The Traveller's Daughter by Vernal Michelle

Author:Vernal, Michelle [Vernal, Michelle]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Michelle Vernal Publishing Limited
Published: 2015-08-09T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

Better be quarrelling than lonesome – Irish Proverb

“Your mammy will find out you’ve been hanging around outside Martin Donohue’s office so she will,” Mary Wall said one morning. They were trudging across the field back from having picked up some flour from the shop down the road. She was referring to the tin hut with its sagging, canvas roof where Martin spouted his political views most afternoons to anyone willing to listen. Rosa had taken to hovering outside of it as part of her never-ending quest to catch sight of Michael. She felt certain he’d be inside listening to his da, he’d told her that’s where he sometimes went, and she didn’t feel guilty about shirking her chores either. She had done more than her fair share of the work over the years. If her mammy chose to do them herself instead of passing them on to Paddy, who was either bone idol or out getting himself in bother, then that was up to her.

So off she would traipse when her mammy’s back was turned. She’d pass by the ever expanding cluster of tents and huts that seemed to spring up overnight and sidestep the horse poo dropped like brown bombs. She would carry on past the upturned car until she came to Martin’s office. She didn’t dare peek inside. Instead, she perched on an upturned wash bucket just outside the entrance to eavesdrop. There was an auld sheet tacked over the entrance acting as a curtain that kept her shielded from the men inside.

She’d sit there with her eyes closed imagining Michael, tall and proud inside that hut ready to follow in his da’s footsteps. She’d listen spellbound to Martin address the handful of men who had come to hear him talk. He had the makings of a fine politician, and there was a slow-burning fire in his words as he spoke of how Travellers basic human rights were being ignored. Rosa felt like she was being woken up by his words on those afternoons, and she pushed the image of Margaret’s blackened eye from her mind. She couldn’t equate the passion and honesty she heard in Martin’s voice with a man capable of such violence. His musings were music to the ears of a young girl feeling disillusioned by her lot in life since the loss of her brother.

Rosa told herself as she sat with her hands clasped in her lap, head cocked toward that entrance so as not to miss a single word, that she wasn’t doing anything wrong. What was wrong with listening to a voice that gave her hope? The things Martin Donohue was saying were the only words that had made sense to her since Joe’s death. She knew that Mary was right and were her mam or da to get wind of what she was up to, she would be for it. Thinking of her da and his drinking always made her angry and so she’d dig her heels in, staying put until she sensed the meeting coming to an end.

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