The Good People by Hannah Kent Read Free Book Online Page B

Nóra hastily wiped her eyes and, jaw clenched, entered the kitchen, her cloak and face slick with rain. She shut the door against the storm and set the pail on the table under the window, packed with straw to keep the cold out.
    The women were quiet. Nóra wondered if they guessed she had overheard them.
    ‘Did she give much?’ Peg eventually asked.
    ‘She’s spooked.’ Nóra dragged her cloak off her shoulders and crouched by the fire to warm her hands, her eyes averted.
    ‘’Twas a time when we couldn’t move for butter in this valley,’ muttered Peg. ‘Now every second cratur is blasted.’
    Micheál murmured and, relieved for something to do, Nóra picked him up out of the cramped cradle. ‘You great lad. Oh, the weight in him.’
    Peg and Brigid exchanged looks.
    ‘What were ye talking of?’ Nóra asked.
    ‘Our Brigid here was asking about Nance.’
    ‘Is that so.’
    ‘’Tis. She can’t hear enough.’
    ‘Don’t let me be interrupting you. Go on with your story, then.’ Nóra thought she caught a glimpse of panic between the women.
    ‘Well, now. As I was saying, folk back in the day thought it mighty strange for a woman to be living off thin air and dandelions. And they went to the priest about her. ’Twas not Father Healy, but the priest before him. Father O’Reilly, God have mercy on him. He would have none of their suspicion and gossip. “Leave the poor woman be,” said he. Sure, Brigid, Father O’Reilly was a fierce man, a powerful man for those who had no voice or home for themselves. ’Twas he who urged the men to build her the cabin and sent them to her for the herbs and cures. He went to her himself. Terrible rheumatism.’
    The water in the black pot trembled. Nóra, lips tight in anger, stared as the rain escaping down the chimney hole hit its iron sides.
    ‘What happened next, then?’ Brigid filled the silence.
    Peg shifted in her seat, glancing at Nóra. ‘Well, not long after Nance had got her cabin she began to get a name for herself. I was on the night-rambling one evening, down at Old Hanna’s, and we got to be telling stories about the Good People. And Hanna starts telling us about a fairy bush, a sceach gheal that was very near cut down. It was your own Daniel’s uncle, Seán Lynch, that was after doing it. Begod, he’s some fool. Seán, he was a young man then, and he was up by the blacksmith’s with the lads, boasting amongst themselves. Your man Seán was talking of cutting down the whitethorn and the lads were warning him against it. Somehow, word of his daring got back to Nance Roche. Surely you’ve seen where the tree stands, by the fairy ráth ? She lives near it. And Nance went to Seán’s cabin one night, frightened the life out of him and Kate by appearing in their doorway, and she tells him he’d best leave the whitethorn alone or They would be after him. “That is Their tree,” says she. “Don’t you be putting a hand to it, or I tell you, Seán Lynch, that you’ll be suffering after it. Don’t you be putting a hand to anything in violence.” Well, didn’t he laugh her off, calling her filthy names besides, and didn’t he go to cut the sceach gheal that very day. Old Hanna said that she saw with her own eyes how Seán took a dirty great swing at the fairy whitethorn with his axe. No word of a lie, didn’t Hanna see him miss the trunk completely. Didn’t the axe swing through the air, missing the wood and land in his leg. He near cut himself in half. And that is why he has the limp.’
    There was a soft gurgle from the floor and the women looked down to see Micheál staring at the rafters, a crooked smile on his face.
    Nóra watched Peg lean forward and examine his face, her eyes thoughtful. ‘He likes a story.’
    ‘Go on, Peg,’ Brigid urged. She was perched on the edge of the settle, the firelight full and flickering on her face.
    ‘Well, that was the start of it. People saw in that axe swing proof Nance had the fairy knowledge, the