Free Lucinda Sly by Maidhc Dainín Ó Sé

rise to bad feelings between the police and the ordinary people.
    ‘There is one cure for those criminals,’ Sly blurted out ignorantly . ‘The government should bring in the army and any farmer who refuses to leave his holding should be shot.’ On hearing this statement from Sly, Mary Joy almost choked on the meat she was chewing.
    ‘Perhaps,’ she suggested, ‘if the landlords reduced the rent on smallholdings by half, the poor creatures wouldn’t have to come together and break the law.’
    Thomas cleared his throat vigorously but Sly didn’t take the hint.
    ‘The dogs of the town know what the small farmers around here are up to,’ Sly continued. ‘Aren’t most of them Catholics anddon’t they want to get rid of the Empire from this island? Yes, and if that happens they’ll get rid of all the Protestants.’
    Just then Sly realised that Lucinda had a smallholding.
    ‘It’s the Catholics I’m talking about, Lucinda,’ he said by way of appeasing her. ‘You know that.’
    ‘You’re saying that because I’m a Protestant and a tenant on a smallholding, that it doesn’t concern me,’ she retorted. ‘Listen now. The British government doesn’t care about what God any of us have as long as we pay our rent to the landlords every quarter.’
    They had almost finished their meal and it was time to celebrate the wedding. Sly beckoned to the waitress to bring out four glasses and the bottle of whiskey he had left with the hoteliers when he had made the reservation for the meal. The four of them drank to each other’s health and then they toasted the newly married couple and wished them a long and happy life together.

Chapter Seven
    No sooner was Lucinda out of the bed the morning after the wedding than she hung a skillet on the crook over the fire. She would make a bowl of porridge for her husband that would stick to his ribs and get him through the day’s work, a handful of potatoes and a mug of milk after that and a hunk of the wheaten bread she had baked the previous day. ‘There is nothing like a bowl of porridge made from cows’ milk,’ she thought to herself. She put two eggs boiling on the coals at the side of the fire.
    Lucinda had the breakfast on the table before Walter rose. He entered the room stretching himself like a man who had had a good night’s sleep.
    ‘Eat your breakfast before we milk the cows,’ Lucinda suggested , pointing to the substantial breakfast that was laid out at the head of the table.
    When they both were seated comfortably, Walter spoke:
    ‘What have you planned to do today, Lucinda?’
    Lucinda thought for a minute.
    ‘Because yesterday was our wedding day, there is no need for usto go to church two days in a row,’ she replied.
    ‘Oh yes, today is Sunday,’ Sly observed.
    ‘I was examining the churn at the bottom of the house,’ Lucinda continued. ‘It looks like the hoops are rusty and could burst when it is full of cream.’
    ‘I intended to buy a new churn,’ Sly told her, ‘but you know, a man puts everything on the long finger until the worst happens.’
    ‘Listen,’ Lucinda suggested, ‘we will milk the cows and while we have the time we could bring my own churn over from my house. It is almost new. Yes, and while we are there, I might as well harness my horse. With two horses we will be able to transport my furniture and any other personal belongings over here. We could drive my two cows before us also.’
    Sly’s heart rose when she mentioned that they could bring the two cows to Oldleighlin and he agreed that Sunday was the right day to do it. According to him, the sooner she broke her ties with her old homestead the better because he intended to sell her house and land together when Lucinda was settled in Oldleighlin. But he would not reveal to her what was in his mind just yet.
    It was late that Sunday evening when Walter and Lucinda Sly guided their two horses down the boreen towards their house. Both carts were piled up back to the