Bring My Soul Out of This Prison (on hold)

Chapter 5

They walked back out of the main house the way they walked in.  The transition from the bright lights of the house to the dark hallway was in some ways more difficult because they were blind in the hallway until their eyes adjusted to the darkness.  The same old lady was sitting in her rocking chair in the kitchen and men were still about their work outside.

“Do you live in one of those houses over there?”  Seamus asked once they were outside.

“Yep,”  Murphy puffed up his chest and pointed to one of the many small servants’ quarters buildings.  They were so small that there were really one-room cabins and not houses at all.  Seamus, however, did not know any better since they were just slightly smaller than his house back in Waterford.

Murphy’s home was close to the house but also settled into the trees so that it was quite cozy.  It was built like a little house out of wood boards that were covered with sealing mud-based mortar and then whitewashed.  The roof was at a slight slant and made of thatch; layers and layers of hay that’s been dried specially to keep out the constant Irish mist.

He stepped up to the door, lifted the latch, and ushered Seamus in like the silent butler in the main house.  Seamus smiled and tentatively stepped into the room.  Inside was one open room with a brick hearth on the right with an old rocking chair and stool positioned in front of it.  On the other side of the room was a wooden bed, low to the ground, with a thin straw mattress, and a threadbare quilt and pillow on top.  In the center of the room was a small round wooden table with two overturned wooden crates as chairs.  Opposite the door was the one window and an old, wooden cabinet with shelves on top for dishes, a pitcher and washbasin on the counter, and drawers for clothes.

“It’s very nice,” Seamus said shyly after noticing that Murphy seemed to be waiting for him to say something.

Murphy smiled, obviously pleased with Seamus’ compliment, and came in himself.  “I’ll find you a mattress from some where.  Also, there’s a communal wash house and well back behind all of these houses.  It can be a long walk so if you would rather, sometimes the cook will let us use the kitchen clean up area.”

“Thank you so much, Mis—“ he caught himself, then continued, “Murphy.  I really appreciate all you have done already.”

“Aw, wasn’t nothing,” Murphy said and then shook his head.  “I’ll go find you that bed.”  He left quickly, clearly avoiding Seamus’ eyes to avoid the awkward moment.

Seamus set his bag down in the corner by the bed and looked around the room.  “Well,” he said out loud, “I guess I’ll just do what I used to do at home.”  With that, he went outside and found a pile of wood.  He took two big pieces from the woodpile and then gathered some twigs from around the trees for kindling.  He brought the wood pieces and twigs back into the house piled them in the hearth.  Then he went on a search for Murphy’s flint box.  He finally found it in a box of other small tools in the top drawer of the bureau.  Seamus also found a small cast iron pot with a curved handle for hanging over the hearth fire next to the bureau.  He took this pot and went outside again, this time in a search for the well.

Seamus walked past house after house until they all pretty much looked the same.  Finally the houses thinned out and Seamus came to a clearing that had a small stone well in the center with two wooden sticks standing straight up on either side and one crossing both with a rope tied to it.  Seamus pulled on the rope until it brought up a small wooden bucket.  He poured the bucket into the pot and slowly lowered the bucket back down into the well.

Now Seamus had to walk back to the house with a pot full of water.  Naturally, it took him longer to walk back than it did to get there.  Thankfully he just had to make sure that he walked in a straight line to get back to Murphy’s house.  By the time he made it back, the sun was already beginning to set.

Murphy was inside, enjoying himself by the fire.

“Hey, boy,” he smiled and rose from his rocking chair to greet Seamus at the door.  “Oh my, you got water too.  You didn’t have to do that,” Murphy took the pot full of water and hung it from the hook in the hearth.

Seamus shrugged, “It’s no more than I used to do at home.”

“Well, then,” Murphy laughed, “we’ll get on famously!”  He went to the waist high box that sat next to the hearth and pulled out some potatoes, carrots, and a head of cabbage.  He pulled a knife from his boot and began to cut up the vegetables, then throwing them in the pot of boiling water.

“I found you a bed,” he motioned with his knife to the corner where Seamus laid his bag.  There was a thin straw mattress like Murphy’s laying on the floor, covered in a red flannel cloth, with a multi-colored quilt lying over that.  “The floor is just dirt,” Murphy said after he noticed Seamus looking at the flannel cloth, “it can get kind of cold down there.”

Seamus ran a hand over the flannel like it was gold, “Thank you,” he whispered, still running a hand back and forth over it.

Murphy made a strange sound in his throat, then got up quickly and when outside.  When he came back in, Seamus was sitting on his new bed staring off into space.  Murphy had gone to cut some herbs from his garden in the back of his house and he brought the cuttings in with him.  Again, he chopped them with his knife and threw them into the pot.

Murphy settled back into his rocking chair and began to hum as he took out a small piece of wood and began whittling at it.

Seamus looked up at the sound.  “My dad used to do that too,” he got up and sat on the stool at Murphy’s feet.

They sat like this for a while as Murphy hummed and whittled and Seamus sat in rapt attention.

When the soup was ready, they both took their fill and then settled back in their chairs.  Murphy pulled out an old looking pipe from his pocket, lit it, and then rocked as he blew smoke from it into the air.  Seamus got up from his stool and settled into his bed, once more feeling the flannel before he laid in it.

“Was your father a carpenter?”  Murphy asked after a few minutes, picking up his whittling again.  “As I’m only asking since you said that your father used to do this too.  That’s what I do around here.  I’m a carpenter.  All that fine furniture you saw in there, the main house, I mean, it’s my job to repair it.  I also fix the fences, build sties for the animals, and repair the carts and carriages and their wheels.”

“No,” Seamus said through a yawn as sleep was already beginning to take over him.  “Well, at least, I don’t know.  He ran our farm so he did pretty much everything.”

Murphy laughed at the yawn, remembering that Seamus was just a little boy.  “It’s all right, boy, got to sleep.  You’ve got a long day tomorrow.”  Then he muttered to himself, “Of course, all days are going to be long days for you in this house.”  His sighed, rocked a little longer and then went to bed himself.