ELEMENTS: Acquiesce by Kathryn Andrews (motivational books for men txt) 📗

“Evenin’,” said Breck as he brushed past her and stepped into the scullery without so much as a second glance.

Stunned that Breck could dismiss her like that, Keeva followed him into the scullery and through to the kitchen.

“Here, let me take your jacket.” She tugged gently at his sleeves and grasped his hand. “You’re freezing, come and warm your hands by the fire.”

“I’m fine, really,” said Breck.

“Well at least let me pull out a chair for you.”

“Would you put the boy down, Keeva. You’re a child, he’s not interested in you,” snapped her father. “And get that muck off your face! It’s the devil’s trickery.”

Keeva’s cheeks flushed red with embarrassment and she left the room, slamming the door behind her.

“Stupid girl,” muttered Mr Kelly. “What nonsense have you been fillin’ her head with while we’ve been workin’ all day?”

“Nonsense? I don’t have time to fill her head with any nonsense, not with all these mouths to feed,” replied Mrs Kelly.

“Then why the embellishment all over her face? A child of her age should be out workin’, not dressing up like a clown.”

“Workin’? There’s no jobs for girls here, and even if there were, no one has the money to pay for the work.”

“Then we’ll send her to the workhouse in Kilrush. I hear they pay with food.”

Mrs Kelly shoved a quarter filled bowl of broth on to the table in front of Breck. “And how much turf did you sell today?”

Breck cleared his throat. “I was digging today.”

“So you didn’t sell any?” questioned Mr Kelly sternly.

“Not today Sir, no.”

Mr Kelly clipped Breck round the ear. “How do you think we can feed this many mouths if you’re not bringing any money home? The relief work the boys have been given with the sea wall isn’t anywhere near enough to keep a family of this size goin’ and nobody has the money to spend on ale. We’ve had two punters in today, two. We’re relyin’ on you Breck, people still need to make fires, even if there is a great hunger.”

“Seems to me that he’s getting fed elsewhere,” said Conall, the Kelly’s eldest son. He hadn’t taken too kindly to Breck moving in and making cramped living conditions even worse.

“Is that right?” asked Mr Kelly sternly.

“No, really, I’m not.”

“Then why is it that you’re so well built and we’re all fadin’ away?” asked Conall.

“I don’t know. I guess it’s from all the digging.”

“So you’re saying we’re wastin’ away ‘cos we don’t work hard? Are you kiddin’?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying. I don’t know why it is.”

“Enough!” shouted Mr Kelly, slamming his hands on the table.

At that precise moment, the babies started crying.

“Will you shut them babes up! For God’s sake woman!”

Mrs Kelly huddled by the fire cradling two babies in her arms, rocking back and forth.

Mr Kelly sipped a spoonful of broth and spat it out. “What’s this?! It’s disgustin’!” He scraped his chair back and returned to the bar.

Breck and his cousins sat for a few moments in silence while Mrs Kelly sobbed on the kitchen floor. Eventually, Breck stood up and left. Just as she’d watched him arrive, Keeva watched Breck leave from the upstairs window. The sun had sunk low between the buildings and she pressed her hand on the cold window pane as Breck galloped away on Misty’s back. Keeva waited by the window all evening for Breck to return but he never did.

The early morning light seeping through the gap in the curtains woke Keeva from her sleep. Her mother had promised to make new ones that actually closed. That was before the hunger. Before the punters stopped coming. They barely had enough money to pay the rent, never mind anything else. Sleeping was Keeva’s favoured activity these days. It was her escape from reality. The only thing that kept her going now was Breck. His arrival came at a time when Keeva thought things couldn’t get any worse. He lifted her spirits and brightened her otherwise dreary days. Keeva could smell the peat on the fire. She pushed back the coarse, linen bed sheets and tiptoed across the wooden floor. She opened the door enough to listen to the voices downstairs. Mrs Kelly was serving breakfast. There was no sound from Breck, just the usual moaning from her father and brothers. Keeva put on her best dress, brushed her long golden hair and went downstairs. On the kitchen table was a small wedge of dry soda bread. Keeva reached across the table, picked it up and took a bite.

“You’ll have to pay your way if you want to keep eating the food in this house,” said Conall. “Father’s talking about sending you to the workhouse.”

His words made Keeva’s stomach flip.

“That’s right lass,” said Mr Kelly, stoking the fire a little longer than required. Something in the fire had caught Mr Kelly’s eye.

Keeva slowly chewed the small piece of bread in her mouth and put the rest back in the paper wrapper. The workhouse was the last place she wanted to be. She’d heard stories of children losing fingers and limbs in the machinery and tales of girls only a year older than herself being sent on ships to Australia where they were married off to strange men. Without saying a word she brushed the few crumbs off the front of her dress, picked up one of the babes and stepped outside. The street was busy with the remaining town folk following the deafening toll of the church bells, a sound that Keeva hated. Despite the sickness and loss of life, the hunger and worry, people still went to church every Sunday. They prayed that things would get better. It was a drug. Keeva’s family filed out of the tavern and joined the procession. Every unkind word, every wrong doing was wiped off the slate on Sundays, as though it never happened. Just as long as they went to church. They were good people; that’s what