Sam O'Connell

1

        The potatoes were gone. Mother, Father, Wendy, Julie, Fred, and I were starving. I was sitting beside the fire, my stuffed dog was being held to me. Father was trying to hunt, like every Irish man. He would probably find nothing like he didn't this entire week. I heard Mother bring up the idea of moving to England, but it was just a thought.

My name is Sam O'Connell and I'm twelve years old, living in the year 1847. Few of my friends are still here in Ireland, most had moved to America, Scotland, or England. Food was hard to find. It still is. I couldn't go to church anymore either. Luckily, I'm homeschooled and can still learn to read and write. Mother says I'm really good at writing, unlike Wendy, who is good with math. The door blows open, some snow falling into the house. Father stands at the doorway, gun in hand. His coat was covered in snow. "Close the door, Adam," Mother said, looking up from her sewing.

She was sewing shawls from the sheep's wool from this spring. They all died out from hunger this summer. We had to put ourselves first though. Miss Molly was my favourite sheep though. Our barn was bought by Mr Perkins in September. It is now December and I want a tree, with candles and pretty things, yet we only have four gas lamps in the house. I want to celebrate the lord's birthday. Think about the wise men that went to see him. England wouldn't let us be catholic, but maybe America. I am twelve, I can't make decisions for my family. Father mostly makes these choices. Joey, my little dog was what I would make sure to bring if we were to journey to America or England.

Paul and Will from school were going to leave for America next week, with many other, many many others. Fred, my older brother, would not like to leave Ireland. His girlfriend Ella isn't going to move any time soon, and he wants to stay with her. He is fourteen, he can't make decisions for us either. "Emily, I want to talk in private. Children, please go to the bedroom," Father said. I stood up and frowned when I was stripped from the warmth of the fire. The bedroom was shared by all six of us. Mother and father slept on the big bed, us children either slept on the floor or the medium bed. Fred and I usually slept on the floor since we are the boys. Julie and Wendy slept on the bed sometimes, since they were the girls.

When I arrived in the bedroom, Wendy and Fred were guessing about what father was talking about with mother. It was their job as the oldest children to think with an adult mind. Well, that is what Wendy and Fred call being nosy nicely. Joey was placed on the bed, next to Julie. Julie was eight, and an interesting girl to talk to. "Hi, Joey," Nellie, Julie's little doll greeted. "Hello, Nellie!" The dog smiled back. I heard Julie's belly rumble. We were all hungry, but Julie, the youngest needed food. Wendy and Fred kept whispering. Something caught my eye though. Fred's face had a melancholy expression on it. "Fred? What is wrong?" I asked. "Nothing you dummy," He quivered turning away. Wendy turned around to us and mouthed,'Ella'. I nodded. He really liked Ella. Julie frowned. She didn't understand what they were talking about. "They think we're moving out of Ireland," I whispered to Julie. Her eyes darted, before she sat into the pillows, arms crossed. "Want to play?" asked I. She shook her head.

"Come back in children!" Mother called from the main room. Fred still sat at the edge of the bed, not moving an inch. "It is just a thought," Wendy sighed, before leaving. I sighed too, for Fred. "Mother, are we moving?" Julie asked. Father looked frightened for a moment. "No dear. Maybe not," Mother said. "Fred, I need you to chop wood. Your coat has been dried," Mother ordered. A knock came from the door. Fred walked over to the wooden door. He opened it to reveal Ella standing in the doorway. "Ella?" Mother asked. Ella's face was pink, and her shawl was ragged. "Ella? Ella darling are you alright?" Mother one again asked. "It's Mam. She, she is dead!" Ella cries. Fred brings her into a hug.

Ella's father tried to sail to England last year and never came back. A letter came from England one month after he left saying he died from overworking. Now her mother died from starvation. Father looked like he was thinking. "Come on Ella dear. I was knitting more shawls this afternoon, maybe I could help you to one. You can stay here for a while," Mother said, leading her to the fireplace. Her body was frail and she was shivering in front of the fire. All we have in the cellar is dried cabbage leaves and mother boils them in snow or water. That is why we aren't dead yet. Because of our dried cabbage from a few years ago. The rottenness didn't matter, only the food.

"Wendy, look for sap with Julie. Sam get some snow and logs. Fred, like I said, please chop the wood," Mother pleaded us. "Yes, ma'am," We all say, grabbing our coats and boots. I grab the snow bucket and head outside. The meadow was beautiful in the spring but made it hard to get water. Falling of snow made it easy to get water. The valley of Murray was a small, but a beautiful valley. Mountains, hills, is what the average adult would say, were beautiful. Today they were covered in the first snow of the new season. I hold the snow bucket with my left hand, and the tub with my right.

The Masons lived in the other cabin on the other side of the valley. Now they had left for a city called Liverpool or something like that. I used to play with Tom, the only boy from that house.

I softly sang shovelling snow from the ground. Saying I don't think mother and father were talking about moving, would be a lie. The way Father looked like he was thinking when Ella told us her mother had starved. A wave rumbled in my stomach, making me throw another bucket of snow in the tub.

America sounded wonderful. Food sounded great too. A small little part of me wanted to stay here in Ireland, but the feeling of food in my stomach called me more. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Wendy and Julie coming back home with a quarter jar of sap. We used sap as sugar almost. I was incredibly sticky, so Mother boiled it. We really ate it raw, not as it would go into boiled leaves.

I dragged the full tub of snow back to the log cabin. "Sam! You did great!" Mother praised, looking at the full tub. It was only as big as a horse's trout, but I was glad she was proud all the same. "Thank you, Mother," I smiled. "Come inside already," Mother ushered me inside. I rushed inside to warm myself. Wendy, Julie, and Ella were sitting in front of the fire. Fred was sitting at the dirty table behind the girls. "Ella. Shhh. It's alright. You're okay. Calm down Ella dear," Wendy hushed. Ella shook her head sobbing into her hands. Mother was breaking the leaves, making crackling sounds. The snow was melting in the pot above the fireplace. I felt content, yet awful. If I could only get that stupid America out of my head.