Escape From Home Read Free

America. That’s the way it’s done. Your husband’s money will see you through in perfect safety. Not even four pounds for full passage. Less for Patrick, I’m thinking. You can count on me to make arrangements.”
    â€œTo America,” Patrick echoed with excitement.
    â€œAmerica, to be sure,” the priest said. “And Mr. O’Connell’s place of residence is set down right here. Fifty-four Adams Street, Lowell, Massachusetts. Sure then, it must be a fine place for living.”
    Mrs. O’Connell drew her hands from her eyes. “But it’s not a Catholic country. And God knows,” she groaned, “I can’t go so far from the grave of my perished Timothy.”
    â€œMrs. O’Connell,” the priest said gently, “you have my sacred vow. I’ll be here in Kilonny, looking after him.”
    â€œMother”—Maura held her tightly—“Mother, we need a place that lets us live. Haven’t thousands gone before?”
    â€œIt’s just as Maura says,” the priest agreed. “Put your minds to a whole new life. You know the likelihood that Mr. Morgan will tumble all.”
    Mrs. O’Connell shook her head again. “It’s as much as your life is worth to go journeying beyond the western sea.”
    â€œMother,” Patrick cried, “Da wants us with him!”
    â€œMrs. O’Connell, your husband is now a prosperous man.”
    â€œFather Mahoney,” said Maura, her voice firm, her heart beating madly, “you shall write to Da. Tell him we’ll be coming to that place called Lowell as soon as possible. And may heaven be kind to us all.”



G ray clouds hung over Kilonny Village. The sun, low in the east, floated in the sky as if it were a holy wafer. A cold mist, like the wet fingers of a water witch, poked and prodded into every nook and cranny.
    Within the O’Connells’ hut, the turf fire was dying. By the open entrance stood two small bundles, each tied with bulky knots. They contained all the family’s possessions. Mrs. O’Connell, occasionally coughing, more often weeping, knelt on the earth, saying her beads. On either side, Maura and Patrick tried to soothe her anxiety.
    â€œNow that it’s time, I’ve not the heart for leaving,” their mother whispered. “I don’t, and that’s God’s truth.” She closed her eyes and made the sign of the cross.
    Maura, irritated in spite of herself, struggled to stay calm. “Mother,” she said with barely suppressed urgency, “you know perfectly well what’s about to happen. It’s impossible to stay.”
    Mrs. O’Connell shook her head. “I can’t believe it.”
    â€œIt’s true, Mother,” Patrick cried, with a look over his shoulder toward the entryway. Had it been up to him, he would have left an hour ago.
    â€œMr. Morgan is on his way,” Maura reminded her mother. “We’re not the first to be tumbled, and heaven knows we won’t be the last.”
    â€œBesides, Mother,” Patrick urged, “haven’t we promised Da we’d go? Didn’t Father Mahoney buy the tickets from the people and write to him, telling him the name of the ship we’re taking and even the day we’re getting there?”
    â€œAye, but, children …”
    â€œMother, we no longer have the choice!”
    As if to prove Maura’s point, a boy stuck his head into the hut. “The agent’s coming,” he cried. “With soldiers and constables!” The message delivered, he bolted away. They heard the message repeated—like a fading echo—as he went on to their neighbors.
    The words were too much for Patrick. “Mother,” he shouted, “we have to go this minute!” He and Maura pulled their mother up.
    â€œI can’t. I can’t,” the woman kept saying, coughing and weeping.
    Next moment it was Father Mahoney