Nory Ryan's Song Read Free Page A

terrified. “Stay.”
    The dog stopped, that good dog, stood as still in the water as Sean had done. Then a miracle! Something else caught Cunningham’s attention. A man on a horse was riding toward the big house. We scrambled away as Cunningham turned his horse and splashed through the water, riding back the way he had come.
    Maeve shook the water off herself, panting, and nosed into my hand. “A fish for you, two fish,” I said when I caught my breath. I looked at Sean. “Do you think Cunningham knew who we were?”
    “He mixes all of us together.” Sean rubbed his shoulder. “We’re safe, I think.”
    “One thing,” I said slowly. “He will not forget Maeve.”

C HAPTER
4

    I pushed open the door of our house, my share of the catch held up in my skirt. But as soon as I ducked inside, I knew something was wrong. Maggie stood at the hearth, the glow from the peat fire lighting the tears in her eyes. Granda sat on the three-legged stool, his head in his hands. And Patch was burrowed under the straw of his bed, his scrap of blanket tucked under his chin. Even Biddy, our hen, and her two sisters were clucking as they dashed back and forth on the earthen floor.
    Celia didn’t look at me. She banged down the potato pot, then rooted through the basket in the corner, tossing out an old coat of Granda’s and Da’s boot without a sole.
    “What is it?” I said. “Tell me.”
    Maggie came toward me. “I’m going.” Her mouth was unsteady. “Leaving for America.”
    I raised my hands, the fish sliding out of my skirt and onto the floor.
    “Going across the sea,” said Granda, biting his lip.
    Brooklyn, New York. Milk in cans. Maggie without us .
    Maggie reached out with her big arms and held me so tight I could hardly breathe. “It’s the Neelys,” she said.
    “Out of their house,” I said. And then I knew: the anger on Francey’s face, his eyes flashing. He had seen it all.
    “He will not stay,” Maggie said. “Not one more month. Not in this land with the English so cruel.”
    “But that’s not the way it’s supposed to be,” I said. “We are all to go. Someday. A long time from now.”
    Maggie shook her head. “There’s never enough to eat. When I’m gone there will be that little bit extra.”
    I hardly listened. “We’ll go when Patch is grown, when there’s money.”
    “Francey has enough money for the passage.” Maggie held on to my shoulders. “We need our own place, our own family. We want it to be in Brooklyn, America. Free.”
    Just then Celia crashed the potato pot into the wall. “Ah, here, underneath.” She held up the comb. It was missing four teeth, but the tiny pink stones along the top glowed whenever I held it up to the sun.
    “I will take it with me when I go,” Celia said.
    “It’s my comb,” I said. “From Mam.”
    “Go where?” Maggie asked.
    Granda and Patch stared at Celia.
    “I am going to America myself. Straightaway.” She began to run the comb through her hair.
    “My comb,” I said. “Da said it was mine.”
    Celia held it high over her head. I jumped for it, and between us, the comb snapped in two. I looked at the piece in my hand, shocked. Mam’s comb.
    “How are you going to America?” Granda asked Celia.
    “I will get the money for passage somehow,” Celia said. “I will walk to Galway.”
    “You can’t even manage the walk to Ballilee.” I held my piece of the comb tightly in my hand. “Who’ll take care of Patch?” A poor wee mess he was with a sore on his mouth and a scratch on his cheek from chasing Biddy the hen. “Who will watch him?”
    “He loves you best, Nory,” Maggie whispered.
    Celia looked at Patch in the bed, then closed her eyes. After a moment she said, “I will take care of him. I have decided. I will go to America when Da gets home.”
    Who will take care of me? I rushed outside, sliding over the fish on the floor.
    Maggie called after me but I heard Granda say, “Let her go.”
    Go where? I asked