The Good People by Hannah Kent Page B

See that house closest to us? That’s where Peg O’Shea lives, the woman you met last night. She has a fine and full family. Five children and their children besides.’ Nóra pointed down the valley, where the lane dipped around the mountain to the flatter plain, as they began to walk. ‘And that place way down there – do you see the two buildings and the lime kiln a ways off? There, in the middle of the valley. That’s the blacksmith’s. John O’Donoghue and his wife Áine. ’Tis a great house for cuaird , for night-visiting. They’ve no children at all though they’ve been married ten years. People don’t speak of it. My nephew’s home is just beyond that, along the valley, though you can’t see it for all the mist. Daniel Lynch is his name. His wife is expecting their first child. You might see him and his brother about the place. They’ll help with the labour some. My husband died not long ago.’
    ‘Sorry for your trouble, missus.’
    There was the sound of laughter, and Nóra, suddenly fighting tears, was grateful to see two women come around the slope with water pails in hand, joining them on the lane.
    ‘God bless you, Nóra Leahy,’ said one of them, pulling her cloak off her face so she could better see. Curly wisps of fair hair escaped from her braid.
    ‘And you too, Sorcha. Éilís. This here is Mary Clifford.’
    The women looked at Mary with interest, their eyes narrowed. ‘To the well, are ye?’
    ‘We are.’
    ‘Mary, Éilís is the wife of the schoolmaster here, William O’Hare. He takes the children for their lessons by the hedgerows. And Sorcha is the daughter of my brother-in-law’s brother’s wife.’
    Mary looked confused.
    ‘Don’t worry, you’ll meet them in time. There’s no hiding. Everyone knows everyone here.’
    ‘We’re all tied together, whether we like it or no,’ Éilís added, raising an eyebrow. She was a short bull of a woman with dark bags under her eyes.
    ‘Did you hear about Father Healy, Nóra?’
    ‘What about him?’
    Sorcha puffed out her cheeks. ‘He heard about your man Martin’s wake. Didn’t it fire him up?’ She laughed. ‘You should have heard him speak at Mass. Oh, he had the anger up.’
    Nóra shook her head irritably. ‘What are you saying?’
    Sorcha leant in closer, swinging her water pail against her leg. ‘He had the word against your keener, Nance Roche. Preached against her, like. Said she’s not to be brought in for caoineadh . Said it is not in line with the Church.’
    ‘And what sort of wake would it be without keening?’ Nóra exclaimed. ‘Did you ever hear of such a thing?’
    ‘Oh, he was fit to be tied,’ Éilís added. She was enjoying the scandal. ‘He was spitting all over everyone. I had to wipe my face.’
    ‘We’ve a new priest,’ Nóra explained to Mary. ‘Father Healy.’
    Sorcha stooped to pick up a dandelion and put it in her mouth, chewing on the leaf. ‘He doesn’t stand for much. I wonder how he knew Nance was at your cabin? He’d already left. ’Twas pissing down that night.’
    ‘Someone must have told him,’ Éilís suggested darkly.
    The well was cut into the slope of the valley where the mountain met the level ground, a rough hole, surrounded by bushes of furze and heather. An ash tree grew nearby, to mark the place and to make the water sweeter, and tattered ribbons flapped from its trunk and lower branches in the breeze. There were already a group of women talking by the well, pails of water by their feet. They looked up at the sound of Éilís and Sorcha’s voices and greeted Nóra, eyes flashing quickly to Mary and glancing over her ill-fitting clothes. Some spat on the ground. ‘God be between us and harm,’ whispered another.
    ‘’Tis your red hair,’ Nóra muttered to Mary.
    ‘My red hair?’
    ‘Do you not meet with the spitting in Annamore?’
    ‘Never on my life.’
    ‘Well, don’t mind them.’ She nodded to two of the women. ‘This is Mary Clifford. She’s come