Bridie's Fire (5 page)

‘Listen, we have to help Mam,' she said. ‘We have to leave her be with Paddy for a while and go down to the marsh. Have you got your little knife?'

Bridie sat on the edge of the marsh while Brandon gathered rushes. At first he only brought her handfuls but when he understood her purpose he worked with a fury, staggering across the marshy ground with armfuls of the dry gold rushes and laying them beside his sister. Bridie wove them together swiftly, fashioning the rushes into a golden basket.

‘This can be for Paddy, to hold him for the last. You see, I'll make the sides high so he'll feel safe inside there and the cold breeze won't get to our darling boy,' she said, not even feeling the tears that streamed down her face as she worked. Brandon stared at her with bright eyes, his mouth twisted with grief, and then sat down on the damp ground beside her and put his face in his hands.

When Bridie had finished, she carried the basket back to the bog and set it before their mother. Mam looked up at her as if Bridie was the grown-up and she the little child. Bridie reached down and took Paddy's still body from her mother's arms and laid him tenderly in the rush basket. Mam bent over the basket and kissed him and then turned away.

Brandon followed Bridie up to the famine cemetery that had been set up high on the hill behind the town. A cart laden with bodies trundled up the
bothereen
, the rutted track that led to the graveyard. The wind was at their back as they trudged behind the death cart. The graveyard was just a field with a low drystone wall around it. Dirt was turned over in great heaps everywhere, piled high above the trenches where the bodies were stacked, dozens and dozens of them.

When Bridie saw the careless way the man took the basket from her, she wanted to strike him. But she turned away, took Brandon's hand and ran back down to the village, taking breaths of air so sharp she felt her lungs would burst. She didn't want to see Paddy laid in the ground, to see the small basket flying to its final resting place. When they were out of sight of the famine pit, she fell to her knees by the roadside and prayed. Brandon knelt beside her, his lips moving soundlessly and together they keened, in a voiceless grief.

After Paddy died, Mam wasn't herself any more. It was as if a strange woman had moved into her thin body. Every day she crawled to the top of the nearest dune and sat staring out across the sea, her eyes the same deep blue as the waters of Dingle Bay. Then early one morning, she stood up and said, ‘We're not staying here. The fever is in this place. I'll not watch my babies die one by one.'

They followed her back into the town where thousands of other displaced people wandered aimlessly and squalor and chaos met them at every turn. They stood on a corner for a long while that morning, holding out their bowls, begging. Bridie shut her eyes. She couldn't bear to see the pity on people's faces. No one gave them anything. There were beggars on every corner and people lined up outside the priest's house crying to be fed.

In the late afternoon, they passed out of the town and headed towards the beach. On the far side of the dunes, by the roadside that led up towards the cliffs, they found a ditch where the wind off the harbour couldn't reach them. They huddled down for the night. Bridie lay awake for a long while, staring up at the stars. She couldn't understand why she wasn't weary. Streaks of pale pink and green light began to appear in the sky above her. ‘Maybe the world is near an end,' she thought. She crawled across to where her mother and brother lay and snuggled in close against her mother's back.

That night, as they slept in the open air, Bridie woke to the sound of her mother gasping in pain.

‘Mam, Mam, what is it? What's wrong?'

Her mother's eyes were wild and dark in the moonlight and she pushed Bridie away from her.

‘The baby, the baby's coming, Bridie.'

‘The baby?' Bridie held her mother's sinewy hand and shut her eyes and prayed, prayed as she'd never prayed before. ‘Take the baby, sweet Jesus, but leave us our Mam.'

When it came, at last, just before dawn, it was a tiny thing, small enough to fit in the palm of Mam's hand, and its skin was a strange pale green colour in the half-light. A changeling, too small to be human; a girl child, but too strange to be Bridie's own sister. Bridie stared at it as it lay curled on Mam's shawl, so still. Her prayer had been answered. Mam's brow was damp with sweat, her skin clammy to touch. She folded her shawl over the baby and pushed it away from her.

While her mother slept, Bridie carefully gathered up the tiny changeling and climbed out over the side of the ditch. She walked down to the sea. When she reached the shore, she wrapped the baby in seaweed, winding thick dark strands of kelp around the tiny body. She didn't hesitate when she reached the water's edge, walking straight into the icy water. The dark bundle bobbed and weaved on the waves as she released it, floating out to sea, out to the mouth of the harbour, and on to the deep waters of the bay.

6

Road into darkness

Bridie woke on damp sand, and in a cloud of whiteness. A thick fog had rolled in over the water and covered the beach while she slept. When she held her hand out in front of her, she could barely see the outline of her fingers. She sat up and drew her knees against her chest. She was chilled to her marrow, and her ragged clothes were heavy with dew. The sound of the waves rolling in and her own jagged breathing was muffled by the fog; and yet she could hear voices – her father, the O'Farrells, little Paddy, and even the strange changeling baby. It was as if they were all just out of her sight, but she felt their presence so strongly that she could almost imagine the touch of their hands on her skin. For a moment she wondered if she too was close to death. Maybe this wasn't a fog at all, but the dream place between living and dying. Maybe she had been washed away, beyond the ninth wave to a new world. But the cold sand beneath her felt rough against her skin and she could hear her own heart beating, blood pounding at her temples. She stood up slowly. Like a blind girl, one hand stretched before her, she walked into the swirling mist. She could still hear voices in the fog, but now they sounded real and warm and firm, not the voices of the dead. She couldn't decide which direction they came from. It was the brightness that caught her eye and guided her forward. She stared at the point of light, a small flicker of orange and gold in the still, heavy mist.

There were a dozen people gathered around the blaze. Bridie stepped into the ring of light cast by the fire. No one spoke to her as she drew close to the flame and warmed her hands. It was as if life was flowing back into her. She gazed into the embers, not speaking, a strange calm spreading through her as the warmth crept into her body. She'd been cold for so long.

‘You'll join us for something to warm the cockles of your heart as well, won't you, child?' asked a woman. She looked at Bridie with sharp blue eyes, and a network of little wrinkles creased her face as she smiled. Bridie stared disbelievingly and drew her wooden bowl and spoon out from under her dress and held it up. The woman nodded approval.

The big pot was taken off the fire and everyone gathered round. The delicious smell made Bridie feel faint. The woman ladled out the rich broth.

‘Now you mind, little one, not to eat too much nor too swift. When you've been fasting, your body's not used to the shock of a good feed. Some poor souls kill themselves trying to eat too much too fast.'

Bridie took tiny little sips of the broth and felt the warmth of it through every part of her body.

‘And now you've supped with us, you'll not tell anyone what you've had,' said the old woman.

‘It was a stolen sheep, wasn't it?' asked Bridie haltingly. ‘Can I take some for my mam and my brother? Just a peck of something. If you give me a bone with a bit of meat left on it, I could fix something for them.'

‘Are you the little girl from the hut, west of the village?'

‘To be sure, but we're from Ballyickeen, above Dunquin,' said Bridie, finally finding herself again. ‘We came to Dingle to be with my Aunt Mairead but she'd gone to America. Then my little brother died and Mam wouldn't stay in the hut 'cause she said it's where Paddy caught the fever and surely we'd all die if we stayed there, so we're sleeping in a ditch up beyond the dunes.' The words tumbled out in a rush.

‘Bridie?' came a voice through the mist. ‘Bridie O'Connor?'

Mrs MacMahon stepped around from the far side of the fire. Bridie hardly recognised her. They'd not seen each other since the day her father had lain on the lid in the MacMahons' cottage at Dunquin. ‘Where's your mother, girl?'

The fog was lifting and the harbour was azure in the morning sun as they walked over the dunes. Bridie led Mrs MacMahon to the ditch by the roadside. Curled in a huddle of rags at the bottom lay Mam and Brandon.

Mrs MacMahon knelt down beside Mam and stroked her hair. ‘Maire, it's Kitty MacMahon. We're going to Tralee, Maire. You and your little ones must come along with us. There's nothing here in Dingle for any of us, nothing but misery and grief – but the workhouse in Tralee might take us all in.'

Mam gave a short cough, almost like a laugh. ‘Heaven help me, Kitty, I couldn't walk to Tralee, I'm bound for the long road. But the children must go. Take the children. If I should get my strength back, I'll follow you. You're a fine friend to me, Kitty, a fine good woman, you are,' she said, and then she lay back down in the dirt, trembling.

Mrs MacMahon rested one hand on Mam's brow and stroked it tenderly. ‘Now, you lay there a minute longer and rest yourself, Maire. Muiris and I won't be leaving until all the mists have cleared. If you find your strength, you could join us.'

Mrs MacMahon took Brandon by the hand and tried to lead him up out of the ditch, but he looked wild and tore his hand away, kneeling down beside his mother and burrowing his face against her side. Mrs MacMahon looked down and shook her head.

‘We'll wait on the beach for the children,' she said, moving away from the edge of the ditch.

Bridie knelt beside her mother and looked straight into her dark eyes. ‘Mam, we can wait until you're stronger. Then we can go together,' she whispered.

Mam turned towards Bridie as she cradled Brandon's head with one hand.

‘No, Bridie, I want you to go with Mrs MacMahon. I want you to take Brandon and for you both to go to Tralee and find shelter. There's nothing for us here.'

‘But we don't want to leave you,' said Bridie, her voice rising.

Mam reached up and touched Bridie gently on the cheek to calm her.

‘Bridie, you know what you must do.'

‘I won't,' said Bridie, angry tears pricking her eyes. ‘You'll come with us. You'll come now.'

Bridie forced one arm under her mother's back and tried to make her rise. ‘Help me, Brandon. Help Mam,' she said through gritted teeth, trying to take her mother's weight on her shoulder.

‘Bridie, girl, no,' moaned Mam, a shudder coursing through her as she sank to the ground.

Bridie knelt down to make Mam try again but suddenly Brandon reached across and slapped Bridie hard across the face.

‘Leave her be, leave our mam alone,' he shouted.

Bridie stepped away from them both and sat near the edge of the ditch, staring down at her mother and brother. Mam was stroking Brandon's face and whispering to him as he lay nestled against her. The day grew bright and clear with only a touch of autumn cold. Bridie felt as though a storm should break over them, like the storm that was raging inside of her, but nothing more than a light breeze came drifting off the water.

It seemed they'd been sitting for hours when Mam called to Bridie, stretching one hand out to her. Brandon climbed up to take Bridie's place, gazing out to sea.

Bridie pressed her face against her mother's neck and wrapped her arms tight around the thin, fragile body. ‘It's my fault, Mam. I never should have made us come here. We'll go home now,' she wept, fiercely. ‘I've brought the bad luck to us. I've lied and I've stolen from the dead and I've brought my family to this bad place. Mam, Mam, we'll go home again and somehow things will come right.' She choked back the tears, gasping as she spoke.

‘My little lamb,' said Mam, taking Bridie's hands and folding her thin, hot fingers around them. ‘There never was a brave woman who was not crooked and straight, and better we look for hope in the world than die lonely by our own hearth. Don't you have a care for your mam. I'll quench my thirst from the Stream of Glory before too long. Now, you'll be my brave, fierce girl and do as your mam asks.'

Bridie wept until her face and throat were raw. It was as if her heart, which had been aching for so long, had finally been torn apart.

‘God direct you and give you courage for the long road, darling child,' said Mam.

Bridie kissed her mother on the brow and then, gasping at the pain inside her, she staggered up out of the ditch.

Brandon walked beside Bridie, not looking at her as they made their way down to the beach. Bridie felt frightened by how still and quiet he was, his face fixed in an inscrutable expression. ‘Brandon,' she said, trying hard to keep the bitterness from her tone. ‘This is what Mam wants us to do.'

Brandon turned and looked at her with his pale blue eyes and Bridie realised he was not accusing her. ‘We'll have our little house, one day, won't we, Bridie? The one half-gold and half-silver, and our mam will watch over us there, won't she?'

Bridie slipped her arm around her brother. ‘To be sure, darling boy,' she said, though the future stretched out before her like a road into darkness.

7

The death-house

The small crowd of ragged travellers moved steadily up the road away from town. Bridie didn't look back, but she prayed, her lips moving fervently as they followed the path up to the Connor Pass on the road to Tralee. Hundreds of men and women were labouring to build a road over the mountain. Their shoulder bones stuck sharply through the thin fabric of their clothing and their eyes were glazed as they dug or hauled stones up the steep hillside.