, and began to sob. Dan Collins joked her and told her that if old Moses with his bad leg could do it surely a young pony like herself could manage it.

It took an age before they reached the Collins’s cottage. There they said farewell. The children found the last half mile almost endless. Michael’s hands were bleeding as he tried to keep a grip on the heaviest basket. It was dusk by the time they reached home.

The big basket would sit by the fire, but the rest was emptied at the side of the cottage. It made only a small pile. They couldn’t help but remember the large pile you could stand on, almost the height of the cottage, that their father would normally gather when times were good.

They pushed in the door. Mother was dozing with Bridget in the chair near the fire. She looked tired and they could tell she had been crying.

Quiet as mice, they reheated some leftover oatmeal and water. They were all tired out, and glad to fall into bed. With arms and shoulders aching, they scarcely had time to notice the normal rumbling hunger pains that came before sleep.

At some time during the night they became aware of their mother’s sobs and of Bridget coughing and trying to breathe. Michael came and lay down in the bed beside the girls. They held hands and prayed – every prayer they had ever learned.

‘God help us, please help us, God,’ they whispered.

No one slept. It was the early hours of the morning before the coughing stopped. Then there was a sudden silence. Mother was kissing the baby’s face and each little finger one by one.

‘God let the sun come up soon and let this terrible night end,’ the children begged.

Suddenly they became aware of their mother’s silence. They got up and went over to her. Large tears slid down her cheeks.

‘She’s gone. My own little darling is gone.’

Peggy started to cry. ‘I want Bridget back,’ she wailed. ‘I want her.’

‘It’s all right, pet,’ assured Mother. ‘She was too weak to stay in this hard world any longer. Look at her. Isn’t she a grand little girl, now she’s at rest.’

The baby lay still, as if she were just dozing. Mother told them to kiss her, and one by one they kissed the soft cheek and forehead of Bridget, the little sister they hardly knew.

Mother seemed strangely calm and made them go back to bed. ‘At first light, Michael, you must run to Dan Collins and ask him to get Father Doyle. I’ll just sit and mind my darling girl for a little while yet.’

Later, Michael set off, his face pale and his eyes red-rimmed. The chill of the early morning made him shiver as he pulled his light jacket around him.

Mother had heated some water and with a cloth she gently washed Bridget, and brushed and brushed the soft blond curls. Eily pulled the old wooden chest from under Mother and Father’s bed. As instructed, she opened it. There wasn’t that much in it, so she soon found the lace christening robe which her great-grandmother had made. The lace was yellow and old. It was only ten months since Bridget had worn the robe before, but her little body was so thin and wasted it still fitted her. Dressed in it she looked like a little pale angel, though Eily couldn’t help but remember a porcelain French doll she had seen in a shop window in the town once. It stood stiff in a white lace dress with a starched petticoat and long curling real hair. How
she had wanted to hold and have that doll. Now she felt the same longing, but much worse. She ached to hold Bridget and never let her go.

Michael came home. They all had a sup of milk and tidied themselves and the cottage as best they could. Dan Collins would get the priest. Father Doyle was a nice man – he and Father were very friendly and sometimes he would drop in for a chat and a bit of company. Father used to say that being a priest was grand, but it was a lonely life.

Mid-morning they were all surprised when Dan Collins and his wife Kitty arrived. Kitty ran straight to Mother and kissed her. Their eyes were full of tears and unspoken words.

‘Margaret, we are so sorry. Poor little Bridget,’ whispered Kitty.

Dan Collins cleared his throat and shifted uneasily. ‘There is more bad news, God spare us. Father Doyle is gone down with the sickness himself and will not be able to bury the wee lassie. Already in the village a few have died of the sickness – Seamus Fadden, the coffin maker, being one – so there are no proper funerals …’ He stopped.

Mother let out a high wailing cry. ‘What will become of us, what are we to do?’ The air hung heavy.

‘We’ll bury her decently in her own place,’ said Dan.

The three children stared at Mother, waiting for her reply. She nodded her head silently.

‘Under the hawthorn tree in the back field,’ she whispered. ‘The children always played there and its blossom will shelter her now.’

Dan motioned to Michael and they left the cottage and disappeared up to the field carrying a spade.

‘We’ve no coffin,’ said Mother hoarsely.

Kitty looked around the cottage and begged Eily to help her. Eily cleared her throat. ‘What about using grandmother’s wooden chest?’

Kitty and Eily pulled it out from under the old bed and lifted it onto the blanket. Mother walked over and nodded silently. Kitty began to take out the family treasures and lay them to one side.

Kitty and Mother started to get everything ready. Eily and Peggy, sensing they were not wanted, ran outside and pulled bluebells and wild flowers. They sucked in deep breaths of air to try and calm their hearts.

Dan came back down the field and went inside. In a few minutes the three adults emerged, Kitty holding Mother’s arm and Dan carrying the carved wooden chest.

A light breeze blew and the blossom bowed and waved in welcome. There was a clear blue sky. A family of bluetits sat on the branch of the tree, helping to keep vigil.

Dan and Kitty led them in the prayers and they all remembered the words of Jesus, ‘Suffer the little children to come unto me’. They prayed too that they would ‘meet again in Paradise’.

Eily and Michael gently placed the flowers beside the chest. Peggy clung to Mother as huge sobs racked her body. Mother stroked her hair. They all sang a favourite hymn of Father Doyle’s, then Kitty led them back to the house. She had brought some tea and made a mug for the adults. She made Mother sit down near the fire as she warmed some leftover potato cakes.

For the next few days, Mother stayed in her shift with the shawl wrapped around her, and barely bothered to do anything. Eily and Michael fetched the water, swept out the cottage and searched for food. They wished that Father would come back. Eily was scared. How long would it last?

CHAPTER 3

Nothing to Eat

A FEW DAYS LATER
, Mother called them all together. She had built up the fire. She was dressed and her hair was pinned up with two combs. She had folded up her beautiful handworked lace shawl and grey knitted wedding gown with its matching lace collar and set them on the bed. Her Mother had made them for her, for that special June day when she had married John O’Driscoll many years before.

‘Eily, share out the potato skins, then sit down.’ They all had a drink and a bite to eat. Mother took up the brush and began to brush Peggy’s long dark hair.

Then she slipped off her shift and put on a cream dress. ‘Eily, Michael and Peggy, I have to go into the village today, because there’s nothing left to eat. Bridget is gone. I have buried one child and I’ll not let anything happen the rest of you. We must have food,’ she said.

‘But, Mother,’ began Eily, ‘you’ve no money … oh no, not your dress and shawl, it’s all you’ve left.’

‘Listen, pet, what good is a dress and a shawl hidden away under the bed? I know they won’t bring much, but maybe Patsy Murphy will trade me enough for a bag of meal and some oats or something. With every day we are all getting weaker and losing our strength. We must eat or we’ll get sick. Do you think I can’t see Peggy and the eyes shining out of her head and her arms and legs like sticks? And Michael, my little man, who can hardly lift the basket of turf and hasn’t the strength to walk the few miles to the river to try and catch a bit of fish? And Eily, my darling girl, who is worn out with the worry of it all? Now, listen. You must keep the fire going and get some water in. You are all to stay indoors. Dan Collins told me that the sickness is everywhere and that people are out walking the roads. I will be as fast as I can, but you must keep the door on the latch.’

Eily begged, ‘Please, Mother, let me go with you.’

Mother shook her head and insisted they stay. She put a few things in her basket and pulled on her shawl. Outside it was a beautiful warm morning. The fields were covered in daisies and the hedgerows were laden with woodbine and honeysuckle. It was tempting to stay outside and play, but they dared not disobey Mother. They waved goodbye.

Peggy was cross and cranky and bored. Michael invented games and tried to think of things to distract her, but Eily still had to resort to raising the wooden spoon twice. Peggy lay down on the bed sulking, and angry with Eily.

Suddenly they became aware of footsteps coming down the laneway. Could she be back so soon? Eily was about to rush out and help with the bag of meal when she realised that there were two voices outside. The children stayed still and silent.

‘For the love of God, let a poor woman and her son in for a sit down and a sup of water,’ whined the voice. They were standing just outside. ‘We’ve walked for miles. We’re tired and sore and thirsty. A little help is all we need.’

Eily made to go towards the door, but Michael stopped her.

‘Remember what Mother said,’ he hissed. ‘Don’t answer.’

The strangers were tapping on the door. Quickly Michael moved the turf basket and the chair in front of it. The two girls sat on the bed, scared. What if they guessed there were only children in the house?

‘Did you hear us?’ The woman raised her voice. ‘We need a bit of help.’ When there was no reply, the woman began to curse. She picked up two pieces of turf and flung them at the door.

‘There could be pickings inside,’ said the son.

Eily and Michael and Peggy stared at each other, all terrified out of their wits, wondering what would happen when the strangers pushed in the door.

Suddenly Michael got an idea. ‘Oh, thank God for someone coming along,’ he moaned. ‘We need help. Oh, for the love of God, run to the well and bring us a bucket of water. My sister is burning up with the fever and my throat and head feel they are on fire.’

Eily put a hand over Peggy’s mouth to stop her from giggling or saying something. The two voices outside the door whispered to each other.

‘We buried my little sister last week,’ continued Michael in a high quavering voice, ‘and half the
village is dying of the fever. For the love of God…’