Читать книгу Danny Boy - Anne Bennett - Страница 10

By March 1916 it was obvious, and not only to the people in the Walsh household, that something strange was afoot in the country. Women standing around the church doors after Mass talked of their sons and husbands and brothers in whispers. Eventually, Father McNally condemned all secret societies planning subversive activities. He said from the pulpit they were evil and against God. He even read out a letter from the Bishop in the same vein, but personally Rosie felt that it would make little difference.

She was tired. God, they were all tired. The lambing had been difficult that year and a few of the ewes, especially those who’d begun to lamb too early before the snow had cleared in February, had died giving birth. More than once, Rosie had found an orphaned lamb in a box before the fire that she’d have to feed with a bottle.

Bernadette, now crawling, loved the baby lambs and took more interest in them than the rag doll Connie had bought her for Christmas, or the rocking horse Danny had made for her.

Once the lambing was over, the spring planting began, and Danny, Phelan and Matt were out most of the daylight hours and Phelan’s evening jaunts were severely curtailed. Yet, Rosie sensed a tension in the air she’d never felt before.

She’d tried a few times to talk to Phelan again, but he’d always managed to avoid being alone with her. Maybe, she thought, he regretted saying so much to her in the first place. It could have been that, but just as easily it could be the reticence of a boy on the verge of manhood, unsure and a bit nervous of the changes he would be starting to notice in his body. His voice had definitely changed. He’d gone through the embarrassing squeaks and gruffness and the times he’d begun to speak in a high voice and it had dropped an octave, or vice versa, but now it had settled down to a level that marked his childhood as being almost over.

Then, one beautiful mid-April day, there came a pounding on Connie’s door. Few people knocked on the door and Rosie, coming from the room where she’d just laid the baby down for a nap, glanced quickly at Connie who was stirring a pot above the fire. She left off and crossed the room.

Dermot almost fell in the door as she opened it. His face was scarlet, his breath coming in short gasps as he struggled for air. It was obvious he’d been running for some time and fear clutched at Rosie. ‘What is it? What’s happened? Is it Mammy?’

‘No. No,’ Dermot spluttered between gulps of air. ‘It’s nobody. Nothing like that.’

‘Then what…?’

‘You must come, Rosie,’ he said, pulling at her skirts. ‘You must come and see.’ He was jumping from one foot to the other in agitation.

‘See what?’

His eyes slithered over to Connie and he muttered, ‘I can’t tell you. You must come.’

Connie was amused. ‘Go on with the child. See what is so important,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry about the baby, I’ll see to her if she should wake.’

Rosie only waited to grab her shawl from the room before taking Dermot’s hand. She was grateful for the shawl Connie had given her for Christmas in these chilly spring months. It was of the softest wool, not thick but warm despite that, and it was a deep russet colour. ‘Coats are all very well,’ Connie had told her on the quiet, ‘for Mass and all, and it sets you apart, but a shawl is much easier for carrying a baby or a small wean.’

And how right she was, Rosie thought. Her arms were nearly pulled from their sockets carrying her child to her mother’s and she’d thought she would have to leave her behind soon and make her visits briefer until Bernadette was able to walk the distance. But with a shawl she could have her on her back, the shawl around the both of them and tied securely at the front to keep Bernadette safe.

Now she wrapped her shawl around her as she followed Dermot. She had no idea where she was being taken. ‘Why aren’t you at school, anyway?’ she asked her little brother as he led her around the edge of the fields.

‘It’s holidays,’ Dermot told her indignantly. ‘For Easter. We broke up yesterday.’

‘Oh, right. Well, where are you taking me then?’

‘I’m not saying. You have to see it for yourself.’

Phelan, digging over one of the fields, watched the progress of the two with narrowed eyes. He wondered what had brought Dermot pell-mell to the cottage door and where he was taking Rosie, for it was obvious from the direction they were going in he was not making for his own place. Dermot had never come to the farm before without at least acknowledging Phelan and usually tagged along beside him. That morning Dermot had seemed preoccupied with something else and hadn’t even seen Phelan’s hand lifted in greeting. Something was up and prickles of alarm ran down Phelan’s spine.

He lifted his head. His father and Danny were over planting in another field behind the tall hedge and Phelan threw his spade down with such force it sliced into the moist earth, and he set off to follow Rosie and Dermot.

They toiled up the hillside, too breathless to speak much, and suddenly Rosie guessed where they were heading. Somehow, Dermot had found Danny’s secret hideaway, the one Danny had told her about, the one Sarah had recently mentioned. She wondered if he’d left treasures behind, things a young boy would value, and that was what had excited Dermot.

And yet, she recalled it hadn’t been delight on Dermot’s face when he’d hammered on the door. There had been something else there…Trepidation. Even fear.

She turned to ask him but he’d already stopped. ‘It’s in there,’ he said, pointing. Rosie looked at him. Where Dermot was pointing was an impregnable wall of brambles and bushes. ‘We can’t go through that,’ she protested.

‘Aye we can,’ Dermot assured her. ‘Look.’

He held back a bush expertly and exposed a hole that had been hacked between the greenery with the bushes left at the front of hide it, which they did effectively. ‘I found this when I was bringing the sheep down with Daddy a few days ago,’ Dermot said. ‘One of them got stuck in there, its horns caught around the bramble bushes, and Daddy was miles away. Took me ages to free the sheep and pulling at it like that, I saw the hole. I didn’t tell Daddy or anyone, but I thought as soon as school finished I would come up here and explore.’

‘And what did you find?’

‘You’ll soon see.’

Rosie looked at the uninviting hole, dim because little light penetrated through the canopy that would be above her head and so low that she would be bent nearly double. She had no desire to go in there. Hadn’t this gone far enough? Dermot was too used to grown-ups giving in to him. She’d left in the middle of a busy morning to come traversing the hillside on the mere whim of a child.

‘Look, Dermot,’ she said. ‘I can’t do this. I must go back.’

‘Oh no!’ Dermot cried and Rosie saw actual tears in his eyes. ‘You must come. You must see…I can’t tell anyone else.’

‘Oh, Dermot.’

‘Please?’ he pleaded. ‘I’ll hold the bushes for you.’

Rosie gave a sigh and decided she really must find out what had affected her young brother. Bending low, she entered the tunnel. Dermot slipped in behind her and the bushes fell into place with a rustle.

Now it was darker than ever, for the canopy above them successfully hid them from the sun. Unseen branches tugged at Rosie’s hair, scratched at her face and snagged at her shawl. Time and again she had to stop to disentangle herself and Dermot would often cannon into the back of her. She was glad of her stout everyday boots that protected her feet from what was underfoot, though she stumbled many a time.

It was impossible to talk and so even when Rosie saw the undergrowth thinning and the dappled light shining between the trees, she made no comment.

Then, suddenly, they were in a clearing. Someone had taken the trouble to cut down the bushes surrounding the cottage. Danny had told her the place had originally been used by shepherds years before, and had been nearly falling down when Danny had used it.

Because of that, Rosie had expected to see a ruin, but this cottage was no ruin. It had new walls built up and was recently whitewashed, the rotting thatch that had obviously been on the roof was lying in a heap to the side of it and had been replaced by new. Even the door seemed new.

‘Is this what you had to show me?’ Rosie asked.

Dermot shook his head. ‘Not the cottage alone,’ he said. ‘Come on.’

As they approached the place, Rosie noticed the solitary window was so begrimed with dirt that she doubted much light reached the cottage through it, but the door opened without even a creak. Rosie stood in the doorway and surveyed the place. Someone had been here and not long ago either, for peat embers lay in the grate and the place didn’t smell of dust or decay or damp, it smelled of cigarettes and paraffin. She saw two lamps either side of the mantelshelf, a box of matches between them.

The floor was packed-down mud, covered over by a large hessian rug. She crossed the room, leaving the door ajar, and lit one of the lamps for extra light. Dermot’s eyes were dancing with excitement.

‘Now you’ll see,’ he said as he fell to his knees and rolled the rug back.

Rosie joined him and could plainly see the place where the floor had been cut away in a square and she kneeled beside her brother as he ran his fingers along the edge of the sizeable square and lifted the sod of earth out. Rosie leaned closer, bringing the lamp nearer, and saw that the earth below had been dug away to produce a roomy hole and she gave a sudden shiver of apprehension.

‘Look,’ Dermot said triumphantly and he pulled two canvas rolls from the hole and began to unwrap them. There were six rifles in each roll and Rosie sat back on her heels and let out a gasp of shock.

She was used to guns, having been brought up on a farm. Her own father as well as Matt and Danny would often shoot rabbits, both to save their crops from being eaten and to supplement the pot, and foxes were also killed. That was normal and natural, but those guns weren’t hidden away in what had once been a derelict place.

Dermot, still ferreting about in the hole, brought out tin boxes full of bullets and then some more pistols, again wrapped in cloth. She sat back and surveyed the cache of weapons before them. What on earth should she do?

Suddenly the room darkened and she looked up in alarm. Phelan was standing in the doorway. ‘So,’ he said. ‘Now you know. What d’you intend to do about it?’

Rosie looked at Phelan aghast, her mouth open in shock, her eyes troubled. ‘Phelan, I…’

‘If you’ve sense, and you value your life and that of our families, you will put those things back where they came from, go home and say nothing, forget all about it,’ Phelan said coldly.

‘Are you threatening me?’

‘Let’s say I’m warning you.’ Phelan said. ‘These are desperate times and anyone that is not for Ireland is against her and becomes her enemy. What cannot be borne is a spy in the camp.’

‘Phelan, I’m not a spy, I’m your sister-in-law,’ Rosie said hotly. ‘And Dermot is a child.’

‘I thought no-one knew of this place,’ Phelan said angrily. ‘It seemed a perfect place to store ammunition.’

‘Danny knew of it.’

‘God, aye, but he’d never come up here, not now. He used to meet Shay and the other lads here when they were boys. It was Shay who took me here first. Mind you,’ he added, ‘he couldn’t have used it as it was. The roof leaked like a tap, the mortar was crumbling in the stone walls and the door had rotted away. Left to itself it would be just a pile of rubble by now. We spent ages patching it up. How did you find it?’ he suddenly demanded of Dermot.

Dermot loved and admired Phelan, but he was unused to him shouting and being cross – he was unused to anyone being cross with him, come to that – and so he replied angrily. ‘I just did, and so what, Phelan? It doesn’t belong to you.’

The blow to the side of Dermot’s head knocked him sideways. No-one had ever struck him before and he cried out with the pain and shock of it. With an angry look at Phelan, Rosie put her arms around Dermot. ‘There was no need for that.’

Phelan ran his fingers through his hair. His eyes looked wild and filled with fear. ‘There was every need,’ he cried. ‘For the love of God will you understand the danger you’re both in? Tell me, Dermot, how you found the place and the arms, or I’ll beat it out of you and even Rosie won’t be able to save you.’

‘Phelan, what’s got into you?’

‘Shut up, Rosie,’ Phelan yelled, and he looked at the boy. ‘Well, Dermot?’

Dermot was scared of Phelan for the first time in his life. He saw the suppressed fury in him, his fists balled at his sides. He licked his lips nervously and told Phelan the same story he’d told Rosie about the tangled sheep. ‘I didn’t have time to explore the cottage then, I had to wait till the holidays, and I came up early this morning.’

‘Alone?’ Phelan demanded.

‘Aye, alone.’

‘Then what? How did you find the weapons?’

‘Well,’ Dermot said. ‘The place was dark because I shut the door. I knew there were paraffin lamps on the mantelshelf – I’d seen that much when I’d first opened the door – and so I made for there. But the mat must have been ruched up or something because I tripped over it and went flying. Then, when I lit the lamp and lifted the mat to straighten it, I saw the square cut in the mud and I pulled it out to look.’

‘Did you tell anyone?’

Dermot shook his head. ‘There was no-one to tell. I went for Rosie. I didn’t even tell her, I brought her here.’

‘You told no-one else?’

‘No.’

‘You’re sure?’ Phelan demanded. ‘Swear it, Dermot, on your mother’s life.’

‘Aye, I swear.’

‘What about the day you saw a glimpse of the place? Did you mention it to your father?’

‘No fear,’ Dermot said. ‘I didn’t know what it was. I meant to explore it on my own. My mother never wants me out of her sight and I wouldn’t have told either of them.’

‘Where do they think you are now, then?’

‘They don’t know, I snuck away when they were busy. They’ll know I’ll make for your place. Mammy will give out to me when I go back.’

‘What if your Daddy comes looking for you?’ Phelan said. ‘What if he goes to the farm and Mammy tells him of you and Rosie going off and making for the hills? He could come looking for you.’

Rosie worriedly saw Phelan had a point. ‘So what do we do?’

‘We put all that ammunition back just the way it was and get as far from here as possible. You never come near this place again, Dermot. Do you hear what I say?’

The boy nodded, but Phelan was not satisfied. ‘I mean it, Dermot, and you say nothing, not to anyone. This is not a game.’

‘Phelan, stop it,’ Rosie said angrily, seeing the fear on Dermot’s face and feeling the way his whole body shook. ‘You’re frightening him.’

‘He needs frightening,’ Phelan said, dropping to his knees and wrapping the pistols up in the canvas cover the way they had been. ‘There are desperate men in the IRB and while me and Shay, Sam and Niall would try to protect you, I don’t know how much influence we’d have if they found out either you or Dermot had been here.’

‘Sweet Jesus, Phelan! What in God’s name have you got mixed up in? A fine organisation it must be all right, if it threatens women and weans.’

‘I’m fighting for Irish Freedom and the right to rule our own country,’ Phelan snapped angrily. ‘We’ve planned and trained for months. Surprise is the key and if that was jeopardised in some way and the British Army were waiting for us, what d’you think they’d do? Shake us by the hand? All I’m saying is neither of you come here again, or mention it to anyone at all, or you might be very sorry.’

‘Just two more casualties of war, Phelan?’ Rosie asked bitterly, putting the rifles back into the hole gently.

‘Aye, if you want to see it that way,’ Phelan said menacingly. ‘Come on, we’re finished here.’

He roughly pulled Rosie to her feet and kicked the mat into place. ‘Let’s go.’

He blew out the lamp and replaced it on the mantelshelf and then strode across the room, suddenly plunged into semidarkness, and opened the door. ‘Come on,’ he urged Rosie and Dermot in a hissing whisper. ‘Every minute we stay is more dangerous. I’ll lead the way through the undergrowth, just in case. Not a word now, and go as quietly as possible.’

Easier said than done. Rosie thought a little later as she was pulled to a stop yet again by a thorn snagging her shawl. With the fronds slapping at them and the leaves and mud under their feet, hiding the twigs that broke with a loud snap, it was impossible to move as quietly as Phelan would have liked and he’d keep turning at a particularly loud noise and hiss at Rosie who was directly behind him, ‘Quiet, for God’s sake.’

Rosie was glad to reach the end of that green tunnel, glad to straighten her back and stand up once more on the path, pulling at the leaves and small twigs caught in her hair and dusting down her clothes as she waited for Dermot. A worry was nagging at her. ‘Phelan,’ she said. ‘Dermot was right in what he said. He told no-one but me what he’d found. Well, he didn’t tell me, he showed me. But he was in a state when he came to the farm. Mammy will wonder what it was about. What shall we say?’

Phelan said nothing at first. He led them down the path a little way, where there was a broken tree, and stopped. He knew this was a problem. Connie would undoubtedly wonder at the behaviour of Dermot. He’d wondered himself, hadn’t he?

What else would generate the same excitement for a child? What story could they dream up that would satisfy Connie? ‘You could say I found a badgers’ sett,’ Dermot said suddenly. ‘I did once, when I was out with Daddy. It was nearly dark and we saw the mother badger and two babies come out. They hadn’t heard us and we stopped and watched them. Would that do it?’ he asked Phelan. ‘Would your mother believe that?’

‘She might,’ Phelan said. ‘Aye, indeed she might. Say you called for me too on the way,’ he told Rosie.

‘Why can’t you say that yourself?’

‘Because I’m going to lead young Dermot home.’

‘You needn’t,’ Dermot said. ‘I can go home on my own.’

‘I know that fine well,’ Phelan said. ‘But today I’m coming with you. We need to talk.’

Dermot gave a sigh. Phelan would go on about not telling anyone again. He didn’t need to keep on, Dermot wasn’t stupid and he was scared enough already to keep his mouth closed.

But he said none of this to Phelan. Phelan, the boy he liked and admired, seemed to have disappeared overnight and had turned into a stern man with a gruff voice and cold eyes, and he was wary of upsetting him.

And so, when, just a few minutes after leaving Rosie, Phelan began to stress again the need for secrecy, he didn’t even show the slightest impatience. And then Phelan said, ‘I want you to do something for me.’

Dermot was now all ears. He’d do anything to get back in Phelan’s good books. ‘Aye,’ he said.

‘I want you to take a letter home to my parents.’

‘A letter?’

‘Aye,’ Phelan said. ‘I might have to go away from this place in a wee while and I won’t be able to tell my parents till I’m gone.’

‘Another secret?’

‘Aye, and I won’t have them worried more than they will be anyway. If I leave you a letter, will you take it to them?’

‘Aye, but how will I know the time to take it?’

‘I’ll get word to you,’ Phelan said. ‘After dark. Which room do you sleep in?’

‘The end one,’ Dermot said. ‘You go through Geraldine and Chrissie’s room to get to mine. Mammy and Daddy sleep in a corner of the kitchen in a curtained-off bed.’

‘Good,’ Phelan said. ‘So if I throw gravel at your window to wake you up, it shouldn’t rouse the house?’

‘No,’ Dermot said doubtfully. ‘But I’m sometimes hard to wake up. I’ll leave my window a little bit open from now on.’

‘I don’t know the exact date,’ Phelan said. ‘None of us have been told that yet, but it will be soon. I’ll come as soon as I know. I’ll have the letter written and ready. And you’ll take it to Mammy on the farm, the day I ask you to.’

‘Aye.’

‘And you’ll not say a word of this conversation,’ Phelan said. ‘If they ask, say you had your window slightly open and you found the letter on your bedroom floor later that day. All right?’

‘Aye.’

‘Good man, Dermot,’ Phelan said, and Dermot’s heart lightened, for it was obvious Phelan had forgiven him for discovering the cottage and finding the stash of arms. He was trusting him now to take an important letter to his parents when he was about business to free Ireland. This Brotherhood thing he was in sounded exciting. Dermot wished he was old enough to join. Maybe Phelan could put a word in for him later, if he delivered the letter and told it exactly as Phelan said.

He waved goodbye at the head of the lane to his farm and went in to face the music. He knew his mother would go for him. She hated the way he was always trailing up to see Rosie and wee Bernadette.