Toward the Sea of Freedom Read Online Free PDF Page B

children had long since been claimed, often their wives too. They simply lay on the side of the street starving when they could not find anything more to eat.
    “Now hold on, Ralph Trevallion.” Father O’Brien announced himself with a stern voice. “It was just a few sacks of grain—animal feed, like you said. It’s a shame you didn’t offer it long ago. Don’t you see what’s happening here? Can’t your horses eat hay?”
    “And by my faith, we don’t know anything about it!” added Ron Flannigan, an older foreman. “We all bake our bread in the same oven, Mr. Trevallion, and believe you me, everyone here would smell it if someone was cooking mush or roasting grain in one of the houses. We dream of such stuff, sir.”
    Trevallion glared at him. “I don’t care a fig what you dream about. I can only assure you I’ll become your worst nightmare if you don’t toe the line. A week, people, or you’ll feel it.”
    With that, he turned his horse, leaving behind a village full of confused and despairing tenant farmers.
    “But we haven’t done anything,” Flannigan shouted after him. He repeated the sentence again a second time, quietly and hopelessly.
    Father O’Brien shook his head. Then he saw Kathleen standing somewhat off to the side with her parents. “Mary Kathleen, you must speak with him,” the priest told her quietly. “You, he brings you home on Sundays with your parents’ blessing and . . .” The old priest looked Kathleen’s body over meaningfully. “You also seem to be close to him besides,” he remarked. “He’ll listen to you. Ask him for mercy for the tenants. For, for the sake of his child.”
    Kathleen blushed deeply. “Father, Father, what, what child? I, I’ve never had more to do with Ralph Trevallion than anyone else here.”
    The priest looked the girl in the eye. His gaze was questioning, severe—but Kathleen also recognized sympathy. Whether it was for her, the tenants, the child, or even Trevallion—whose hope to win Kathleen’s love would be destroyed—Kathleen did not know. Nor could she stand his gaze any longer. It was not Trevallion with whom she needed to speak. It was Michael.
    Where was he anyway? Kathleen wondered impatiently. She had not seen him during Trevallion’s tirade. But she was firmly convinced that her beloved had something to do with the theft of the grain. Surely it was related to gathering money for the wedding and passage to America. But innocent people could not pay for it. Michael had to give the grain back. There had to be a way to put it back in the barn just as slyly as it had been spirited away.
    If Michael had already fled, if he had left nothing to chance, he would doubtlessly retrieve her sometime. She hoped it wasn’t too late, but it was possible that he could long since have sold the sacks in Wicklow or elsewhere.
    While the villagers were still discussing what had happened, Kathleen ran down to the river. She did not really have much hope that Michael was hiding in their love nest in the cold, but she had to try to find him. When she passed Jonny’s oak, no bird call sounded, but she heard voices as soon as she got closer to their hiding place.
    “So little?” asked Billy Rafferty, complaining. “Four pounds? You can’t be serious. I thought we were splitting it fifty-fifty.”
    “I did want to,” Michael said, sighing. “But they wouldn’t pay more than twelve. And I need eight pounds. With my savings, that will do for passage. And Kathleen and I—”
    “Oh, Kathleen and you? But what about me? No golden shores of America for Billy boy? That wasn’t the plan, Michael.” Rafferty’s voice sounded threatening.
    “Billy, I did tell you! You get my job as the distributor. Starting next week, the whiskey will be flowing again—and of a quality like it hasn’t been in years. Rye and barley, Billy. Otherwise, they only work with fermented potatoes, my friend. Anyway, you’ll be able to supply the best taverns;