AS THE PEOPLE STREAMED BACK INTO SKIBBEREEN, MANY OF THE SHOPS and stalls had re-opened. Mary paused as she passed Honora Barry’s dressmaking shop where she had worked as a seamstress before her marriage. It was still closed but Miss Barry had wisely placed a pretty sprigged-cotton dress in the window to attract customers.
She continued on her way and turned in to the narrow streets of Bridgetown, with its rows of small low cottages and cabins built almost on top of each other. Children played in the dirt and a group of women in shawls chatted loudly about the handsome Liberator.
The Caseys’ cottage was down the end of a lane. Outside, her nephews and niece – Michael, Jude and Sarah – were busy with a piece of old rope they had found, and some sticks and a plank of wood.
‘We’re making a boat to float on the river,’ boasted eleven-year-old Michael as Mary ruffled his thick curly hair.
Kathleen welcomed her younger sister warmly as she stepped inside.
‘You were up at the Liberator like Joe and the rest of them?’ she asked. ‘I’d a mind to go myself but Lizzie is teething and she’d have roared the place down.’
Mary could see the baby’s hot red cheeks and felt an immediate sympathy for her once-beautiful sister, who now looked worn out. Things were hard for Kathleen as her husband, Joseph Casey, who had charmed her with his handsome looks, grand talk and promises to make a fortune, was a simple labourer who went from one job to another. He had been employed on building the large Union workhouse, but had had little work since then.
Mary did not know how Kathleen could bear such circumstances. The small, one-roomed cottage with its half-door was in the worst part of town. It was cramped and gloomy. The three older children slept in a low space under the thatch roof, while Kathleen and Joseph slept on a pallet bed placed against one wall, with Lizzie in a makeshift crib near by.
Kathleen flung more turf on the fire and brewed some leaves for tea while Mary told her excitedly about O’Connell and his stirring words.
‘I’ve no use for politicking.’ Kathleen shrugged. ‘What have all these members of parliament ever done for the likes of us?’
She called the children in and insisted that Mary share their family meal of spuds and buttermilk.
‘There will be better eating in a few weeks,’ she apologized as they dipped the old, greyish spuds in salt and mustard. ‘Once Joe gets harvest work.’
By the time John called to collect Mary it had grown dark and Kathleen was putting the children down to sleep. After saying their goodbyes, Mary and John took the road for home together.
The stars shone high above them and John reached for her hand.
‘That was the grandest day ever.’ Mary’s heart was full of hope from the Liberator’s words. ‘One I will always remember.’
‘Aye, so many people gathered together,’ John agreed. ‘But it will all come to nothing if no one listens to us!’
‘Daniel O’Connell will win them over.’
‘I fear no matter what he promises, it’s the landowners of England who will decide our fate.’
Even in the darkness Mary could sense her husband’s doubt.
‘Believe me, they will fight tooth and nail to stop Repeal,’ he warned her.
‘But we will win!’ She’d no intention of letting John dampen her enthusiasm.
He reached down impulsively and kissed her. His lips tasted of porter, and as she responded he pulled her even closer to him, holding her so near that she could hear the steady beat of his heart. She ran her hand along his face tenderly, her fingers touching the stubble of his cheek and jaw.
‘Mo ghrá.’ He gave in, kissing her again, this time gently. ‘I pray that you are right.’
They walked along the starlit road until they neared the familiar potato fields with the tall willow trees and scraggy hedges.
‘One day this will be ours,’ she affirmed as they walked towards the low thatched cottage where their children slept. ‘Every root, stalk and blade of grass, and every bit of earth beneath our feet will belong to us.’
‘Sullivans’ fields,’ John shouted, spinning her round and round in the darkness. ‘Sullivans’ fields.’