Under the Hawthorn Tree by Marita Conlon-Mckenna Page A

questioned.
    ‘One with cakes and tarts and pies,’ piped up Peggy.
    The soldier scratched his head at such a notion but eventually pointed them towards a side street.
    Eily could not believe it – finally here. Her heart was hammering in her chest. They walked down the street, passing houses that opened right on to it. The soldier had said the shop had a blue and white door, and a big wide blue window with white shutters. At last they found it! The blinds were drawn. The children tapped at the door, but no one came. They lifted the knocker – no one was at home. Maybe the aunts had gone out? They slippeddown a narrow alleyway and lay down to sleep.
    Tomorrow, they would try again.

CHAPTER 17

Journey’s End

    THE SOUNDS OF THE TOWN woke the children. They stretched. All their muscles were stiff and sore. Eily brushed the loose dust and dirt from their clothes. Inside, she was bursting with hope and almost felt light-hearted. Today was the day. They had made it. They were right in the middle of Castletaggart. This was the town their Mother had so often talked about.
    They walked the short distance back towards the shop. Storekeepers were already setting out their wares and putting up stands with their selection of goods on display. The owner of the hardware store hung buckets and pots and pans and jugs frombrass hooks around his shopfront. Shovels and fire-irons lay stacked near the door. Peggy was so amazed at all the goings-on that she walked straight into a pile of green watering cans and sent them flying.
    The children stared longingly at the provisions store, their eyes transfixed by the amount of food there. Sacks of flour and meal lay heavily under the counter. From the ceiling hung large hunks of various meats. On a painted white shelf were jars of various sweets. The shopkeeper was carefully wiping some freshly laid eggs and placing them in a wicker basket, while his wife was weighing out small bags of tea. The children swallowed hard, realising just how hungry they really were.
    Eily pulled Peggy by the hand and moved quickly towards the shop with the blue and white shutters. A woman was standing outside with a bucket of water and a mop. She wore a large white apron.
    Peggy was nearly bursting with excitement. ‘Is that one of Mammy’s aunties?’ she whispered.
    Eily wasn’t sure, and cautiously approached the woman, who was busy washing down the front door step and the path outside the shop. The woman turned and caught sight of them.
    ‘Get away out of it, ye spalpeens. There’s nothing for ye here. Go on, now, or I’ll call the soldiers.’
    ‘We’re Eily and Michael and Peggy O’Driscoll,’ began Eily, ‘Margaret Murphy from Drumneagh’s children.’
    The woman stared at them. ‘Divil a bit do I care who you are. I don’t know ye, anyways. Move on, now, it should be the workhouse or the roads for the likes of ye.’ Eily’s heart sank.
    Peggy stood staring straight ahead. Huge tears filled her eyes. ‘You’re not our auntie.’
    The woman shook her head, and turned around and began to wash with the mop, ignoring them. Eily went back up to her again.
    ‘Mam, did ye ever hear of the Murphys of Drumneagh – Nano and Lena were our grandmother’s sisters. They would be quite old now. They had a shop, a baking shop. Did you ever hear tell of them?’
    The woman set aside her broom, then walked to the corner of the street and pointed to the far end of the main street.
    ‘There’s a lane over there that runs off the market square. It’s called Market Lane. There used to be a shop there run by two old ladies. Try there.’
    Then she turned on her heel and walked back, not wanting to entertain one more word of conversation with them. She picked up the bucket and mop and closed the door firmly behind her.
    The children stood still. The town was beginning to fill up. They crossed the street and found Market Lane. They walked up and down it twice. There was no sign of the aunts’ shop. There were