Following Jesus in rejecting empire
The morning following Delaney’s birth, Mary Eunice had brought the child to Mother Imogen to examine the bizarre markings. “How perfectly odd.” She had said, turning the arm gingerly as the girl slept. “Clearly a tattoo. And you’ve been with this child since the birth?” “Yes, Mother.” “No one else has been with the child?”…
“On the ship yesterday,” Ash says. “From Liverpool. There were a group of people kept in steerage. I saw them as I poked about the ship before I was chased off. Then again as they were offloading.” “Yes, I processed the whole lot of new arrivals when they came in yesterday. Eight of them.” “Processed?”…
Less than two hours walk to the south of Dunleer sits the town of Drogheda. From there the River Boyne flows out into the Irish Sea. It is a convenient location for those in England to ship their old, their infirm, and their mentally ill to a place the polite refer to as a, “Care…
“I was … I was …” she stammers. “He’s a bloody human child not an animal!” “Yes mum. I mean, yes sir.” “You’re the chore maiden, come to help my wife?” “Yes sir.” And the man grabs Delaney by her arm lifting her from the stool. “Come with me you little devil!” And the girl…
“It’s too hot, Sister.” Delaney is accustomed to the rough dressing at the hands of Sister Mary Eunice who yanks the tattered wool sweater down over the seven-year-old’s raised arms, lifted as in surrender. Lamplight bounces from her cheeks which are flush like a furnace. It’s still dark, barely past five thirty. Her curly dark…