Under the Hawthorn Tree by Marita Conlon-Mckenna Page B

the nettle leaves, it was disgusting, and a feeling of queasiness washedover Eily as she forced herself to swallow it and later to try and keep it down.
    That evening, with Peggy’s head resting in her lap, Eily couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened if they had gone to the workhouse with Tom Daly and the crowd from their district. Peggy wouldn’t be sick, and they might have had a bit of stew and a piece of bread each day. Had she made the wrong choice and cost them all their lives? She felt so depressed and downhearted. Maybe they could still go to a workhouse. There was bound to be one somewhere around. They might get help there. The idea burned in her brain. She couldn’t leave Peggy, but Michael – he could go, maybe, and someone might come to help them with Peggy.

CHAPTER 14

Michael’s Desperate Search

    MICHAEL SET OFF ACROSS THE FIELDS . He had stockpiled enough fuel to keep the fire going. He felt frightened and strange on his own, but knew that Eily should stay with Peggy. Eily had hugged him close when he was leaving, and further on he turned back for a last look, wondering would he ever see his two sisters again. He knew basically which direction to take. He hoped he might meet someone along the road who would tell him the way to the workhouse.
    He walked for over an hour and a half without seeing a sinner, then at the end of a small boreen he noticed a curl of smoke coming from abroken-down old cabin. He made his way to it and hammered against the door. No one replied. He remembered the trick he had played when they were left on their own in the cottage and how scared they had been.
    ‘I don’t want to come in, don’t worry. I just want directions. Is the town of Castletaggart anywhere near here?’
    There was no reply, so he repeated the question.
    A deep husky voice answered. ‘It’s a good two to three days’ walk for tired legs and feet.’
    ‘Is there a workhouse roundabouts, then?’ begged Michael.
    The old man inside considered before he spoke. ‘I heard that the O’Leary mill had been turned into a workhouse. It’s about a half-day from here. You keep to the main road and turn off at the bridge over the running river, then right, and you can’t help but see it.’ Then, as an afterthought, the voice added, ‘But I’d prefer to die in my own bed and not with strangers.’
    ‘Thank you,’ said Michael, starting to move off.
    ‘God spare you, lad, and keep you from all harm.’
    Michael felt sad for the old man all alone in the world with no one to look after him.
    He kept walking on. Two or three times he feltdizzy and lightheaded and had to sit down to get his breath back. He could hear the river water running, but still could not see it. Then up ahead he was able to make out the crossroads and the humpy bridge. Two women lay on the ground near the bridge. They were both so weak they didn’t notice the young boy pass them.
    Michael could not believe it when he came to the old mill. Crowds of people were waiting, sleeping on the cobblestones. They could go no further. A few of them were grouped together in families. They lay in their rags or blankets, relieved not to be on their own. From within the building came a constant moaning and crying, and a smell of disease and sickness seemed to fill the air around the place. Some people were praying out loud.
    A nun, dressed in full habit, came through a small wooden door. She spoke in a loud voice: ‘This place is full. We have no space for man, woman or child, nor is there spare food. Perhaps by tomorrow when we have removed those who have died of sickness and the fever, we may be able to take a few.’
    A murmur ran through the crowd and the women began to wail and cry. They had no place left to go, here was as good a place to die as anywhere else. At least they might get a blessingsaid over them.
    Michael began to run – he did not know where the energy came from – down past the bridge and back the way he had come.