The Crooked Branch

The Crooked Branch by Jeanine Cummins Page A

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Authors: Jeanine Cummins
Tags: Fiction, Family Life
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the people thereof perish.’” Father Brennan looked up from the paper, his eyes and the pate of his head gleaming. “It’s just as Willie says, I’m afraid. O’Connell went to Heytesbury, to plead with him for Ireland, for mercy. Not for a handout—we don’t need help from England. We produce enough food on this island to feed our people ten times over. If the lords and ladies would only stop taking that food off us and exporting it for profit. Even just for one season of hunger! But Heytesbury wouldn’t hear of it. He turned O’Connell away.” Father Brennan drew his lips in tight.
    Ginny’s stomach gave a great twist and a heave, and she was afraid she might be sick right there on the hearth. She put a hand to her mouth, and after a moment, the feeling washed out of her. Father Brennan was folding the paper back into his jacket.
    “I cannot, in good conscience, counsel you to heed the advice of these fine boys, Ginny,” he said. “I know you’re on your own here now, with your own good parents deceased, God rest them, until Ray gets work and sends back for you. I can’t say what Packet might do, when he meets with treachery on his watch. He could very well turn you out into the roads. Knowing Packet, I’d say he might evict the whole lot of ye, every last child of God.”
    The priest turned to survey the Harkin lads, who were standing quietly now. “But I’ve known these two brave lads all their lives, and I like their gumption. Who knows? Maybe Packet would agree to delay the rents until the summer gale, seeing what kind of condition the poor people are in. He could convince his master surely, just to put off the collection for one season. It’s a fine idea they’ve cobbled together. If it works.”
    “It will work,” Thomas piped up. “There’s a great strength in our numbers. No violence, but we have to stand together. It will only work if everyone does it.”
    “Please, Mrs. Doyle,” Willie said, touching her arm. “At least think it over.”
    Ginny nodded. “I will.”
    The lads began to bundle themselves then, clapping themselves up to greet the cold. She saw them out through the door, and watched as they pitched themselves up the ridge toward the road beyond, their bodies all full of youthful hope and purpose. When they were gone, the cottage felt quiet and empty. Ginny looked at the silent faces of her children for only a moment before she made up her mind. She didn’t have the courage to risk them to the road, to wager the demolition of their home, to face Packet’s men and the constable armed with crowbars and torches at their door. She had to pay the rent.
    •   •   •
    The queue at the Big House was the same as any gale day. Ginny Doyle wasn’t the only coward in the parish. All the hungry families waited their turns to step in, and hand over whatever Packet demanded of them. For many, since the ruin of their potatoes, handing over their pigs or oats for rent would mean utter destitution to follow. They would starve. And still, they queued up for it—they all did. Fear of the road was worse than the fear of hunger. Mary Reilly was there, empty-handed. That portion of her potato crop that would’ve paid her rent was gone, along with all the rest. Ginny didn’t know what Mary would do, what she might offer to Packet in return for a stay. She tried not to wonder.
    They trooped home after like a sad parade. It was usually a bit festive, gale day. There was a weight took off your shoulders by paying the rents, and afterward, there’d be a lot of merriment, and all the young people would gather up by the crossroads and there would be a great song and dance, once in the early winter and once in the early summer when the rents were due. But it wasn’t the same now, with Ray gone, and all the hunger in people’s throats and faces. It was uncommon cold, for November, with the snow and everything, and Ginny was glad to get the children home before sunset. Inside the door,

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