Cave of Secrets by Morgan Llywelyn Read Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Morgan Llywelyn
eaves. A partition at the other end separated their parents’ bedroom from the rest of the house. Windows on either side of the door provided daylight for both the main room and the bedroom. Everything the family needed was snugly contained under one roof.
Donal’s family gathered around Tom. He was not used to being the centre of favourable attention. When they pressed food and drink upon him he refused nothing. The spoons were made of mussel shells with bowls that looked like pearls.
Tom ate things with legs, and squishy things, and things with eyes on stalks – because Donal was eating them too. After a while he realised they were delicious. When he was offered a drink which smelled like honey and seaweed, he choked on the first swallow. As soon as he could draw breath again, he laughed. The others laughed with him. After a while he held out his cup for more.
When the younger woman began to sing Tom did not understand all the words. But the music rang in his blood and bones.
He felt at ease with Donal’s family from the beginning. They did not talk to him as if he were a child, and they listened when he spoke, as if he were an adult.
Donal’s mother wanted to hear about Roaringwater House. ‘You amaze me,’ she said after Tom had described the house for her in detail. ‘A special room just for sitting, and others for eating and sewing and even dressing! Would you not dress beside your bed, Tomás?’
‘My father says a dressing room is an English custom.’
‘Ah, English,’ she said. ‘I myself was reared in an earthen hovel with one little room for the nine of us and a stall at the end for the cow – when we had a cow. A damp, dark place it was, on the edge of a bog. My poor mother and five of her children coughed their lives away there. The feet of misfortune walked in the tracks of my family. Then one day Muiris found me at the market, Tomás, trying to sell a few pitiful herbs.’ Suddenly Bríd clapped her hands and laughed, as if to blow sorrow away. ‘And here I am!’ Her smile was so bright he had to smile back.
Nothing more was said about Tom’s request to be part of their work. He did not press the point. It was enough to be here. He stayed with Donal’s people until a change in the light warned him it was time to go home.
But already the community in the narrow valley felt like home to him.
As he was leaving, the old woman caught his arm andpulled him aside. In a hoarse whisper she said, ‘What is for you will not pass by you.’
Much later, as Tom lay in his bed, he looked back on the day with astonishment. He felt like a chick who had broken out of its egg.
The following morning brought gale force winds and hammering rain. Tom went from window to window, peering out anxiously. He was afraid his father would come home soon and demand to know how he was spending his time. If he does, Tom told himself, I’ll run away. I’ll go to live with Donal and never come back.
Around noon the skies cleared, leaving the land fresh-washed and fragrant. Tom and his hobby-horse were out the door at once. He hurried to hide the horse, then ran to the cliffs. To Tom’s surprise it was not Donal waiting for him in the cove. It was Muiris.
He sat in a small currach that bobbed in the shallows. When he saw Tom he vaulted out of the boat. The boy watched in open-mouthed admiration as Muiris, thigh deep in the foaming tide, effortlessly lifted the currach, flipped it over and waded ashore, carrying his boat on his back like the shell of a black beetle.
Setting the currach down on the beach, he asked, ‘Are you well, Tomás?’
‘I am well. And yourself?’
‘I am always well,’ Muiris replied. ‘And how is your mother?’
The question was unexpected. ‘My mother is well enough, I suppose. She’s never very strong,’ the boy added truthfully.
‘It is sorry I am to hear that. Does she have enough food?’
‘We have more than enough food,’ Tom assured Muiris. ‘My mother has only a
Donal’s family gathered around Tom. He was not used to being the centre of favourable attention. When they pressed food and drink upon him he refused nothing. The spoons were made of mussel shells with bowls that looked like pearls.
Tom ate things with legs, and squishy things, and things with eyes on stalks – because Donal was eating them too. After a while he realised they were delicious. When he was offered a drink which smelled like honey and seaweed, he choked on the first swallow. As soon as he could draw breath again, he laughed. The others laughed with him. After a while he held out his cup for more.
When the younger woman began to sing Tom did not understand all the words. But the music rang in his blood and bones.
He felt at ease with Donal’s family from the beginning. They did not talk to him as if he were a child, and they listened when he spoke, as if he were an adult.
Donal’s mother wanted to hear about Roaringwater House. ‘You amaze me,’ she said after Tom had described the house for her in detail. ‘A special room just for sitting, and others for eating and sewing and even dressing! Would you not dress beside your bed, Tomás?’
‘My father says a dressing room is an English custom.’
‘Ah, English,’ she said. ‘I myself was reared in an earthen hovel with one little room for the nine of us and a stall at the end for the cow – when we had a cow. A damp, dark place it was, on the edge of a bog. My poor mother and five of her children coughed their lives away there. The feet of misfortune walked in the tracks of my family. Then one day Muiris found me at the market, Tomás, trying to sell a few pitiful herbs.’ Suddenly Bríd clapped her hands and laughed, as if to blow sorrow away. ‘And here I am!’ Her smile was so bright he had to smile back.
Nothing more was said about Tom’s request to be part of their work. He did not press the point. It was enough to be here. He stayed with Donal’s people until a change in the light warned him it was time to go home.
But already the community in the narrow valley felt like home to him.
As he was leaving, the old woman caught his arm andpulled him aside. In a hoarse whisper she said, ‘What is for you will not pass by you.’
Much later, as Tom lay in his bed, he looked back on the day with astonishment. He felt like a chick who had broken out of its egg.
The following morning brought gale force winds and hammering rain. Tom went from window to window, peering out anxiously. He was afraid his father would come home soon and demand to know how he was spending his time. If he does, Tom told himself, I’ll run away. I’ll go to live with Donal and never come back.
Around noon the skies cleared, leaving the land fresh-washed and fragrant. Tom and his hobby-horse were out the door at once. He hurried to hide the horse, then ran to the cliffs. To Tom’s surprise it was not Donal waiting for him in the cove. It was Muiris.
He sat in a small currach that bobbed in the shallows. When he saw Tom he vaulted out of the boat. The boy watched in open-mouthed admiration as Muiris, thigh deep in the foaming tide, effortlessly lifted the currach, flipped it over and waded ashore, carrying his boat on his back like the shell of a black beetle.
Setting the currach down on the beach, he asked, ‘Are you well, Tomás?’
‘I am well. And yourself?’
‘I am always well,’ Muiris replied. ‘And how is your mother?’
The question was unexpected. ‘My mother is well enough, I suppose. She’s never very strong,’ the boy added truthfully.
‘It is sorry I am to hear that. Does she have enough food?’
‘We have more than enough food,’ Tom assured Muiris. ‘My mother has only a