The deprived... Part 4.

A continuation of my book.

With everyone on board the cart moved on with its wheels kicking up the dust from the country paths. Beth sat with her feet dangling over the edge of the cart and smiling as she listened to her parents banter up front and though sad at leaving the home she had known through her life, she was not sad to leave the tears behind, the nights she had lain awake and hearing her parents crying in the part of the room which was partitioned off by a blanket, separating their bed from her’s and Sam’s.         
The sun had got tired of following the trail of the cart and settled down for the night behind a red horizon. Michael had reigned in the cart close to a deserted cottage.               
“Come on, children.” said Michael as he helped Mary down from the cart.                           
Mary stretched out her arms and yawned.                                    
“Pass those blankets down, Beth. That’s a good girl.” said Michael. “Now help Sam down and I’ll make a fire and heat up some soup. There’s not a lot here but we’ll make do till we get to the port and I can get some rations.”                                
Beth lifted Sam down from the cart. He was as light as a feather and not very big for nine years, with a long thin body which lacked the proper vitamins. Beth was more bonny, having hair which curled about a happy face and blue eyes which held a merry twinkle. She was small in stature but with a strength that belied her form. Michael watched her now as he fed the fire with more wood and smiled. Beth seemed to be treating the whole move as an adventure while Sam, more serious by nature frowned and fretted, staying close to his father as Michael set up a tripod of sticks and hung the tin pot over the fire.  
Mary had put the horse out to chew on the grass and with the meal heated the family sat and ate round the fire. The talk between Michael and Mary was of the future, of dreams and hopeful ambitions till the fire turned to ashes and the ashes lost their heat. Michael lay out some of the blankets beneath the cart which made a bed and then dropped blankets to the sides of the cart which formed a square tent under which the family slept the night away.               
The next morning the camp was packed up once more, with the pony hitched up to the cart. There was no time for breakfast. Each had a piece of bread made from turnip and maize, chewing it slowly as the cart wound its slow journey onwards. Michael’s eyes stared ahead as he cracked the whip which set the pony into a trot.                                     
Sam now joined Beth in dangling their legs over the back of the cart with their feet lost in the dust disturbed by the wheels. Sam held a stick in his hands, holding it out and down so it etched a line in the dirt track as the cart moved on. 
“What are you doing, Sam?” asked Beth.  
“I’m marking the path so we can find our way back if we have to.” he said seriously.                         
“Oh, to be sure Sam. We’ll be back here when Da has made his fortune in the big London Town. You’ll see that it won’t take long before we’re back and buying our own land from that English Lord, you’ll see.” said Beth with a laugh, her voice carrying in the air.                                 
“Can you hear the children in the back of the cart?” asked Michael.  
“I can hear Beth laughing.” replied Mary as she turned round in the seat to see Beth playfully push Sam.                
“She has an Irish laugh about her.” joked Michael. “A sweet sounding bell.”                          
“She’s such a good-hearted girl is that one and I’m glad we have her to keep Sam happy.” returned Mary as she turned back to face the track again.        
“Aye and Sam will pick up once we get settled in London and I can work to buy the food he needs to fill the bones on him.” promised Michael.

All day the pony plodded a path towards Dublin, only stopping once when Michael allowed it to graze as the family stretched their legs and ate. Once again as night fell the fire was lit and Michael put down the bed beneath the cart and tented the sides with the blankets. The family slept soundly, the day’s travel having tired them. The early morning’s light woke them to a fresh outlook on life especially when Michael suggested they might reach Dublin come nightfall.
“Up you get, Mary.” he said, lifting her up into the seat.”                    
“It’s my back that won’t treat me right.” said Mary, straightening up and stretching her arms as she sat in the seat.                                
“When we get to London I’ll buy you the biggest and softest bed.” promised Michael.
Mary chuckled.                         
“I’ll hold you to that promise, Michael O’Brien.” she said.                   

With the blankets folded and packed and with the children seated on the back, Michael once more climbed up to the driver’s seat and cracked the whip and once more the pony moved off, Michael allowing it to take its own speed, plodding the cart through lands which had once been settled and now they saw discarded items of household furniture cast away to both sides of the track. Now there seemed to be more travellers as the track widened to a road, with couples and families walking and loaded down with back-packs as they made their weary way towards the port of Dublin.       
The lights of Dublin were visible from many miles away when Michael decided to pull off the road and move into a loose copse of trees for the night.                                  
“There’s no point in going into the town now.” he said. “Let’s camp here for the night and push on into town in the morning.”