Tracie Peterson & Judith Miller - [Lights of Lowell 01] (22 page)

Unless, o’ course, He’s planning to rid the world of us Irish. Then it would seem He’s doing a mighty fine job.’’

‘‘That smart mouth is gonna be your downfall, lass. If I told yar mother once, I told her a hundred times, ya—’’ ‘‘Well, me ma and me pa are dead along with all me brothers and sisters, exceptin’ for Padraig. So whatever ya told me ma is of little consequence now. All I’m carin’ about right now is keepin’ this lad alive, and if I’m to do that, I’m gonna need food for ’im.’’

‘‘Well, ya’ll not find anyone around here to help ya, and that’s a fact. I been to every hovel this side of Dingle, and there’s not a potato or a cup of buttermilk to be shared. We’re all goin’ to starve to death if we don’t soon find some help. Ya may have pulled the lad back from the brink only to watch ’im die of hunger.’’

Her eyes burning with an undeniable fury, Kiara jumped up from Paddy’s side, and in one giant stride she was in front of the woman. ‘‘Don’t ya be placin’ yar wicked curse upon me brother.’’

Kiara’s command hissed out from between her clenched teeth and caused Mrs. Brennan to back out of the doorway. The sun cast a bluish sheen on Kiara’s greasy black mane as she leapt after the woman. ‘‘My brother’ll not starve so long as I’m drawin’ breath.’’

The woman held out her arm to stave off the attack and met Kiara’s intent scowl with her own steely glare. ‘‘Stop it, lass. I’m not yar enemy, just a starvin’ neighbor hopin’ to live another day.’’

The words sliced through the hazy morning mist and pierced Kiara’s heart. The hunger and worry must be driving her barmy.

She’d heard of such happenings—men and women unable to deal with the ongoing starvation and suffering of their families going completely mad. Only last week, Mr. MacGowan tied his entire family to himself before jumping off a nearby cliff. All of them had been crushed on the rocks below. Death had finally released them from their agonizing hunger, and the seawater below had washed over their bodies, sanitizing them of the dirt and grime of Ireland.

Kiara stepped back and shook her head as if to release her mind from some powerful stranglehold. ‘‘I’ll be askin’ yar forgiveness, Mrs. Brennan. It’s these last weeks of watching me da die and then me ma and now Paddy getting so sick. And then burying them.’’

‘‘Now, now, child, don’t go thinkin’ on those last weeks. It ain’t healthy.’’

‘‘I go to sleep at night thinking about me ma and pa laying in that cold ground without so much as a warm blanket around them.’’

‘‘At least ya protected the boy, and he did na realize the cruel grave they went to,’’ Mrs. Brennan said.

Kiara glanced toward Padraig’s emaciated form. ‘‘I’m prayin’ no one tells him. If he knew the undertaker slid ma’s and pa’s bodies out o’ those coffins into a dark dirt grave, well, he’d likely try to dig them up with ’is fingers.’’

Mrs. Brennan’s head bobbed up and down in agreement.

‘‘ ’Twould be terrible for ’im to find out, but if he does, ya’ll just have to explain it’s the way of things. Ain’t enough wood to build coffins for all them what’s dying in these parts. How ya plannin’ to make do, Kiara?’’

‘‘I’m thinkin’ of goin’ to Lord Palmerston and askin’ him if there might be a bit o’ work at his fancy estate. Maybe workin’ in the house or even the gardens. And Paddy’s good with horses.’’

Mrs. Brennan gave her a weary smile. ‘‘Ya do that, lass, and I’ll be prayin’ he’ll give ya some work. Ya might show him a bit o’ your lace. You got a real talent with the thread. He might be willin’ to put ya to work makin’ lace for his lady friends.’’

‘‘I do na think he’d hire someone to sit and make lace. Besides, I pinned me last bit o’ lace to Ma’s dress afore they buried her.

’Twas the least I could do. She deserved so much more than a scrap of fancywork.’’

The older woman glanced in the door toward Padraig.

‘‘Appears the boy’s beginnin’ to stir.’’

Kiara turned toward her brother and then looked back at Mrs.

Brennan. ‘‘Would ya consider lookin’ in on him while I’m gone on the morrow?’’

‘‘That I will, and may God be with ya, Kiara O’Neill.’’

‘‘And with yarself, Mrs. Brennan,’’ Kiara whispered as she sat down beside her brother’s straw pallet. ‘‘Are ya feelin’ a mite better, Paddy?’’

The boy gave a faint nod of his head. ‘‘How are we gonna make do, Kiara?’’ His voice was no more than a raspy whisper.

‘‘Don’t ya be worryin’ yar head. I’m gonna take care of ya, Paddy, just you wait and see. I’ll be gone for a bit tomorrow, but Mrs. Brennan will stop by to check on ya, and I’ll make sure there’s a tin o’ water nearby. I wish I could promise ya a biscuit or cup o’ buttermilk, but I can’t.’’

‘‘I’ll be fine.’’

The day wore on in a slow, monotonous mixture of hunger and fear. As night approached, Padraig slipped into a fitful sleep with Kiara steadfastly holding his hand. Throughout the remainder of the night, the boy wavered between a deep sleep and restlessness that kept Kiara awake and vigilent. When Paddy was quiet, she worried he had quit breathing; when he was restless, she feared his fever was returning. When morning finally arrived, her eyes were heavy and she longed for sleep. But there would be no rest this day, of that she was certain.

‘‘I’m goin’ down to the creek and get ya some drinkin’ water and wash me face a bit. Once I bring ya yar drink, I’ll be headin’ off for a while. I’ll be back before nightfall.’’

‘‘Where are ya goin’, Kiara?’’

‘‘Never ya mind, but I’m hopin’ to be bringin’ some good news when I return.’’

She trekked through the countryside, her body weakened by hunger and threatening to faint on the road. The sight of starving families along the way, their mouths green from the grass and weeds that were now their daily fare, confirmed her decision to seek help from Lord Palmerston. Although she’d never seen the man, she had once passed by his manor with her ma.

It was her ma who had observed Lord Palmerston many years ago when he was riding through the countryside with his companions and their ladies. Her ma had said he was a wee bit more handsome than most Englishmen, but her da had laughed at that remark, saying there wasn’t an Englishman alive who could turn the head of an Irish lass. He said Irish women were accustomed to men who would protect them rather than hide in the shadows.

Kiara wasn’t sure what had caused her da to believe Englishmen such cowards. However,
spineless
was the kindest word she’d ever heard him use when he referred to the men from across the sea.

Although her da may have thought Lord Palmerston lily-livered, Kiara was thankful their landlord hadn’t begun evicting his tenants like so many of the other propertied Englishmen.

Her strength seemed to swell as the manor house came into sight. She quickened her steps to keep pace with her racing heartbeat and hurried onward, turning when she reached the road leading to the mansion and circling in front of the house. Carriages lined the circular drive, providing an assurance the wealthy visitors were not required to walk far before entering the grand front doors, Kiara decided. She spied a cobblestone path leading to the rear of the huge stone edifice and, keenly aware she would never be permitted entry through the front doors, continued around the manse. The sound of laughter and chattering voices carried toward her on a warm afternoon breeze.

She had barely turned the corner of the house when a man grasped her arm, then quickly turned her loose. With an air of obvious irritation, he began to rapidly swipe his hand back and forth across his buff-colored breeches. ‘‘You are filthy! Where did you come from?’’

Kiara jumped back, flattening herself against the outer wall of the cold stone manor house. Her eyes were wide with fear. ‘‘I came from across the hills—that way.’’ She pointed to the east, but her focus remained upon the angry man who was questioning her.

‘‘I’m in search of Lord Palmerston. Is he close at hand?’’

‘‘He may be. Why would the likes of you be asking?’’

The sound of merriment filtered across the green expanse, and she guardedly looked toward the guests gathered in the yard. The men were playing some form of game while the women appeared to be cheering them on and laughing.

‘‘Well, girl? Why are you asking for Lord Palmerston?’’

‘‘I’m in need of aid. Me and me brother, we’re starvin’ to death.’’ Her voice trembled in rhythm with her shaking hands.

The man looked at her as though she spoke some foreign tongue. ‘‘Benton! You’ve got a girl here who fancies your attention.’’ The group of visitors turned toward them and began strolling in their direction. In the front was a tall man in a stylish russet waistcoat and matching trousers, with a woman flanking him on either side like two lovely bookends.

When the tall man finally stood directly in front of Kiara, he extended his walking stick and poked it under her chin. He lifted the cane, forcing her head upward to meet his piercing stare.

‘‘Why have you come to my home?’’ His tone matched the disgust etched upon his face.

Instinctively, Kiara took one step backward, and his walking stick dropped away from her chin. ‘‘I’m one of yar tenants, and we’re starvin’ to death. Surely ya know the famine has claimed the lives of many. Are ya not concerned about the welfare of yar people?’’ His appearance quickly changed from disgust to anger, his eyes burning like hot embers as he moved forward and closed the short distance between them. ‘‘Don’t you speak to me in that tone. Who do you think you are to question my behavior? As for starving tenants, if you’d learn to cultivate your crops in a reasonable fashion instead of insisting upon that ridiculous lazy-bed method you’ve all adopted, there would be potatoes in your bellies. Headstrong, incompetent people inhabit this country. You refuse to change your ways, so of course you’ll all starve to death.’’

‘‘And ya’ll be lendin’ us no assistance?’’

One of the beautiful bookends tugged at his sleeve. ‘‘I think you should find some way to help the girl,’’ she cooed.

The other woman fluttered her lashes and grasped his arm more tightly. ‘‘Yes, Benton, let’s help her. Devising a plan to help this girl will be much more entertaining than playing bocce. Don’t you think so?’’ She turned toward the other guests and waved enthusiastically, apparently hoping to solicit support from the crowd. Their immediate shouts of agreement caused her lips to curve upward into a charming smile. ‘‘Help the girl!’’ she shouted.

‘‘Help the girl! Help the girl! Help the girl!’’ The chant grew louder and louder until Lord Palmerston finally brandished his cane aloft.

‘‘Enough! Why do you care what happens to this poor excuse for a human being?’’

‘‘We’ve never done such a thing before—it will be entertaining. Come along, girl. Stand over there, and we’ll circle around and decide what’s to become of you,’’ Sir Lyndon Wilkie ordered.

He prodded Kiara along with his cane until he had her positioned in the center of the grassy lawn, where they’d been playing their game.

Linen- and lace-covered tables lined the edge of the bocce field, and Kiara’s attention was riveted upon the servants, who were now arranging food and drink for Lord Palmerston’s guests.

She watched as visitors ambled by the tables, viewing and discussing the culinary delights before carefully selecting each item. Plates full, they seated themselves on the blankets and small rugs that had been strategically placed on the lawn. She watched the guests feeding pieces of mutton and pork to the dogs wandering the grounds until she could no longer contain her anger.

Pointing to a woman holding a piece of meat over a sleek greyhound, she called out, ‘‘There are people dyin’ of hunger while ya feed those dogs the finest cuts o’ meat.’’

‘‘Those starving people aren’t here, but the dog is,’’ the woman replied. ‘‘Perhaps you would like something to eat?’’ She walked toward Kiara, carrying a hunk of dark bread and a small slab of cheese. ‘‘Shall I give you this?’’

Had it not been for Paddy, she would have refused the haughty woman. Instead, she grabbed the food, bit off a chunk of the bread, and tucked the remainder into her skirt.

‘‘I’ve heard tell people can go mad when deprived of food.

This girl has a wild look in her eyes.’’

Lord Palmerston stepped forward. ‘‘Sit down, Winifred. The girl is frightened, stupid, and starving, but she’s not insane. You were one of those chanting to help her. Have you had a change of heart?’’

‘‘No, I suppose not.’’ She turned on her heel and walked back to her blanket.

Lord Palmerston remained beside Kiara. ‘‘Now, what would you have me do with the girl? You were all anxious to have her act as your entertainment. What say you?’’

‘‘Let’s give her a new life. Let’s send her to England,’’ one of the women called out.

Another man jumped up from his blanket. ‘‘England is already swarming with starving, typhus-infested Irish immigrants. She’d be no better off in Liverpool than she is here. Let’s think of some other country we can send her to.’’

‘‘Yes! In fact, what about sending her to the Colonies? Let her go across the sea and start a completely new life,’’ Mathias New-house suggested.

‘‘Don’t you have distant relatives who absconded to America, Palmerston? You could send her as an indentured servant to your relatives.’’

‘‘Hear! Hear! Send the girl to America!’’ several men shouted as they raised their glasses in a jubilant toast.

Lord Palmerston paced back and forth in front of Kiara several times and then nodded in agreement. ‘‘America it is. Now can we get back to our game of bocce?’’

Kiara jumped in front of Lord Palmerston. ‘‘I can’t go to America, sir. I have a young brother, and both me parents have died from the famine. I canna leave Padraig. I
won’t
leave ’im.’’

‘‘What’s the problem, Palmerston?’’ Mathias Newhouse asked.

A large number of the guests were striding toward them. ‘‘The girl wanting some additional money?’’

‘‘She has a brother and simply won’t leave without him.’’

‘‘Well, send him too—that’s easy enough. It’s not as though you can’t afford passage for the two of them. It’s the most expedient way of returning to your game of bocce, isn’t it?’’

Lord Palmerston grunted before looking down at Kiara. ‘‘I’ll send the two of you, but you’ll sign papers for five years of indentured service to my second cousin. Come back tomorrow with your brother, and I’ll make the arrangements. You’ve ruined my afternoon of entertainment with your antics, so you’d best not fail to appear or I’ll send my man looking for you, and he’ll snip off your ears when he finds you. Do you understand, lass?’’