Paupers Graveyard (26 page)

‘You found what you were looking for?'

‘Yes, the digging is about to start. What do you think will happen?'

‘That's in God's hands now, child, what is about to happen is not of your doing.'

‘I know who you are,' Lucy started to cry.

‘And I know who you are.' Elizabeth reached out and stroked her hair.

‘What I don't understand is why you're here.' Lucy wiped the tears from her face. ‘Didn't you suffer enough in the famine?'

‘We are as puzzled as you are. Timmy is here, perhaps, because of a promise he once made to his mother to save the children, and I have been denied rest because of the hatred of one man. The others …' she waved around the graveyard, ‘perhaps it is the fate of those who die of hunger and disease, torn from their families before their time, to lie in restless sleep. The only good that has come from our torment is that the typhus has been found and Ireland will no longer have to bear its scourge. We may yet get our answer in heaven,' Elizabeth smiled. ‘Now go child and remember us in your prayers.'

Lucy walked away, feeling as though her heart would break. She stopped at the edge of the graveyard, and stayed looking back as the Earthmovers passed by her and trundled to their designated areas. The drivers were unable to see the small group that stood before them, bravely awaiting their fate. The ground shook beneath their feet, and the children crowded tighter around Elizabeth. She closed her eyes, and waited for the end.

‘Ma,' one of the children called, and ran from her.

She looked up to see the child running towards a woman who stood with her arms outstretched. There were people walking towards them from all around the graveyard and, one by one, children cried out with delight and ran to their parents.

The dead had come to claim their own.

Soon only Timmy and Elizabeth stood alone. Lucy watched from the edge of the field supported by Joe.

‘Look's like we're on our own again,' Elizabeth turned to Timmy.

‘You've kept us waiting for far too long, madam.' She spun round to find John and her daughters walking towards her. They all looked exactly as they had the last time she'd seen them.

‘Mamma,' her girls ran and threw their arms around her waist. She kissed each of the upturned face and turned to her husband.

‘I was delayed.' Her heart sang as his arms went around her. ‘Timmy.' She wanted to gather him to her, but he didn't hear her.

He was holding too tightly to his mother to take any notice.

The men waiting to dig the field saw none of this. They were watching the woman who stood sobbing, and looking into the distance. They didn't see the Lucy the child, run to Lucy the woman with her hands outstretched.

‘I promised my mamma that I would keep it safe until we met again,' she pointed to the locket.

‘Yes, of course.' Lucy slipped the catch, and allowed it to fall into the waiting hand.

She had realised almost from the beginning that Elizabeth was a part of her.

‘Thank you,' the child stood on her tiptoes and kissed her cheek, before running back to her mother.

Lucy watched as the locket was held out to Elizabeth, who shook her head and whispered something to her daughter.

‘My mamma said I must return this to you. She had no further need of it, not where she is going,' the child held out the locket to Lucy. ‘She said you must wear it with her love and asks that you remember her always.'

‘I won't forget her,' Lucy felt the heavy gold chain being slipped into her hand, but she was crying too much to say any more. She watched as Timmy walked over to Elizabeth and hugged her before going back to his mother.

‘I'll see you up there,' he pointed towards the sky.

‘You better be waiting when I get there.'

The last thing Lucy heard was the sound of their laughter, as they dissolved into pinpricks of light. The spirits in the trees rushed to join them and they became one, a silver shower of meteorites that rushed upwards, towards the heavens.

‘The sky will be brighter tonight,' Joe wiped his eyes.

Lucy nodded. She was no longer the same woman who had first come to the field. Nothing in science or medicine could explain what had just happened. It took the love of a mother and a young boy to teach her that life was eternal. That it never dies, only moves on.

‘Do you think they'll be special in heaven?' she asked Joe. Only days before this question would have seemed foolish. ‘I mean, do you think they'll be angels?'

His answer was exactly what she wanted to hear.

‘They were already angels.'

It is still there, the evil. It has not been eradicated. The unrest, the destruction, continues. The housing estate lies empty. The once pristine buildings, some still furnished, stand cold and unused like giant doll's houses. No one who has been to this place remains untouched. Like the builder, who was found hanging from a tree in the estate. Some believe he was driven to suicide, by the generous amounts awarded by the courts to the angry residents claiming compensation. Others say that some unseen force murdered him. But everyone agrees, it is a place best avoided.

The graveyard has been completely dug over and a huge black square marks the place. No grass has grown there since that fateful day. It is a sad reminder to passers-by of the loss of those who once walked the land. At first, the place was a magnet for the curious or the derelict hoping to find comfort within the empty houses, but soon no one dared to go there, as body after body was carried from the place. The deaths served to warn the unwary, the foolish, to stay away.

Some believe the dark shadow they see on the hillside is nothing more than a trick of the light, but they are wrong. He is there. Not welcome in heaven, he lives in his own private hell. He has learned to be patient, and eventually they will come – they always do. Evil does not need to go looking. There are always those who will seek it out.

Thank you to everyone at Mercier Press, especially Eoin Purcell for his vision, to Patrick Crowley, Clodagh Feehan, Wendy Logue and Mary Feehan. To my agent, Jonathan Williams, for his guidance. To Seamus Cashman, for his kind comments and words of encouragement.

To David Rice and Kathleen Thorne of the Killaloe Hedge School of Writing, who held up the torch to light my way.

To my friends, Eileen Townsend for her kindness and unending faith in me, Dympna Moloney, who never failed to bring me treats, laughter and understanding. To my daughter Jessica, for reading and commenting on my work, my son Robert for his patience, and my taskmaster George, who made sure I was seated at my desk by ten each morning. My aunt, Kitty Murphy, for lending me her ear, and the members of the Killaloe Writing Group, too numerous to mention, but you know who you are.

Last, but not least, to my father, Jim Loughman – thanks Dad, for everything.

We hope you enjoyed this book.

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