The Crooked Branch Read Online Free PDF Page B

he said.
    “Gale day is coming, Ray,” she said. “Rent will be due.”
    He nodded his head.
    “Thanks be to God, the oat harvest looks to be in strong condition, at least,” he said.
    “Touch wood,” Ginny answered.
    “It’s the heartiest crop of oats I ever did see,” Ray said.
    “Isn’t it strange, to have the oats that thick and the blight won’t touch them,” Ginny added, “when the potatoes are all in ruin?”
    On a good year, they wouldn’t save but a small stock of oats for their family—they sold nearly all of them, and the pig, to pay the rent. They lived all the time on potatoes, with the odd turnip or cabbage from the kitchen garden, a few eggs from the hens. They were better off than most of their neighbors because they had the old cow for milk. But she wouldn’t last, not now. “That’s all our food for the next six months,” Ginny whispered, looking out over their scalped field. “Gone.” She snapped her fingers. There were tears in her eyes, she couldn’t help it.
    Ray squinted off into the foggy damp. “We haven’t sold them oats yet, Ginny. We have the pig, still, and a decent crop of turnips and cabbage besides.”
    “And we owe most of that to Packet,” she said. “You know what’ll happen if we don’t pay.”
    Every year on the gale days, there was always a family or two who couldn’t manage the rent for whatever reason, whatever hardship had befallen them. Packet took no pity on those people. His agents and the constables would be dispatched to drag whole families out of their homes. Those men would tumble the cabins down into the road before the very eyes of their inhabitants, never mind the wailing of the women, or the wild panic of the screeching babbies. A rope would be fixed to the roof beam, and the whole house just tumbled down in front of them, until all that was left was a mess of stone and thatch, a big, choking hot cloud of dust. The neighbors would be warned against taking the family in, and the poor wretches would be destitute then. They would take out to the roads in misery. Ginny shook her head.
    “Whatever happens, we’ve got to pay.”
    Ray nodded. “You’re right. If we’re going to be hungry, we may at least be hungry with a roof over our heads.”
    The stink from the pratie pit was so sharp they could taste it, bitter in the backs of their throats.
    “We’ll get a good price for the oats,” Ray reasoned. “We can keep a decent stash back from that.”
    “We can sell the cow,” Ginny said. “We’ll manage without milk for the winter.”
    “We’ll get by,” Ray said.
    They tried to believe each other.
    •   •   •
    The children loved going into Westport town. They never minded what reason, or the long walk. Poppy, Maggie, and Michael skipped on ahead, flailing their loose, warm baby limbs around them. But Maire kept solemn watch beside her parents. Ray held Ginny’s hand and tried to quell her fear, so Maire wouldn’t sniff it out. You couldn’t hide anything from their eldest daughter—if you wanted her to believe something, you had to believe it yourself.
    Ginny squeezed Ray’s hand, and started talking for a distraction. “Michael’s getting a bit big for the petticoat.”
    The boys usually wore them only until they were eight or nine years of age. Michael was on the small side for his age, but even so, his lean legs were beginning to stretch out beneath the skirts. He looked more like his father every day, the only one of the children who’d inherited Ray’s half-moon eyes.
    “I reckon that’s right,” Ray said, watching their son on the road ahead.
    “He’s nearly ten now. Time for some knee breeches and a coat and vest, like a proper little man.”
    “He needs a hat, too, Mammy,” Maire said.
    “He does,” Ginny agreed. “But sure, he’ll be grand in that getup for now anyway. Won’t do him the bit of harm.”
    The roads were eerily quiet, only for the sound of their gathered footsteps falling against