Call Home the Heart (36 page)

 

 

How could she be sure he really loved her? She was grateful for all
his help, of course. But how did she know he hadn't begun their
relationship to help himself, his family and friends? Had he in fact
been using her?

 

 

Everyone uses people, she thought cynically.
Even me.

 

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

 

 

Over the next three months, the dreaded potato blight, which had
started as only a wild rumor spread about by scaremongers, suddenly
seized the land in its deathly grip.

 

 

The first specific reports of the crop disease were printed in the
English newspapers, when ruined potatoes were harvested in the Isle
of Wight and Kent on the eleventh of August. The news reached
Muireann a few days later, and she discussed it with Lochlainn one
evening as they sat in her small office while the rain pattered down
on the roof.

 

 

"I have a bad feeling about this," she said, showing the newspaper
to Lochlainn. "Call it my Scottish superstition, but I think we
should take this seriously. If the best land in England has been
infected by this blight, what will happen here?"

 

 

"I don't know. Surely it might only be a small local incident. The
Isle of Wight is tiny, and the land in Kent could be isolated to
stop it spreading, you know, by preventing the carts from trading
further afield. The disease might never get this far. Those places
are hundreds of miles away across the sea, after all," he sought to
reassure her.

 

 

"I think we would do better to be prepared, than to do nothing now
and then have to deal with yet another crisis here on the estate in
another six weeks' time when our lumpers for the winter are meant to
be coming out of the ground."

 

 

"What do you suggest?"

 

 

Really, she never seems to be content with anything these days, he
reflected with a touch of impatience.

 

 

"I think we should buy oats, wheat, and seed potatoes, and turnips,
carrots, beets. We should cut down on milk consumption, or use more
sheep and goat milk, and lay up lots of cheeses. We will also need
to fish a lot more. We can smoke it for the winter. I'd like to do
another seaweed run to Donegal as well. It can be dried and is
apparently very nutritious. Not to mention all the shellfish, which
can be smoked.

 

 

 "Also, let's see if we can get a good price for some more
pigs, and I want the men to go onto the islands in the lough and
hunt for wild goats. They can capture a few she-goats,  a male
if they can find one, and shoot others for food. I've heard meat is
quite tasty, and they'll give milk as well. Both pigs and goats eat
scraps, and will be cheap enough to keep if we're careful. Let's
also build more rabbit and pheasant pens. I want the best men to go
hunting as soon as the season starts again. And a few more chickens,
geese, and ducks wouldn't go to waste."

 

 

"Shouldn't we just wait until the
Andromeda
comes?"

 

 

She shook her head. "No. It isn't due back here for several more
weeks. If people start to panic, it will drive the prices up."

 

 

"What will we use to buy these things? I thought money was a bit
tight at the moment until the accounts come in at the end of the
month."

 

 

"I still have a little money set by from the sale of the Dublin
house. We also have all the woolen bolts of cloth, which I was going
to use for the women's and men's clothes this winter. Now I think
I'll trade it, and get flannel and some heavy cotton, and see what
money is left after the sale."

 

 

In the end, Lochlainn gave in. "I'll buy everything you've listed
for me, but I do think you're being a bit gloomy."

 

 

"I know, Lochlainn, and I'm sorry. But ever since, well, for the
past eight months anyway, every single time I think I see the light
at the end of the tunnel, something comes to darken our already
desperate situation."'

 

 

Lochlainn pulled her to him then, and kissed her tenderly, stroking
back a stray curl from her temple.

 

 

"I have faith in your judgment, and will do as you say, my dear. But
let's just hope you're only having morbid fancies."

 

 

He knew she wasn't sleeping as well as she had been before she had
left for Dublin. Though she never spoke of her nightmares, even when
he demanded she tell him about them, they were terrifying enough to
make her wake up screaming sometimes.

 

 

"And if I'm not being morbid?" she asked quietly, staring up at him.

 

 

Lochlainn held her close, propping his chin on the top of her head.
"Then God help us all."

 

 

 

On the fifteenth of October, after a particularly rainy autumn,
Muireann could bear the uncertainty no longer. Assembling all the
men by the side of the potato beds, which she had already noticed
had begun to emit a rancid odor, she ordered them to start digging.

 

 

As the first batches came up, she sagged against Lochlainn in
relief. Though the potatoes were quite small, they still seemed to
be edible.

 

 

"Thank God!" she sighed, hugging him to her, heedless of who saw.

 

 

Lochlainn had patted her on the shoulder in embarrassment, and
proceeded to help with the digging.

 

 

 But about three days later, as the women were preparing the
dinner in the kitchen for everyone, a huge commotion broke out.

 

 

Muireann came running in from the turf cutting as soon as she heard
the news.

 

 

"They were sound only the other day, and now look!" Sharon shrieked.

 

 

Muireann stared at the black putrescent mass oozing all over the
floor through the wickerwork basket.

 

 

A pang of sick dread coursed through her. She looked from one face
to the next. They were all staring at her.  Waiting for her
reaction. She simply couldn't let them down.  "Patrick, Mark,
saddle the two horses now and ride into Enniskillen. Take whatever
money I have in the strongbox. Buy as much rice and Indian meal as
you can with it, and hurry!" Muireann ordered.

 

 

Lochlainn came running in a short time later, having heard all sorts
of weeping and wailing going up around the estate, and curious as to
why everyone was standing there stock still.

 

 

Muireann pointed wordlessly as Lochlainn gazed at the black ooze on
the floor.

 

 

He gaped. "What on earth is it?"

 

 

 "Our potatoes. Or what's left of them."

 

 

He stared at her as though she had gone mad.

 

 

"It's true."

 

 

"Oh no, God, no!" Lochlainn ran his fingers through his hair as he
stared in horror at the ruination of all his dreams.

 

 

Muireann shook her head, and then squared her shoulders and looked
around the room commandingly.

 

 

"Right, I want everyone out at the potato storage pit now, and I
mean everyone. The men will dig, the women will fill the creels. Get
all the knives out, will you, Brona?

 

 

"Sharon, fill up every cauldron in the house, the washtubs too. We
need to dig all the potatoes up, and cut them in half. Any potatoes
that look all right, we boil them now. Hopefully they will keep for
a few days cooked. God knows what would happen if we just left them
lying. Any other potatoes go into the laundry tubs. We will boil
them up for starch, which we can sell to the laundry in
Enniskillen."

 

 

Everyone continued to stare at the floor, until Muireann exclaimed
impatiently, "Come on, don't just stand there! We haven't a moment
to waste!"

 

 

Muireann reached for a knife and stalked out, and began the
heart-breaking task. Lifting the first shovelful herself, she almost
gagged at the smell, and then began to pick through them with her
knife. Lochlainn came up to stand beside her a short time later, and
took the shovel wordlessly.

 

 

The tenantry all came out to lend a hand then, digging, cutting,
filling the creels, and carrying them back and forth to the kitchen.
Only about an eighth were salvageable, and even then Muireann was
not so sure they should be eaten.

 

 

She put plenty of salt in the boiling water, and then tasted one
herself.

 

 

"It seems fine, but we won't overdo it. We will just have to eat
them warmed up in the stew for the next few days until they run out.
Everyone gets one hot one now, but no more. If these still have
traces of the disease, the last thing we need is to all get ill."

 

 

Lochlainn agreed with Muireann's assessment of the situation, and
oversaw the handing out of the rations at dinner. It was a gloomy
meal at best, eaten quickly and silently as they knew they would
soon have to return to their soul-destroying work at the potato bed.

 

 

After most of them had gone, she remarked to Lochlainn, "We're
complaining because the few we do have to eat will be rationed, and
served up in stew. We ought to be thankful that we have any at all.
I just hope we've laid in enough stores, and that we can get more.
Otherwise we're all going to have a very hard winter."

 

 

Muireann went into the storerooms then to do some calculations. "I
know what you're going to say, that the
Andromeda
will come.
But they're probably facing the same disaster we are. Also, they'll
have to stop sailing soon anyway because of the winter weather.
We'll be lucky if they fit in another run. I say we shouldn't get
our hopes up that they will make it through again this year, not
with all the terrible gales we've been having recently. So we have
to begin making other plans. If we ration the food we have here at
the moment, how long could we survive until the next crops are
ready?"

 

 

Lochlainn took out his small pocket notebook and began to scribble
down some figures hastily. "There are still onions, beets and
turnips to come. If we have oatmeal and rice, and cornmeal. . ."

 

 

"We need to think about the milk and eggs as well. I mean, I know
I've paid off all the arrears on the mortgage, and a bit extra, but
we still have to make the monthly payments. What a terrible choice
I'm being presented with. If we eat, we might lose Barnakilla. If we
keep Barnakilla, these people might all starve."

 

 

"I don't have any answers for you, Muireann," Lochlainn whispered,
trying to subdue the feeling of nausea which washed over him. "I
wish to God I did, but I don't."

 

 

This was the end, he was sure of it. Any sane woman would cut her
losses and run. There was nothing keeping Muireann here now. The
whole thing had been one impossible dream. He had lied to her,
tricked her into coming, spurred her on in the belief that he could
restore Barnakilla to the glorious days he remembered from his
childhood.

 

 

His own madness, ambition, and desire for this lovely woman had
brought about everyone's ruin, he thought wildly.

 

 

Muireann saw the stricken look on his face and hugged Lochlainn
silently, drawing strength from his huge frame as he towered over
her, wrapping her in his arms as though he would never let her go.

 

 

But free her he must. He couldn't expect her to endure famine. He
recalled all he had heard from his sister of the terrible events of
1841. It was unthinkable to subject a woman like Muireann to that.

 

 

"At least you did try. You made me buy the food in advance," he
commented softly, trying desperately to cling onto the illusion that
they could make it.

 

 

"Please, Lochlainn, don't, don't talk, not now. I need you to hold
me, love me," she moaned, trying to block out the nightmare of the
black potatoes

 

 

"Sharon or Brona could come in at any moment," he gasped, shocked.

 

 

"And that would be awful, wouldn't it? That someone might see us,
think we cared about each other?" she snapped.

 

 

"Your reputation!"

 

 

"Liar! That isn't it at all!" she accused. "I saw the way you looked
at me the other day when I hugged you. You're ashamed of me. I
suppose I can't blame you. I'm a complete failure now, aren't I?"

 

 

Lochlainn stared at her in utter disbelief. "How can you say that
after everything you've accomplished!" he exploded. "You've done
everything you can to restore Barnakilla, to help these people, but
even you can't work miracles! You're not God. Neither am I! Do you
think if I were I would have let all this happen! How do you think I
feel, having to watch you sacrifice everything, while you suffer and
slave away day in and day out, barely taking time to even sleep,
unless I come to your bed to give you a few hours of mindless
oblivion?"

 

 

Muireann sucked in her breath sharply. "Is that what you think it
is?" she gasped, feeling her gorge rise.

 

 

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that," he apologized, reaching for
her.

 

 

She stalked out of the storeroom and headed for her office.

 

 

Lochlainn ran after her, pleading, "I didn't mean it!"

 

 

Muireann sat down in her chair, utterly defeated, and put her head
in her hands. She could have tolerated more deprivation, but
Lochlainn's criticism was almost too much to bear.