Free Toward the Sea of Freedom by Sarah Lark

could and pulled her shawl over her head again. This proved wise, for it was bitterly cold when she stepped onto the street alongside her new friend.
    “Your love will be freezing in his cell.” Bridget sighed in sympathy. “Do you have any money?”
    Kathleen did not know how she should answer. On the one hand, Harry had warned her about mentioning her purse, but on the other hand, Bridget did not seem like a thief.
    “I only ask because the officers can be bought,” Bridget explained when she noticed Kathleen’s reticence. “A cell here in Wicklow can either be hell or a decent enough place. But if you want a fire and something proper to eat, you have to pay. It’s like a hotel. You have to pay for a visit too. But that’s cheap. I can give you the penny for it.”
    Kathleen felt a wave of fondness and shame. This woman she did not know at all really meant to give away her hard-earned money. And Kathleen had looked down on her and distrusted her.
    “That’s not necessary! I have money,” Kathleen quickly explained. “But, but thank you. And you, you, I don’t think you’re going to hell,” she blurted.
    Bridget roared with laughter. “Child, I’ve been there already. In and out again. More often than you can imagine. If the Lord God or the devil wants to top that, he’s going to have to work pretty damn hard.”
    Kathleen tried to smile, but she was horrified. Bridget seemed such a good woman—but she blasphemed against God and challenged the devil.
    Bridget led Kathleen through the little harbor town’s less impoverished areas. The notorious Wicklow Jail was on the south side of town, next to the courthouse.
    Kathleen was tired and frozen when they arrived.
    “Look there: our new jail, barely ten years old. The old building was about to collapse, so they finally tore it down. Now, it’s fully modern. They don’t beat the prisoners so much anymore, just put them on the treadmill. It’s more humane, they say. Only the new dungeon is supposed to be as ghastly as the old.”
    Kathleen did not quite understand what Bridget was saying, but the unadorned facade of the building, surrounded by high stone walls, filled her with dread.
    Bridget headed determinedly toward the small guardhouse and pluckily requested entrance. The gatekeeper seemed to know her.
    “Well, well, Bridie. ’Nother admirer of your gals locked up? Or your own true love?” he teased her.
    Bridget smirked. “Now, now, sir. I’ve never more than smiled at a redcoat. If I were to have a rogue, then it would be one with something in his own purse.”
    The man laughed good-naturedly, then let them inside. Kathleen followed Bridget down a sad hallway into the main building, where Bridget joked with the guard they encountered. He became serious, however, when she mentioned Michael’s name.
    “That rascal from the county? The distiller?”
    “Michael’s not a distiller,” Kathleen objected.
    Bridget quickly motioned to Kathleen to be quiet. She arched her eyebrows at the guard. “The girl’s not herself,” she added briefly.
    After that, the man paid no more attention to Kathleen, forging ahead with Bridget instead.
    “That fellow’s a hard nut to crack, Bridie. They beat the tar out of him last night already. The soldiers were angry because he resisted arrest. Gave ’em trouble. They had to drag him the whole way here; he didn’t take one step himself. And the boy can hold his tongue! Not a word so far, despite all the beatings. Naturally, they wanted to know where that nest of distillers is. They found whiskey in several taverns, but it’s more important to find the still.”
    “He doesn’t know.” Kathleen tried again.
    Now she had the man’s attention. “So you’re part of it too, girl, that it?” he asked suspiciously. “Helped ’em make the booze, did you?”
    “Oh, nonsense. The lass doesn’t know a thing,” Bridget declared. “Just came up from her village on the Vartry where the boy had been courting her