The Hungry Road Read online

  Marita Conlon-McKenna

  * * *

  THE HUNGRY ROAD

  Contents

  Part One Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Part Two Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Part Three Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Chapter 85

  Chapter 86

  Chapter 87

  Chapter 88

  Chapter 89

  Chapter 90

  Chapter 91

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Marita Conlon-McKenna is one of Ireland’s favourite authors. Her books include the award-winning Under the Hawthorn Tree, which is set during Ireland’s great famine. Widely translated and published, it is now considered an Irish classic. Her other books include bestsellers The Magdalen and Rebel Sisters.

  She is a winner of the International Reading Association Award, USA and a former chairperson of Irish PEN.

  Marita lives in Dublin with her husband and family.

  Also by Marita Conlon-McKenna

  THE MAGDALEN

  PROMISED LAND

  MIRACLE WOMAN

  THE STONE HOUSE

  THE HAT SHOP ON THE CORNER

  THE MATCHMAKER

  MOTHER OF THE BRIDE

  A TASTE FOR LOVE

  THREE WOMEN

  THE ROSE GARDEN

  REBEL SISTERS

  For more information on Marita Conlon-McKenna and her books, see her website at www.maritaconlonmckenna.com

  For my family

  Part One

  CHAPTER 1

  Skibbereen, County Cork, Ireland

  June 1843

  FROM EVERY FIELD AND FARM, LANE AND STREET, VILLAGE AND TOWNLAND in West Cork, the people came. Some in groups, some alone, they walked in heavy boots or barefoot to witness their great hero, Daniel O’Connell, speak at the Monster Repeal Meeting in Skibbereen.

  Mary Sullivan was among them, for she was determined to see the Great Liberator, who had done so much for Ireland and her people. She had been anxious about leaving her children, but her kind neighbour Brigid had offered to mind them.

  Band music filled the stilly June air as she, her husband John, his brother Pat and uncle Flor neared the market town. The crowded streets of Skibbereen were bedecked with welcome flags and brightly coloured bunting, and every store, stall and merchant was busy. Mary laughed, caught up in the heady excitement and gaiety of it all.

  Filled with anticipation, they joined the slow, winding snake of men and women of all ages as they pushed forward towards Curragh Hill, where their champion would address them.

  Since sunrise, Father John Fitzpatrick had been watching the crowds arriving in Skibbereen. The people were like pilgrims travelling from afar, arriving in carts and coaches. Some were staying in the town’s hotels and boarding houses, and many had walked miles to get there.

  The numbers were huge – thousands and thousands – far greater than he and his fellow priests had hoped for when they sent out word to the people of Carbery that all were welcome to attend a meeting where the great Daniel O’Connell would speak of repealing the hated Act of Union, which had merged the parliaments of Great Britain and Ireland. He gave a silent prayer to the Lord to grant them a fine dry day for their endeavours.

  After he returned home from saying mass, Father Fitzpatrick checked that his housekeeper, Bridey, had the spare room ready. He had informed her that a guest would be staying with him in the parish house that evening. The brass bed was made up with their finest linen, the wardrobe and chest of drawers were freshly polished with beeswax, the glass in the window was sparkling.

  ‘I suppose they are going to the big meeting too?’ Bridey asked the priest as he came downstairs. ‘Will the two of you be eating here afterwards?’

  ‘No, Bridey, don’t trouble yourself. We’re attending the Repeal Banquet in the Temperance Hall tonight. But I’m sure my guest would enjoy a good breakfast with some of your soda bread tomorrow morning before he sets off on his travels.’

  ‘Father, I’ve never seen such a palaver in the town. But don’t worry, I’ll be up early to cook a few fresh eggs for the good father too.’

  He laughed at her assumption that it was a man of the cloth who was coming to stay. He felt disingenuous, keeping the identity of his guest from her, but Bridey couldn’t be trusted not to brag and boast around the town.

  Father Fitzpatrick had had to admit to being rather surprised that Daniel O’Connell had rejected the Repeal committee’s offer to take a room in the comfort of the nearby Becher Arms Hotel and requested to stay with him instead. Perhaps the great man preferred the privacy and quiet of a simple priest’s home to more luxurious surroundings where he would be approached constantly by admirers. He would do his utmost to ensure Daniel O’Connell found rest and peace here in the parish house if that was what he desired.

  Satisfied that everything was in order, Father Fitzpatrick left to join the large welcome procession of parishioners, carpenters, shoemakers, weavers, other tradesmen and musical bands getting ready to escort O’Connell and his carriage to the packed meeting place.

  Dr Daniel Donovan was finishing his rounds of the Skibbereen Union Workhouse when the young midwife came running after him.

  ‘The matron ordered me to fetch you,’ she called, out of breath.

  With O’Connell’s visit to the town later that day, Dan was pressed for time, but he knew well that the matron would not request he attend unless she was in need of medical assistance.

  The young mother-to-be in need of attention looked no more than eighteen years old; a pretty girl with thick dark hair that clung to her head
with sweat.

  ‘I am fearful for her and the child,’ the middle-aged matron confided.

  ‘I am here to help you,’ he tried to reassure the girl. Her brown eyes were filled with fear, and she was too exhausted to take notice of him, let alone deliver a child.

  As he examined her, it became clear that the baby was breech. Instead of presenting head down, one of the unborn child’s tiny feet was beginning to appear first. Difficult and risky in any case, breech deliveries often resulted in the loss of mother and child.

  Dan thought back to his medical school days in Edinburgh when his professor would lecture him and his fellow students on such cases. He would drive home the vital importance of judicious and decisive assistance with such problematic births to try to ensure both lives were saved.

  O’Connell would have to wait, for the mother was near collapse and he needed to deliver the baby immediately. Dan ordered the two women to help him hold the mother as he attempted to extract the baby as swiftly as he could.

  ‘I know you are tired—’

  ‘Her name is Maggie Hayes,’ interjected the matron.

  ‘Maggie, let me help your baby.’

  A foot, a leg, a thigh, the buttocks … Somehow he managed to hold the child’s lower limbs steady and guide them as they emerged. Then, holding its body firmly, he quickly proceeded to ease the baby’s neck and small head downwards, trying to ensure he did not damage the neck or spine. The infant was blue and still. Dan untangled and cut the cord quickly, willing the boy to take his first breath.

  The silence was ominous as he caught the little fellow and held him up, clearing the mucus and blood from his face. Suddenly the baby stirred and moved his hands before giving a low, faint cry. Dan held and rubbed the child, relieved as the infant began to give a stronger cry, his lungs filling with air and his colour improving.

  ‘You have a fine son,’ he told Maggie, placing the baby into her waiting arms, ‘but you must rest awhile.’

  He nodded to the matron who was tending to her, before glancing at his fob watch and realizing how late he was.

  Maggie smiled weakly.

  ‘I am naming him William after my late father and Daniel for the Liberator who is in town this very day, his birth day,’ she said proudly, kissing the baby’s head.

  ‘A day all of us will remember,’ Dan acknowledged as he took his leave.

  ‘I’m sorry for delaying you,’ apologized the matron as she escorted him to the door, ‘but thank you for your assistance.’

  ‘You did the right thing,’ he assured her, ‘for both the mother and baby are healthy.’

  ‘There is no mention of a father,’ Matron sighed. ‘The girl will have to stay here and nurse and mind the child.’

  ‘At least they are both in your good care, Matron,’ Dan said as he climbed up into his horse and trap, and set off home with great haste.

  Henrietta Donovan was growing anxious, for her husband had promised to return for the meeting in plenty of time. Seeing such crowds, she fretted that they wouldn’t get there soon enough. What could possibly be delaying Dan on such an important day? Suddenly, she heard his rapid footsteps on the stair.

  ‘Where were you?’ she scolded lightly. ‘I was getting worried that—’

  ‘Hush,’ he soothed. ‘I’m here now, just let me change my shirt and jacket. I was delayed in the Union, assisting a difficult birth. Fortunately, both mother and child are well.’

  ‘Thank the Lord for that.’

  She knew there was no point in rebuking Dan, for his patients would always come first. Her husband, the physician for the recently opened Skibbereen Union Workhouse and the town’s dispensary, was possessed of a kind nature and an utter dedication to the care of the sick.

  As they set off in the horse and trap, Dan took his wife’s hand.

  ‘You look pretty, my dear, in that new lace dress,’ he offered.

  Henrietta was delighted, for she had taken great care in curling her dark brown hair and applying a very slight touch of rouge to her lips, as well as purchasing a new dress for the occasion. She was gladdened by his compliment as Dan never usually noticed fashion!

  The crowds had thinned as they made their way through town. Skibbereen’s bars and taverns were all closed, for O’Connell was an outspoken advocate for the Temperance movement and did not want his Monster Meetings marred by the raucous behaviour of a few drunks.

  Before long, Dan and Henrietta joined the line of horse-drawn vehicles pulling up at the enormous meeting place. Henrietta’s heart pounded with the reverberation of the drums as she and Dan were escorted to a position near the large podium. All around them were townspeople and tradesmen, tenants and labourers, united in the hope that O’Connell would help restore an Irish parliament to Dublin that would govern the Irish people fairly.

  ‘Did we ever think that we would see this day?’ laughed Daniel McCarthy, the wealthy brewer, unable to disguise the pride and emotion in his voice. ‘The most famous man alive and, thanks to our own good efforts, here he is in Skibbereen.’

  ‘We knew the people would come.’ Dan gazed around him at the huge crowds. ‘For O’Connell speaks of what is in every man’s heart.’

  ‘And woman’s,’ Henrietta reminded her husband, squeezing his arm.

  There was a flurry of movement as carriages and a procession of people bearing tall, billowing banners began to approach the enormous gathering. As the band struck up loudly in the distance, she was overcome with a frisson of excitement.

  CHAPTER 2

  GAZING OUT ACROSS THE FLOWING RIVER ILEN, MARY SULLIVAN WAS overwhelmed by the sight of tens of thousands of people gathered together on Curragh Hill. The sea of O’Connell’s supporters shimmered in a haze before her.

  ‘Keep a hold of my hand,’ urged John as he propelled her forward.

  A regiment of soldiers stood to the side at the ready, observant and unflinching, as the couple manoeuvred their way through the waves of bodies towards the large wooden podium positioned at one end of the field.

  A massive roar of welcome broke from the near seventy-thousand-strong crowd as three marching bands, followed by four stagecoaches bearing Daniel O’Connell and his entourage, arrived in the grounds. As the bands played a loud triumphant march, a procession of priests, parishioners and local tradesmen led the coaches up the field to cheers and applause. There was such a din that Mary worried how the drivers would control the horses.

  The coaches finally came to a stop and the tall, heavy-set figure of Daniel O’Connell in his black cape stepped out and up on to the podium. He was an imposing figure, with a broad face and a head of dark curls. His eyes roved appreciatively over the huge crowd.

  A hush fell as a man with pride in his voice welcomed the Liberator to Skibbereen, citing O’Connell’s achievement in securing Catholic emancipation and his fight now to repeal the despised Act of Union.

  The crowd began to cheer wildly as O’Connell threw off his cape with a confident swagger. In grand style he stepped forward and flung open his arms, greeting his supporters warmly in a clear, booming voice. There came a roar of approval as he began to speak in Gaelic, and laughter at the bewilderment of the large force of British military and constabulary that had surrounded the field. The redcoats were left scratching their heads, wondering what he was saying.

  ‘I am honoured to be your representative in Parliament,’ O’Connell continued, his eyes shining, ‘even though it is a Parliament packed against me.’

  The cheers echoed through the still summer’s day as he spoke of the achievement of Catholic emancipation, which had finally given Catholics the right to hold important offices and serve as members of the British parliament.

  O’Connell’s voice filled with emotion as he looked down at the crowd.

  ‘I may have been at the head of the battle, but victory could not have been won without you, the people, behind me.’

  A profound silence fell as he outlined his new Repeal campaign to regain Irish freedom and self-
government with the return of an Irish parliament to Dublin.

  ‘It is the right of every Irish man over twenty years of age to have a house and to vote.’

  O’Connell’s voice carried loud and clear across the field, filling the spectators’ parched hearts with the hope of change. They latched on to his words, all tiredness and soreness in their feet and legs forgotten. The prospect of freedom hung in the air, blowing tantalizingly among them, along with the cherished hope of regaining the right to own the roof over their head and the land on which they raised their crops. Many were ready to rally to his call and take up arms to fight if need be!

  However, O’Connell soon made his opposition to violence clear.

  ‘This battle will be fought in Parliament peacefully and legally, with justice and equality as our swords. Good people, I call on you to support the Repeal movement, for we intend to grow it. Lastly, I ask you all to give three cheers for the Queen, Victoria who rules the empire. The Queen!’

  John and Pat remained stubbornly silent, their eyes cast down as the cheers echoed across the fields and hills.

  ‘Hurrah! Queen Victoria! Hurrah!’

  As O’Connell brought his speech to a close, he thanked the crowd for travelling so far – from all over Cork, Kerry and Tipperary – before bidding them farewell. The band struck up again loudly and, in only a few short minutes, the coaches and horses departed the field to more cheers as the Liberator’s carriage passed.

  As the crowds began to disperse slowly, Mary felt strangely bereft.

  ‘He has the men, so why doesn’t he organize us instead of sending us home with only words?’ Pat remarked angrily as the coaches disappeared from view. ‘Words won’t win back our cottages and our land.’

  ‘Hush, or you’ll get us all into trouble,’ cautioned Flor, noticing a soldier standing nearby.

  ‘Will we all go into town for a pint of porter to mark the day?’ suggested Pat. ‘Hopefully one or two public houses will be open.’

  Mary had no interest in joining the men in one of the town’s noisy hostelries. Instead, she decided to call on her sister, who lived in the crowded, rundown lanes of Bridgetown on the far edge of Skibbereen.