evicted, turned out onto the roads in this weather, with four babbies to look after? Are you mad, altogether?”
“Just hear us out, Mrs. Doyle,” Willie said then. “I know it’s frightening. But if everyone does it, if we all stick together, we’ll be grand. Packet can hardly eject everyone, can he? He’d have no tenants at all, then.”
“There’s plenty of families would be lined up after us, to take our place,” she said. “And them all too willing to pay Packet his rents.”
“But no one can pay,” Thomas argued. “It’s not a matter of willingness, with the pratie crop gone. It’s a matter of survival.”
Willie looked around the cottage, gestured at the three bags of meal hanging from the tie beam. “You’re going to be all right, Mrs. Doyle,” he said. “You’re better off than most. You had a great harvest of oats this year, I know, and you’ve always had that kitchen garden, with the turnips and cabbage and that. It’s well you know that most people don’t have that kitchen garden—they only sow the praties for to eat. And you managed the price of a ticket for Mr. Doyle as well.”
“Most families in this parish never planted anything, only the praties,” Thomas said. “Sure that’s all they had space enough to grow, after sowing most of the land with oats for to pay the rents. And now, with the praties gone, there’s nothing standing between the people and starvation—only them oats Packet demands for rent. He’ll take the food from our mouths and sell it out to England to please his lordship, for to fatten his wife and his wallet. They will profit from our starvation!”
Ginny looked to Father Brennan again, but he was mute. Michael stared up from the fire with his father’s half-moon eyes. She bit her lip.
“If our rent leaves Ireland, Mrs. Doyle,” Thomas went on, “we will
all
starve, make no mistake. Our neighbors, our children, everyone. Sure, there’s people starving enough already. But God help us, this is only the start of it.”
Ginny wished she could cover Michael’s young ears, but it was too late for all that. He was taking it all in. Then Willie spoke up again. “O’Connell and the commission appealed to Lord Heytesbury in Dublin just this week, and they were turned away,” the older brother said. “This is what they asked for, exactly this—the prohibition of exports. O’Connell knows it—everyone knows it—that if they keep exporting our food for rent, all will be annihilation. Even those like yourself, lucky enough to have a surplus or a bit of money, you won’t be able to buy food where there is none.”
Michael was still staring up at his mother, his eyes watery, the melting snow dripping down from his hair. She wondered if he knew the word “annihilation.” Before his voice went, he was always asking the meanings of words, looking to learn newer and bigger ones. He was a clever boy. She leaned down to stroke his face.
“They don’t care, Mrs. Doyle,” Thomas went on. “They’re only too glad to be rid of us. There was talk of government aid, but it’s not forthcoming. The Queen has washed her hands.”
The cold was stealing into the room now, even though the door was shut and the fire crackling away. Maire laid down the brush and began plaiting Maggie’s black hair. Poppy had fallen asleep beside the fire, exhausted from chasing snowflakes. How she wished for Raymond in that moment, for the comfort of collective thought.
“What do you say about all this, Father?” Ginny asked.
Father Brennan reached inside his coat, and drew out a newspaper. “It’s the
Freeman’s Journal
,” he said.
“And?”
He cleared his throat, and read it out in a most terrible, somber voice. “‘They may starve! Such in spirit, if not in words, was the reply given yesterday by the English Viceroy, to the memorial of the deputation, which, in the name of the Lords and Commons of Ireland, prayed that the food of this kingdom be preserved, lest
“Just hear us out, Mrs. Doyle,” Willie said then. “I know it’s frightening. But if everyone does it, if we all stick together, we’ll be grand. Packet can hardly eject everyone, can he? He’d have no tenants at all, then.”
“There’s plenty of families would be lined up after us, to take our place,” she said. “And them all too willing to pay Packet his rents.”
“But no one can pay,” Thomas argued. “It’s not a matter of willingness, with the pratie crop gone. It’s a matter of survival.”
Willie looked around the cottage, gestured at the three bags of meal hanging from the tie beam. “You’re going to be all right, Mrs. Doyle,” he said. “You’re better off than most. You had a great harvest of oats this year, I know, and you’ve always had that kitchen garden, with the turnips and cabbage and that. It’s well you know that most people don’t have that kitchen garden—they only sow the praties for to eat. And you managed the price of a ticket for Mr. Doyle as well.”
“Most families in this parish never planted anything, only the praties,” Thomas said. “Sure that’s all they had space enough to grow, after sowing most of the land with oats for to pay the rents. And now, with the praties gone, there’s nothing standing between the people and starvation—only them oats Packet demands for rent. He’ll take the food from our mouths and sell it out to England to please his lordship, for to fatten his wife and his wallet. They will profit from our starvation!”
Ginny looked to Father Brennan again, but he was mute. Michael stared up from the fire with his father’s half-moon eyes. She bit her lip.
“If our rent leaves Ireland, Mrs. Doyle,” Thomas went on, “we will
all
starve, make no mistake. Our neighbors, our children, everyone. Sure, there’s people starving enough already. But God help us, this is only the start of it.”
Ginny wished she could cover Michael’s young ears, but it was too late for all that. He was taking it all in. Then Willie spoke up again. “O’Connell and the commission appealed to Lord Heytesbury in Dublin just this week, and they were turned away,” the older brother said. “This is what they asked for, exactly this—the prohibition of exports. O’Connell knows it—everyone knows it—that if they keep exporting our food for rent, all will be annihilation. Even those like yourself, lucky enough to have a surplus or a bit of money, you won’t be able to buy food where there is none.”
Michael was still staring up at his mother, his eyes watery, the melting snow dripping down from his hair. She wondered if he knew the word “annihilation.” Before his voice went, he was always asking the meanings of words, looking to learn newer and bigger ones. He was a clever boy. She leaned down to stroke his face.
“They don’t care, Mrs. Doyle,” Thomas went on. “They’re only too glad to be rid of us. There was talk of government aid, but it’s not forthcoming. The Queen has washed her hands.”
The cold was stealing into the room now, even though the door was shut and the fire crackling away. Maire laid down the brush and began plaiting Maggie’s black hair. Poppy had fallen asleep beside the fire, exhausted from chasing snowflakes. How she wished for Raymond in that moment, for the comfort of collective thought.
“What do you say about all this, Father?” Ginny asked.
Father Brennan reached inside his coat, and drew out a newspaper. “It’s the
Freeman’s Journal
,” he said.
“And?”
He cleared his throat, and read it out in a most terrible, somber voice. “‘They may starve! Such in spirit, if not in words, was the reply given yesterday by the English Viceroy, to the memorial of the deputation, which, in the name of the Lords and Commons of Ireland, prayed that the food of this kingdom be preserved, lest
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