Page 1 of The Irish Gypsy
Chapter 1
Little Kitty Rooney sat contemplating twopotatoes and half a turnip with disgust. Sighing, she cut the rotout of them and chopped them up into the black iron pot. Sheglanced apprehensively at the hearth where the meager firethreatened to go out any minute. Her grandfather, an old Gypsycalled Swaddy by almost everyone, sat in the chimney corner, hisgold earring reflecting the last dying flame. The door to thelittle cottage was flung open, letting in the wind and rain.“Terrance, God be praised!” she cried, “the fire’s in its deaththroes.” She jumped down from her stool and helped her brother putsome fresh peat, which he had been out to cut, on the fire.
“Faith, yer soaked again, Terrance.”
“Aye, when will this bloody rain cease anddesist?” wondered Terrance aloud.
“When pigs fly,” laughed Kitty. “Hutch up,Grandada, and let Terrance get warm. He’s drenched to theskin.”
“Kitty, I can’t wear these bloody boots muchlonger. They’ve such great holes in the bottom, they give meblisters.”
“I’ll mend ’em for ye, boyo; I’m right handyat mending boots,” Swaddy bragged.
“With what, pray tell?” asked Kittypointedly.
Terry shook his head, “Ah, well, I shouldn’tcomplain about boots while you go barefoot, Kitty.”
“Sure an’ I’m used to it. Besides, ’tissummertime,” she said and twinkled.
“Summer! When’s the last time you saw thesun? Tell me that, Kitty Rooney. The crops are ruined again, youknow. The fields are so black and sodden, every vegetable isrotten,” he said bitterly, sounding as if he were an old man ratherthan a child of eleven.
“Well, one good thing about the rain, I don’thave to carry water from the River Liffey to cook with, althoughthere’s little enough left to cook,” she said with resignation asshe lifted the black pot onto a hook over the fire. “There will bea bit o’ broth for dinner, but by the grace of God I don’t knowwhat we’ll eat tomorrow.”
“Something will turn up, lass, don’t worryyour pretty head,” said Swaddy from his corner. The brother andsister exchanged significant glances and Kitty rolled her eyesheavenward.
Terry wiped his nose on his sleeve. “They wasgetting the carriage ready at the big house.”
Kitty’s head shot up. “They must be goinginto Dublin. I wonder what’s up?”
“Himself must be comin’, I suppose,” he saidand shrugged.
Kitty took down her shawl from behind thedoor and put it over her head. “Wait here, I won’t be long,” andshe dashed out into the downpour, oblivious of her bare feet.
Kitty had lived her whole life on theone-hundred-acre estate of Squire O’Reilly, which was in CountyKildare, about thirty miles from Dublin. The O’Reilly mansion wascalled Castle Hill, with its herd of Charolaise cattle and sleekThoroughbred horses. Jonathan O’Reilly was a wealthy Lancashiremillowner over in England and only came to his Irish estate in thesummertime. Castle Hill had live-in, year-round servants and itsfarm cottages were filled with his herdsmen and gardeners whoplanted crops and tried to make it a self-supporting estate. TheRooneys were not servants of the O’Reillys, but Gypsies who hadsettled on the land and had been allowed to stay. Kitty’s motherhadn’t survived Terrance’s birth. Their Gypsy father in his griefhadn’t been able to provide a stable existence for them and hewandered off one night, leaving their grandfather with the problemof their survival. They had been camping beside the River Liffeythat night and more than ten years later they were still there in asmall cottage nobody else wanted.
Kitty crouched beside the stable wall in thedownpour. She was still as a mouse, quite prepared to wait all dayif necessary. The doors to the carriage house stood open and thecoach had been wheeled outside. The men were harnessing the horsesinside the stables because of the rain. Kitty waited. The stablemanled out two horses and harnessed them to the coach, then went backfor the other two horses. He said, “I’ll get their feed.” Thedriver said, “I’d better get four horse blankets, Tim. You knowwhat the squire’s like about his horses.”
The men disappeared inside again, then Kittysaw two feed bags appear at the stable door and once again Tim wentback for the other two bags. Kitty whipped one of the bags acrossher back and ran like the wind. She flung open the front door andsaid, “Here, milado, take this, it’s pretty heavy.”
With a grin Terry hoisted the feed bag ontothe table. “All those oats! We’ll have porridge for a week!”
Swaddy said, “Maybe you can make us some ofthem little oat cakes.” Kitty shook out her wet shawl and hung itby the fire. “I’ll put some of these oats to soak, but the bestpart is the leather feed bag. Now Grandada can mend yourboots!”
Late in the afternoon the rain stopped for ashort while.
Kitty said, “Come on, our Terrance, now’s ourchance for some milk.”
“Will I keep him busy while you milk acow?”
“No. I’ll do the talking. You nip down to thebottom of the pasture; there’s sure to be one or two cows downthere now that the rain’s stopped.”
She climbed over the stone wall and shouted,“Hallo there, Jack Kenny!”
“Hallo, lass. I’ve to get the cows up beforethe rain comes on again.”
“Hold there, Jack Kenny. I had a dream aboutyou last night. Such a vivid dream, so lifelike. I believe youcould call it prophetic!”
He stopped and listened, interested now. Shewas using the old Gypsy formula: Get your hook in to hold theirinterest immediately, then you could tell them any yarn. Peoplenever tired of hearing about themselves. “I saw you on a boat. Youwere going on a journey to another country. Then I saw amagnificent house, bigger even than Castle Hill. You made a greatfortune and beautiful ladies admired you,” she said with greatenthusiasm.
