The Heather Blazing Read Online Free Page B

were now starting to take their families over, Father Rossiter said, even with the danger. He hated to see people emigrating, he said, he hated it. A lot of the men were in the Local Defence Force as well, but if they were ready to give up a bit of their time, the ones who knew anything about wiring and plastering, then that would solve the problem.
    They began to run a raffle on a Saturday night and a dance on a Sunday night to raise money for the museum. Eamon went down to McCurtin’s and waited for the news so that hecould check on his atlas and mark any changes in the areas held by the Allies and the Germans, but after a while he lost interest in the radio; there were too many men talking, and sometimes the sound was too unclear, but Mr. McCurtin listened all the time; he knew everything about the war.
    *  *  *
    One evening when the sky was bright he went in the car with his father and Father Rossiter towards Oulart. They had put a notice in The Echo asking if anybody had old things in their houses which might be of historical value. People had written to them from all over the county. His father wrote back to each person, putting a tick at the top of each letter he had replied to, and then gathering them in a bundle at the back of his scrap book.
    A mile before reaching Oulart they were to turn right, Father Rossiter said; these were his instructions. But he was unsure which turn to take, and they halted at several farmhouses to ask for directions, the priest jumping out to be met by a few sheepdogs or a small barking terrier. One woman came out with him to the car, peering in to see who was in the passenger seat and the back seat, her curiosity clear and undisguised.
    â€œIs it Phil Byrne?” she asked. “Is he sick? I didn’t know there was anything wrong with him. Are you sure it’s him you’re looking for?”
    Father Rossiter was not sure.
    â€œAre there any other Byrnes in the area?”
    â€œThere’s Liz Byrne. Is it Liz Byrne you’re looking for?” the woman asked, squinting her eyes as she looked at him.
    â€œI know that there’s a brother and sister living together,” Father Rossiter said.
    â€œOh, that’s Phil Byrne and Mai,” the woman said. “And have you never been up there before, Father?”
    â€œWhich turn do I take?”
    â€œOh, you’ll have to turn back now, it’s the turn on the left after the crossroads. Will you be around long?”
    â€œNo, we’re just making this one visit,” Father Rossiter said as he got back into the car.
    After the crossroads there was a lane to the left but they did not know if this was the correct turning. They tried the lane, which became increasingly rutted and overgrown, seeming to lead nowhere, and becoming even narrower as they came to a brightly painted gate. His father got out and opened it, held it as the car went through, then closed it and got back into the car. Suddenly the lane began to widen again; they reached a clearing and saw a small farmhouse with a galvanized roof.
    â€œIt’s hard to imagine,” Father Rossiter said, “people living so far from the road.”
    A sheepdog ran from the house and started to bark at the front wheels of the car. Two old people were now standing at the door; they were both watchful, almost furtive. The woman was wearing a cardigan and had her arms folded.
    He waited in the car with his father while Father Rossiter went to speak to the couple at the door. They were still unsure whether they were in the right house.
    â€œDo they have old things?” he asked his father.
    â€œThey have pikes from ’Ninety-eight,” his father said. “That’s what they said in the letter anyway.”
    â€œDid they find them?”
    â€œStop asking questions now,” his father said.
    Father Rossiter returned to the car and motioned for them to come into the house. The dog had now stopped barking and