Gemma:
I
stop outside the door of her cottage. “Kathleen?” I call. “It’s me, Gemma.”
Her
sweet, soft voice comes from inside the cottage. “Come in, a stor.”
I
push open the door and step inside. By the embers of the peat fire, I see her sitting
in her mother’s rocking chair, rocking her sleeping brother. The dying
firelight brings out the red in her beautiful thick brown hair. Even when she
is so thin and dressed in rags, she is still so beautiful.
“Praise
the Blessed Virgin,” she whispers. “I was worried about ye.”
“Midnight
Sun is about to foal,” I whisper back. “I can’t stay too long. Here, I brought
you and Patrick some roast peasant and bread.”
She
gently shakes Patrick awake, and we sit on the floor together to eat. Initially
when I’ve come with food, she’s refused to eat until Patrick had eaten his
fill. Finally I scolded her, telling her that starving herself wasn’t going to do
her baby brother any favors. Now she takes a bit of everything for herself. My
father, Lord Jackson, wants to run all our tenants off their land, where they
have lived for thousands of years and turn it into farmland for us wealthy
English. He hasn’t lifted a finger to help them in the two years that the
potatoes have failed. He intentionally wants them all to starve. If he knows
that I associate with Kathleen, he’ll beat me – or worse, send me back to my
wretched boarding school in London. Kathleen’s whole family – her parents and
two sisters – have all died one after another. Now it’s just her and her youngest
brother, Patrick.
Kathleen:
I
can’t lose him. Please Blessed Virgin, please sweet Baby Jesus, he’s all I’ve
got left. Don’t let my wee baby brother be getting the famine fever. Let Lord
Jackson tumble our cottage and put us all out on the roads, but don’t take my
wee Patrick from me. He’s all I’ve got left.
I
notice how cautiously Patrick eats. Even though he is only seven and small for
his age, he is very smart. He knows how we must ration our food. Who knows how
long the potatoes will keep failing. I still remember that terrible morning two
years ago like it was yesterday, us running outside to find our parents
frantically pulling the black, stinking mess up from our potato pits…our main
source of nourishment.
“I
am so grateful for ye, Gemma, mo ghile,”
I whisper to the wealthy English girl…our heartless landlord’s daughter. She
and her father are different as night and day. She reaches over and embraces
me, and I lay my head on her shoulder, breathing in the sweet scent of her
lavender perfume. We sit like that for a while, until she whispers, “I must
leave you for now, lass.” She stands up and makes her way to the door. Before
she leaves however, she turns and says softly, “I wish I could do more. God
keep you, Kathleen and Patrick…”
Patrick:
Da
always said all English people are mean and heartless, but I know Gemma’s not.
She’s such a nice, pretty girl. I know she wishes she could help us more, but
Kathleen and I know that she does what she can.
I’ve
been so hungry for so long now. I miss mam and da, and my two sisters, Mary and
Fiona. They got sick and died because the potatoes got bad. Now my sister
Kathleen is all I’ve got left. Every night I say a prayer that she’s kept safe.
She gathers what plants she can for me, and kills what small animals she can.
I
like Gemma. I don’t care what they say about the English, she is nice! I’m glad
she’s our friend. She and Kathleen seem to really like each other. But most of
the English don’t like us. They want to bring down our cottage and throw us out
on the roads. Most of the time, I act like I don’t see Kathleen crying. I don’t
like to cry either, but I am always so hungry! But I must stay strong, for
Kathleen, my beautiful big sister. I must…
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