Daughter of the Waves

Orla Steps Up

After my unexpected visit with The Master, life continued in a pattern of unrelenting drudgery. Days grew into weeks, and I grew thin, with dark shadows under my eyes. When I thought Orla was asleep, I cried into my pillow late at night, so much did I miss my home and my parents. I was beginning to lose hope that I would ever be rescued. I soon forgot any hope of escaping on my own, as exhaustion and the ceaseless work kept me from being able to formulate an escape plan. I did, however, spend a great deal of time while I was going about my work dwelling on what I would do to the priest if I ever got back to my village. 

The more I knew of Mrs Kennedy, the less I liked her. She was sharp tongued, critical and petty minded, often making me do over a job I had already done, because it was apparently not done well enough. One day, in the early morning, just after I had lit the fire in one of the  bedrooms, Mrs Kennedy entered the room. 

"That fire is smoking to much, girl, put it out and re-light it at once!" She demanded in her sharp voice. I protested, as the fire was giving off no smoke that I could see. "It IS smoking, look, there!!" she screeched, picking up a ewer of water from a table and dumping it on the fire, causing to smoke indeed, and spreading a cloud of ash several feet out into the room, which settled over everything. 

With a sigh, I resigned myself to spending the rest of the day cleaning up the ash from the carpet, the furniture, and the heavy velvet curtains, putting me behind with my regular work. Orla did as much as she could to help, for which I was grateful. I was so tired when I finally went to bed that I fell into a heavy sleep almost instantly. But sleep this night afforded me no peace. My dreams were troubled, and filled with images of my beloved mother being swallowed by stormy seas. When I awoke I could not shake off the dread I had felt during my dreams, and knew in my gut that something was terribly wrong. My longing for home increased, as did my resentment at my captivity.

My work suffered, and I suffered in silence, and I thought no one would think anything was wrong. But Orla noticed. Kind, generous Orla began watching me go about my work with a slight crease between her brow, and took up my slack, uncomplaining, and chatting merrily about the time off she would be having soon. One day, as the days lengthened into Ireland's brief summer, I took her into my confidence, although I did not intend to.

We had been sitting together in silence, as I did most of the time since the dream of my mother, polishing the silver candlesticks in the drawing room, when I dropped the candlestick I was holding, and it landed heavily on my foot. I let out a violent curse, and Orla stopped her methodical polishing and blinked at me, her mouth a round 'O' of surprise. After her first brief moment of shock at my swearing, she bent to pick up the silverware, and commanded me to sit down. 

"Alright, Mary, are you going to tell me what's wrong, or am I going to have to wring it out of you?" I had never heard mousy little Orla speak so forcefully before. Suddenly I couldn't hold it in any longer. All the weeks of suffering came bearing down on me and I blurted "My name isn't Mary, it's Roisin Murphy. I was kidnapped and brought here by force. I have a father and mother waiting for me many miles away!!"

I continued with my sorry story, although I had a hard time convincing trusting, sweet Orla that The Master was in league with the priest in my village. When I finally finished we drew simultaneous breaths, mine a shaky one heavy with tears, hers of surprise and sympathy. I felt somewhat lighter for the first time since I had been kidnapped. I knew by now that I could trust Orla with my secret, even if she could do little to help me. 

But then she did something that surprised me. She was silent for a long moment, clearly deep in thought, and then she said "Well then, Roisin Murphy, I am going to help you escape!" Now it was my turn to be shocked silent for a moment. When I found my voice again, all I could manage to say was "T-thank you Orla, but, HOW?!" 

"Oh, that's easy. I will take my week off and go to your village, find your parents and tell them where you are!" Secretly I was unconvinced it would be that easy, but by this time Orla's eyes were shining, and she jumped up and began hopping around the room excitedly. I had to hush her, worried Mrs Kennedy would overhear her and tell The Master what we were planning. 

Finally a plan took shape that Orla firmly believed was fool-proof, but I still had my reservations. In 9 days, Orla would begin her week long annual leave. She would walk to the nearest town, use some of her meagre savings to hire a coach that would pass by my village, find my parents, and bring them here to rescue me. 

I continued to doubt, not just about whether or not the plan would work, but about Orla's safety. But she was so determined, I did not want to spoil her excitement by voicing my concerns, so I stayed silent. Orla and I talked over the plan whenever we could escape the presence of Mrs Kennedy, and despite I began to catch some of her infectious enthusiasm. Could I dare hope that I would be seeing my mother and father again soon? The nine days until Orla's holiday seemed like an age, but finally the day arrived. She packed her simple belongings in a battered old suitcase, and I gave her a hug, and she set off in the chilly pre-dawn light to walk to town, hoping to catch the earliest coach that was going near my village. I watched her go with a lump in my throat.