“So memories are long in the county of Waterford,” said Luke.

  “Have Methodists forgotten?”

  “We have been persecuted for many years, and even now we are not invited into the best houses. But this does not compare to the persecution of the Irish,” said Luke.

  “Are you here to convert good Irishmen to your strange new faith?”

  “We don’t think of it as a new faith,” said Luke. “We think of it as a purifying of the ancient faith. What I teach will bring people closer to Christ, whatever doctrine they profess.”

  “What about those who dare not profess their doctrine, since it is forbidden by law?” asked the publican.

  This was an invitation—or a provocation.

  “They call me Brother Luke. I’d wager good money that you also have a name.”

  The publican smiled. “A gambling Methodist, are you?”

  “I didn’t say I’d collect the money if I won.”

  “But you’d pay it out if you lost?” asked the publican.

  “The outcome of this wager is in your hands.”

  “My mother gave me a name, my father being away on business at the time.”

  “Did she name you for a bird? A flower? A season?”

  “Finchie Rosie Spring,” said the publican. “A much finer name than my own.”

  “I look for truth, not flowers,” said Luke.

  “Brother Luke, will you pray for me?” asked the publican.

  “What is your need?” asked Luke.

  “I have a constant pain in my elbows, and for a man who pours drinks and serves them, it’s an inconvenient malady. I go to bed at night in agony from the day’s work. Is there a prayer for that?”

  “I can pray for you, if I know the name that was given to you at baptism, for that is the name God knows you by.”

  The publican nodded gravely. “I am Simon Peter O’Reilly.”

  “Your mother had high hopes for you, I think,” said Luke.

  “I fear I’ve disappointed all her hopes, for I have no children for her to dote on.”

  Luke saw real sadness in the man’s eyes, and concluded that he was married and no child had come to them.

  Luke reached out and took Simon Peter by the hands and then leaned closer and held onto his elbows. “Heavenly Father,” he said, “Simon Peter and I thank you for loving us, and for sending your Son, our Lord Jesus Christ, to the world to save us and set us free of our sins. We trust in your power and grace that sustain and restore us.”

  “Amen,” whispered Simon Peter the publican.

  “Loving Father,” Luke went on, “touch Simon Peter now with your healing hands, for we believe that your will is for him to be well in mind, body, soul, and spirit. Cover him with the most precious Blood of your Son, our Lord Jesus Christ, from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. Cast out anything that should not be in him. Find every part of him that is not obeying your will in creating him, and teach his body to do its rightful duty, to serve a good man well, and give him many days without pain until the end of his life.”

  Luke opened his eyes to see that the snuffling sound he heard was Simon Peter weeping.

  “Touch Simon Peter in the deepest recesses of his heart, so he can feel your presence, love, joy, and peace, which have drawn him ever closer to thee every moment of his life. Grant the prayer in his heart, for the blessing of Abraham. And Father, fill me also with your Holy Spirit and empower me to do your works so that my life will bring glory and honor to your Holy Name. We ask this in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

  Simon Peter was openly sobbing now, as he bent over Luke’s hands and dropped many tears on them. “Thank you, Father,” said Simon Peter. “No one will hear of your presence here, not from me. You are safe in my house.”

  “I am called Brother Luke,” said Luke, “not Father anything.”

  “I know,” said Simon Peter. “And so I shall call you.”

  “Is anyone else sleeping upstairs now?” asked Luke.

  “It will be only you, so take your pick of the beds. I promise that the linens are clean and the mattress has been aired this very day, though bedbugs can be resourceful and sly, so I can’t promise you’ll pass the night unbitten.”

  Luke smiled. He liked this Simon Peter. And, up to a point, he trusted him. He was Catholic enough that he knew, from Luke’s prayer, that Luke was a priest. Simon Peter could not guess the mission that had brought Luke to Ireland. To him, Luke was no more than a simple Catholic priest walking about in disguise, to minister the true rites to those who still had allegiance to the Pope. That would be enough to get him killed, of course, and in whatever gruesome ways the local heretics preferred. But the Inquisitor of Ireland? That would be a prize for the heretics to get their hands on.

  As Luke climbed the stairs, he softly echoed sentences that Simon Peter had uttered, with the lilting, musical tones of his Irish accent. Fra Angelico was right. Even saying quotidian things, this Irishman has a poet’s voice.

  12

  ROSHEEN MALONEY WAS digging up potato plants from her family’s field, more than a furlong from the house. She tossed them into the sledge, so she could drag it to the burning place, where the Maloneys and five other families burned what should have been the crop that would feed them through the coming winter.

  She had long since stopped thinking about the fact that they had no money to buy grain, and nothing to trade for it. It was too late to plant wheat or any other useful grain. The small store of potatoes in the dry place off the kitchen was diminishing too quick, despite how fine Rosheen and Mam sliced them for frying or boiling. Onions and leeks they had, so the potatoes could have some flavor, and their small supply of salt, laid by in more prosperous days, helped the food remain savory and somewhat satisfying.

  But Rosheen knew her numbers well enough to calculate how much the family ate each day, and how soon they would run out. Rosheen also knew who the biggest eaters in the family were. There was Da, but now he was gone to England looking for work to send them money for food. This greatly decreased the rate at which the store of potatoes was depleted.

  Now Mam should have been the biggest eater, because she was still nursing the Worm, as Rosheen called the wriggling little one-year-old who did not yet have a real name, there having been no priest to baptize him. But Mam did not eat enough, so the Worm also went hungry, and kept up a half-whispered whimpering through day and night, waking and sleeping. He should be crawling by now, but when Mam set him on the reed-covered floor he just lay there, whimpering.

  He was probably going to die without ever being baptized, which would put him in Limbo awaiting the mercy of the Lord, though the Church of Ireland preached that unbaptized babies who died would go to hell. Rosheen no longer spent much thought on that, either.

  Instead, she calculated how long the potatoes would last if Rosheen herself was no longer at home. She did not gorge herself, and was always hungry when she stopped eating, but she ate enough to give her strength to continue her work of obliterating the blighted potato plants. But if her portion was no longer being taken from the store every day, there would be many days more.

  Still it was not enough, even if Father came home with money. Because what could he buy, with the whole country blighted? The English corn merchants would puff up their prices in such times as these, so a man’s work for a year would not buy enough to feed himself, let alone a wife and five children.

  Rosheen had decided a few days ago that when she left, she would need to take one more child with her. Not Worm, obviously, and not Adam, the boy, because Da would be murderously angry if she took him off. So it was her next younger sister, Love O’Jesu, that she would take. Lovey would come, yes, and though their going would deprive Mam of her two best and most reliable helpers, it would give Mam and the remaining children enough food to eat whether or not Da came home with money or flour.

  The only thing Rosheen fretted about now was whether to tell Mam that they were leaving, so she wouldn’t worry and get up a search party among the neighbors, or leave a note for Mam to take to one of the neighbors who could read, that not being part of her upbringing. It would be wrong to sneak away at night like escaping burglars.

  She started pulling the sledge toward the firepit when she caught movement out of the corner of her eye and saw that Alvin Miller was walking up the road that ran along the top of the hill. She stopped her pulling and watched him. He did not seem to have been maimed or injured by the men who arrested him there a few weeks ago. Nor did he so much as look at the Maloney house, a place where he had several times been received with friendship. So Mam’s affidavit to the bishop’s soldiers had been part of the basis of Alvin’s arrest, though Rosheen had heard the captain swear to Mam that Alvin would never know of it. He knew of it.

  How angry was he? He could have avoided their house altogether, simply by walking in the field below the brow of the hill. So he was showing himself. To reassure his friends that he had suffered no serious harm, that he was still a free man? Or to strike their consciences for having been so faithless as to betray him to the witch-hunters?

  He could not have come back to lay a curse on us, thought Rosheen. What curse could he have within his power, that would cause more harm than the blight was already causing?

  As Alvin Miller came nearer to where she was standing, Rosheen reached a sudden and impossible decision. She let the sledge rope drop and stepped over it. She ran back to where Love O’Jesu was also digging at the blighted potatoes, while watching over Worm in the nearby grass. As Rosheen approached them, she saw Worm roll himself from his back to his stomach, and reach out his hands and curl up his legs to creep forward. So maybe the baby wouldn’t die after all. I’ll give you a better chance for life, lad, if I leave so that your mam can eat more, and fill her paps with milk for you.

  Lovey looked up at Rosheen as she arrived. “What?” she said testily, because she expected Rosheen had seen her doing something wrong and was here to rebuke her.

  “Pick up the baby, Lovey,” said Rosheen.

  “What for?”

  “We need to bring the lad to Mam.”

  “Did she signal or wave?” asked Lovey. “I didn’t hear her call.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t hear it, because she did not call,” said Rosheen. And when Lovey was slow to get up off her knees, Rosheen bent down and picked up Worm and started striding boldly toward the house.

  “Wait! Mam put me in charge of the baby, Sheen!”

  When Rosheen reached the door of the house, Lovey was right behind her, starting to remonstrate again, but Rosheen turned on her and with her fiercest face whispered harshly, “Be still. Say nothing. On your life, say nothing, but obey me.”

  Lovey moved past her and opened the door. Rosheen strode through and gently laid Worm onto the patch of cloth that served as his sleeping place during the day. Again the baby immediately started to try to creep. But he wouldn’t be able to open the door and there was nowhere for him to fall, so let him practice moving himself.

  Rosheen turned and held out a hand to signal Lovey to stay at the door. Rosheen then walked into the room where Da and Mam always slept, with the baby between them. Mam was inside, lying down with a cloth over her eyes. Standing in the doorway, Rosheen said, “When Lovey and I are gone, there’ll be enough food to sustain you all through the winter.”

  Mam’s hand came up and drew the cloth off her eyes.

  “We’ll be under the protection of Alvin Miller,” said Rosheen. “He’s up on the road.”

  “And whose protection will he be under?” whispered Mam.

  “God’s,” said Rosheen, though she had no idea if this was true. God hadn’t protected him from getting arrested.

  Rosheen closed the door behind her and strode quickly to the door where Lovey waited. Rosheen opened it and drew Lovey after her. The younger girl came willingly enough—if she had resisted, Rosheen would have let her stay. Lovey followed her closely up the hill toward the road.

  Alvin had stopped walking. Did he guess what Rosheen intended? Or was he merely resting? Though his back was to the girls, Rosheen did not call to him, because she could sense that he already knew they were there.

  When they were within a rod of him, and on the road, he began to walk away from them, farther down the road in the direction he had already been going. Rosheen sped up to overtake him; Alvin also sped up. When Lovey dragged behind and Rosheen had to wait for her, Alvin also waited. He never looked back to see them; he simply seemed to know where they were and how fast they were going.

  Only when they had passed beyond sight of the Maloney house did Alvin slow down and let himself be overtaken. “Are we journeying together today?” he asked.

  “God willing,” said Rosheen.

  “You’re a fast walker,” said Lovey.

  “Fast as I need to be,” said Alvin.

  “I’m sorry Mam swore against you to the captain,” said Rosheen.

  “I forgive her,” said Alvin. “She owed me no allegiance.”

  “I’m sorry, too,” said Lovey.

  “Just so you know,” said Alvin, “I’m bound for a town up ahead to meet with some of my American friends, and from there we’re walking on to the sea, to look at boats. It’s a long way.”

  “That’s just where we’re going,” said Rosheen.

  “Then let our paths keep us traveling together,” said Alvin. “Did you happen to bring food and water with you?”

  “Slipped my mind,” said Rosheen.

  “Meaning that there’s no food to spare in your house about now.”

  Rosheen said nothing, just started walking along, expecting Alvin and Lovey to come with her. They did.

  “I only asked about food and water because when we get to the village and meet my friends, if they’re there, then we’ll all eat together at the inn, and I’ll pay the publican for all.”

  “That is kind of you, sir,” said Lovey. “How long will that be from now?”

  “A good walk,” said Alvin, “but I’ll help you bear the distance as best I can.” He reached out his hands, one to Rosheen, one to Lovey, and they took his hands, the callused strong hands that had held hammers, tongs, and iron of every weight. His hands did not crush theirs, but only held them.

  At first Rosheen could feel Alvin dragging her a little faster forward than was really comfortable for her. Then it was comfortable, so he must have slowed down. Faster and faster they went, until Rosheen was barely aware of setting one foot in front of the other. She heard a thin melody like a wee piper in the grass, and now and then the faint sound of a horn. It was the music of the green fields of Ireland, she somehow understood. It was the life of the land bearing them along.

  Rosheen did not look toward her sister, on the other side of Alvin; she knew that if Lovey was lagging, Alvin would bear her up.

  And then Rosheen felt as if she were waking up out of a light sleep—alert and aware all at once, yet she knew that she had slept an hour or two while her feet continued to bear her along, keeping up with the music.

  There was a village and they were entering it. The music instantly faded, and Rosheen slowed down to her natural walking pace. She did not feel as if she had just walked hours along the track; she felt ready to take on another journey twice as long, if Alvin would hold her hand and the music would sustain her.

  * * *

  Alvin told the girls to count to a hundred and then come into the public house. He went on ahead to prepare the way, he said. By which he really meant to see if his friends were there, and if there were rooms to let for the night. Even with their drifting along in the Greensong all the afternoon, they had to be weary from much walking, on too little food.

  At the start of their journey together, Alvin had sent his doodlebug into their bodies to see about their health. They were sturdy enough. Even in this wet and cloudy land, they had plenty of sunlight, which he knew was important for health, though he wasn’t sure how it worked. We’re not plants, after all, he told himself. But we need sunlight too, just like trees and grass.

  There were weaknesses in the girls that would come to the surface in time, if they continued to starve, but right now, a few good meals would fix them up right. They were strong, with wiry muscles. Alvin could not help but wonder if they had knacks of some kind, so he could justify taking them to America. For now, though, he had to deal with the problems of taking care of two girls who were not his own daughters, on a trek as long as he intended to take.

  The publican gave him a nod when he came in, but the man was busy with wiping down the bar. The smell of a good strong stew filled the place, and Alvin could tell from the scent that it contained mutton and potatoes, carrots and leeks, and, from the best he could tell, sage.

  Alvin looked around and did not see the friends he had expected. John Binder should have been there, but at this hour of the day he might be purchasing materials to make rope. Alvin’s older brother Measure was there, however, with his long legs propped up on a bench while he sprawled in a chair that looked like it came from a dollhouse, he was so tall.

  Measure looked up as Alvin saw him, but gave no sign of recognition. Then Measure glanced over at an oldish man sitting by a west-facing window, so that in this late-afternoon light his face was only a silhouette. So Measure was warning him—a stranger not accounted for, no idea if he could be trusted.

  Alvin walked up to the publican. “Excuse me, friend,” he said. “I got me two nieces waiting outside for me to find out if you got a room for them tonight, and another one for me.”

  “Don’t need no little girls loose upstairs,” said the publican.

  “I vouch for their good behavior.”

  “We get men in here sometimes whose behavior can’t be vouched for by anybody short of Satan himself,” said the publican.

  “I’ll make sure nobody troubles the girls,” said Alvin. “What matters is, you got rooms for us?”

  The publican nodded. “These aren’t prosperous times, my American friend. We’re glad for the custom.”