Pegeen

by Hilda Van Stockum, Hilda Van Stockum (Illustrator)

Overview

Young Pegeen, one of the good friends Francie made on his trip around the Emerald Isle, has just lost her Grannie. When she is told that she can't stay on alone in the small mountain cottage, Pegeen remembers Francie's promise to come for her someday. With Fr. Kelly's help she writes to the O'Sullivans, to be welcomed temporarily into their household. No one, except perhaps Francie, is quite prepared for Pegeen's knack of turning the world up on end. Her spirit is a perfect match for his, but two such personalities in one small cottage on Bantry Bay have startling consequences.

Ireland, 1930's
RL4.9
Of read-aloud interest ages 5-up

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781883937201
Publisher:	Bethlehem Books
Publication date:	04/28/1997
Series:	Bantry Bay Series
Pages:	266
Product dimensions:	5.50(w) x 8.50(h) x 0.75(d)
Age Range:	8 - 18 Years

About the Author

Hilda van Stockum (1908-2006), wife of E.R. Marlin and mother of six children, wrote and illustrated nearly 20 books for children between the years 1934 and 1976. Born in Holland of Dutch and Irish heritage she met her American husband in Ireland at the outset of her portrait painting career. After her marriage she put her training in art to very good use in her books for children. Her works reflect the various countries and cultures of which she has been a part. For instance, her book The Winged Watchman remains a stirring tribute to the courage of her countrymen during World War II.

Read an Excerpt

A LATE sunbeam struck the little whitewashed cabin that lay snuggled against the mountainside, and picked out the red flash of a girl’s petticoat. She was sitting on the doorstep, her chin cupped in both hands, wide eyes raised to the smoldering sky. Blue shadows stole up around her, hiding the shining playthings of the day; a sound of lamenting and weeping came from the cottage, where candles burned around a still, white figure.
The little girl’s thoughts had followed her eyes into far worlds. Grannie had gone. What was left was not Grannie any more. Pegeen had fled the unfamiliar presence, fled the kitchen, where bulky neighbors rocked and keened, waiting for the funeral. Pegeen would rather sit here and watch the sky change behind the mountain tops. Up there, somewhere, God sat on His throne with His angels around Him and star-crowned Mary, the Mother of God. Somewhere, there, behind those fading clouds, shone the Glory of Heaven from which the sun borrowed its light. How Grannie always did bless the sun when it warmed up her old bones for her! But Grannie had gone now; Grannie, who had been all the parent Pegeen had ever known, for her father and mother had died before she was old enough to remember. Grannie, whose knotted fingers had smoothed away Pegeen’s first pains, whose wrinkled lips had taught her her first prayers. Dearest, darling Grannie, she was up with God now, sitting in His golden light with His holy saints and angels. If only Pegeen could be quite sure that she was happy now. But Grannie had been so fond of her old gray shawl and her cup of black tea, and she had so loved telling stories. Pegeen couldn’t help wondering how she’d get on in Heaven, standing up all the time in the strong glare of Blessedness and shouting: “Hallelujah!” If only there were a quiet little corner with a rocking-chair and a turf fire, to keep Grannie in comfort. The more Pegeen thought about it, the more she doubted it. Och, it was a pity, it was indeed, that Grannie couldn’t have taken her shawl and slippers with her. She’d be lonesome in one of those thin white dresses they do be wearing up in Heaven, and she wouldn’t look right in it, either. And she wouldn’t find anyone to listen to her tales, for once you came to Heaven you knew everything naturally, like the angels, Father Kelly said, so the others’d be knowing the end before she had begun, and what was the fun of that!
Oh, if only Pegeen could die too! She’d take care of Grannie all right, all right. She’d torment old Saint Peter till he gave Grannie all she wanted. But perhaps he wouldn’t let her in even if she did die, because of all the wickedness with which she had been filling her days. No, she had better bide awhile and learn to be good first, so she could be with Grannie later. It would be easy to be good now, for there’d be no one to forbid her anything. She could manage very well by herself, so she could. Hadn’t Grannie often praised the tea she made? And wasn’t she able to cook stirabout and mind the pig, that contrary creature? Och, it wouldn’t be any trouble at all, at all. . . .
But in the kitchen of the little white cabin the neighbors were planning other things for Pegeen.
“Who’s going to look after the child?” one of the women asked, when the quietness in the room had grown too heavy.
“She has got relations in America, hasn’t she?” said Mr. Coyle, between two puffs from his pipe.
“Maybe she has, but the news won’t reach them for a long while, and they may not be wanting her at all.”
“Sure, old Mrs. Murphy was a poor hand at raising childer, God have mercy on her soul,” said the widow Magee, shaking her head. “They all up an’ left her, except the one that died, an’ he small use to her.”
“They say her son Dan has been making a fortune in America,” chirped Mrs. Coyle. “He’d be able to take the child surely, an’ bring her up in comfort.”
“Little ye know,” croaked the widow ominously. “I’ve heard that he has lost his religion an’ has gone into society! I wouldn’t expect too much of himself!”
“She’ll have to go to an orphanage so,” said Mrs. Coyle. “An’ they do say the poor childer never get enough to eat in those places.”
“Not enough to please ’em, but enough for their health,” said the widow Magee grimly. “I don’t hold with spoiling charity childer. Sure, it’ll only make it harder for ’em later on, when there’ll be no one to look after ’em.”
“God spare the child! Can’t we take her home, Mike?” asked good-natured Mrs. Coyle of her husband. “She’d be better off with us!”
“Arra, haven’t ye your hands full with your own?” scolded the widow. “An’ this one is a terror, I promise ye. She missed a strong hand over her, indeed she did. Old Mrs. Murphy wasn’t equal to her at all, at all. Sure, I might be doing worse than to take her meself, an’ I a lonely woman in need of company. I’d soon have the nonsense knocked out of her!”
“Yes, we know well ye were a miracle at rearing your own childer,” teased Mrs. Geoghan. “It’s a pity they’re all in their graves, or we could be admiring them. Maybe Pegeen’d be safer with meself; I could find a use for her. She is of an age now to lend a hand around the house an’ she only a skinny wee thing that won’t eat much, an’ can sleep in the bed with my Sheila.”
“It’s my opinion she should be going to school,” suggested Pat Finney. “She is as ignorant as a donkey. I don’t believe she’d know a letter if she saw one.”
“Small blame to her, living in this lonesome place with no school for miles around,” said Mrs. Coyle. “Sure, I pity the girl an’ the wild way she was brought up!”
“I’m thinking it suited Mrs. Murphy; she always blamed it on the modern education that her childer left her. You leave Pegeen to me an’ I’ll see to it she soon knows her letters,” and the widow waved her hand as if it held a stick.
“Och, it isn’t learning, it’s companionship she needs most,” argued Mrs. Coyle. “She hasn’t played with other lassies the way she should. She is too shy entirely.”
“Shy! She’s as bold as brass. She needs a firm hand, I’m telling ye!”
The women raised their voices as they continued to disagree, and their talk drifted down to Pegeen, filling her ears.
The sun had gone and the vision of Heaven faded before the black arm of the night. Pegeen felt like a treasure washed ashore for anyone to pick up. She didn’t want to go to an orphanage, where girls are packed like peas in a pod and kept hungry for their own good. She didn’t want to go with Mrs. Coyle to her shouting, quarrelsome family. She didn’t want to go with the widow Magee to be whipped into her likeness. She didn’t want to go with Mrs. Geoghan, to sleep in a bed with Sheila, whose mouth stood open and who never understood anything until you said it twice. And least of all did she want to go to America, the place that had swallowed up all Grannie’s happiness. This was her home, this little cabin in which she had spent the seven years of her life. No one should have the power to drag her away from it. But grown people could always do what they liked to children. You were never safe from them until you were big yourself.
“Please God, make me grown up at once,” prayed Pegeen, her fists against her eyes. She waited a moment, hopefully, but when she felt no miraculous force tugging at her limbs she gave it up and slipped off silently into the gloaming.
The moon was in full sail when Father Kelly came clip-clopping around the mountains on his old brown horse. Something had drawn him to the little white cabin where his old friend Mrs. Murphy now slept her last sleep.
“Sure, ye needn’t be traipsing around at this hour of the night,” his housekeeper had grumbled. “As if ye didn’t need yer rest more than anyone, what with calls coming for ye here an’ calls coming for ye there, till ye look as if I didn’t give ye anything fit to eat. Couldn’t ye be sending a message now, like, instead of going yerself?” But Father Kelly had shaken his head. A message wouldn’t do at all, for what was driving him out into the cold September evening was the memory of two startled eyes watching him from afar as he sat by old Mrs. Murphy’s bed, holding her dying hands. When all was over, he had wanted to comfort the child, but she had fled from him like the wild thing she was, not trusting the touch of his hand on her sorrow. Now the memory of it was urging him. Something must be done for Pegeen as soon as possible, before gossiping crowds came trampling into the intimacy of her life with Grannie. So he had saddled his horse and gone the long way around the mountains, leaving Mrs. Malone to her grumbling.
As Brownie ambled along, Father Kelly had plenty of time to think. He loved the endlessness of a sky filled with stars and the fragrance of sleeping earth. The spiritual world seemed nearer then, as if day were only a prison, holding captive the noise and glare of each moment, whereas night poured itself out into eternity. But the very vastness around him made the priest feel more tenderness for the small creature left on the mountainside like a homeless kitten. He had written to Pegeen’s uncle in New York, and he expected that the child would be sent for, sooner or later. But he was not happy about it. Even if it were true that Dan Murphy had made a fortune and lived in great elegance, Father Kelly doubted whether a mountain lassie would fit into the life of a great city such as New York. Of course children did adapt themselves quickly to new surroundings, but he wasn’t sure Grannie Murphy would have liked that. She had been heartbroken at her own children’s flight from the soil of their birth. She had been a great patriot in her own day, had Mrs. Murphy. It seemed to him that he had read her last wish in her fading eyes. She had entrusted Pegeen to him. But a priest isn’t the person to bring up a young girl; she needs a mother. And mothers don’t grow on trees. Besides, Dan Murphy might insist on having her. He was her guardian now, and bound to take an interest in his brother’s child. If only America weren’t so far away! Father Kelly sighed. He could see the lighted windows of the little cabin from afar. All the neighbors were at the wake, of course. He hoped they were considering the child. Perhaps he had better take her for the night. She’d have to go somewhere until it was settled what was to be done with her. Of course Mrs. Malone would protest, but she’d have to find out some time who was boss in his own house. Anyway, it wouldn’t hurt her to look after a wee girl for a while.
“Whoa, Brownie, here we are!” Father Kelly threw down the reins and jumped off his horse. “God bless all here,” he said, entering the house.
“God bless yourself, Father.”
“I came to make arrangements for the child,” said the priest, with a rapid glance around the crowded kitchen. “Where is she?” Yes, where was she? No one had missed her, each thinking that she was sitting in some quiet corner, grieving over her loss. But there wasn’t a sign of her anywhere. Father Kelly grew anxious. What strange fancy had driven the child out into the night? He hoped she hadn’t done something rash. . . . With two of the men he went to look for her, darting the rays of his lantern under every shadowy bush, into each secret nook.
“Pegeen! Pegeen!” The sound of his voice crashed and echoed against the wall of night, followed by the rustling of startled creatures scampering to safety. “Pegeen! Pegeen!”
At last they found her, half buried under wet ferns, her face pressed down on the earth and hidden by the tangle of her dark curls. For a moment Father Kelly’s heart stood still, then he saw that she was only asleep. He roused her gently. She sat up, eyes fluttering like drugged moths before the lantern light.
“No, I won’t, I won’t!” she cried, beating and kicking with her arms and legs. “Ye can’t take me away; I won’t go! I won’t! I won’t!”
“Come along, child, it’s dreaming ye are,” said Mr. Coyle, putting out strong arms to lift her. But he jumped back as suddenly, sucking at his fingers and crying: “She bit me, the vixen!”
Pegeen laughed wildly, showing her sharp teeth. “I’ll bite ye again!” she cried triumphantly. “I’ll bite ye in little pieces an’ spit ye out one by one! See if I won’t!”
“If ye were me own daughter . . .” growled Mr. Coyle ominously.
“I’m not, an’ I won’t be! I won’t! Do ye hear?” screeched the child.
“Leave her to me,” said the priest, putting a hand on Mr. Coyle’s shoulder. “You men go back, we’ll follow.”
“It’s as ye say, Father,” grumbled Mr. Coyle. “But look out she doesn’t snap off your nose for ye!”
When the rustle of the men’s departing footsteps had died away, the priest began to talk. “Ye’re not on your best behavior tonight, Pegeen. What ails ye? Sure, don’t ye know Father Kelly is your friend an’ longing to lighten the burden that has fallen on ye this day, God help ye?”
“Will ye not let them take me away, then? Will ye let me stop in Grannie’s house, same as ever?” and Pegeen raised such mournful eyes in such a pinched, tear-stained little face, that it smote Father Kelly’s heart.
“Is that what’s vexing ye, Pegeen mavourneen?” he said tenderly, sinking down beside the child on the soft, damp turf, and taking her hand in his. “Sure, an’ I can well understand it. It’s a hard thing to leave the house ye were born an’ reared in, a hard thing indeed.”
“But, Father, I don’t need to be leaving it at all, an’ I as good at the housekeeping as Grannie herself, an’ able to make the bed, too, if I stand on the footstool!”
Father Kelly smiled in the darkness. “Ye’re only a lassie,” he said, stroking the little fingers that lay curled in the palm of his hand. “Ye don’t know the dangers an’ hardships that’d come pouring down on ye if ye took such an independent position. Sure, I know it’s seven years old ye are, but there’s still a few things left for ye to learn.”
“Oh, Father Kelly,” sighed Pegeen. “I wish God would listen to me an’ make me grow up at once so that I can do what I want. . . .”
“Ho! Ho!” laughed the priest. “Is that your view of it! An’ I thinking to meself  I’d like to be young again an’ without duties for a while. Don’t ye be wishing life shorter than it is already, me foolish girl. Ye don’t know what lovely surprises God may be hiding up His sleeve for ye an’ what beautiful countries ye may not be visiting. . . .”
“I don’t want to see beautiful countries; I don’t want to go visiting at all,” said Pegeen stubbornly. “I want to stay here.”
“But the little cabin will be cold an’ comfortless without Grannie,” argued the priest. “Ye mustn’t be like a cat, which has no reason an’ wants to stay in a place for the sake of old times. Sure, Grannie won’t be any nearer to ye here than anywhere else. Where she is now all places are alike to her.”
“Do ye think so, Father?” said Pegeen, and in the pale lamplight her eyes looked like ripe, black plums. “Don’t ye think she’ll be lonesome for her place by the fire? They do be so grand up in Heaven, I wonder will it suit her at all!”
Father Kelly’s lips twitched. “Surely ye don’t believe that God would promise us happiness an’ then pay no attention to our wishes, trying to please us with what we don’t want?” he asked, playing with Pegeen’s curls. “Ye may be sure He knows exactly what Grannie would like most, an’ He’ll give it to her. For ‘Eye hath not seen nor ear heard, neither hath it entered into the heart of man what things God hath prepared for them that love Him.’ No, no, Pegeen, I wish I could be as easy about you as I am about Grannie. Can’t ye try an’ tell me what it is that makes ye want to stay here instead of traveling in a great big ship?”
“I . . . I do want to go traveling,” said Pegeen dreamily. “In a white ship . . . to the end of the world. . . . Oh, Father Kelly, now I know why I can’t go away! It’s because of Francie!
“Francie?” For a moment the priest didn’t know what she was talking about. “Which Francie?”
“Oh, ye know, Father, the little boy that helped me chase the pig last summer till we got lost in the fog an’ then ye found us an’ brought us home again. . .”
In a flash Father Kelly understood. How could he ever forget the bright little boy who had managed to escape from a Dublin hospital only to wander all over Ireland in search of his home in Glengarriff? Father Kelly had been able to put him on the right track at last. “Francie, indeed,” he said, smiling to himself. “But what on earth has he got to do with it?”
“Sure, an’ didn’t he promise to fetch me as soon as he had grown a little older, for to go sailing with him in a white ship, all the way to the end of the world? How will he find me at all, at all, if it’s somewhere else I am entirely, an’ the cabin full of strangers? ’Deed I can’t leave, ’deed I can’t, Father Kelly. Ye can see it for yourself now!”
“Did ye never think of writing him a letter?” the priest asked her.
“A letter. . . . But I can’t write at all!” cried Pegeen.
“If ye come with me, I’ll help ye with it,” promised Father Kelly, and he made a move to get up, for his legs were growing stiff from sitting on the damp soil.
“Oh, will ye?” cried Pegeen, clutching at him. “An’ ye’ll not forget? Honest to goodness not?”
“Honest to goodness not.”
“An’ ye won’t let Mrs. Coyle take me to her house? Or widow Magee? Or Mrs. Geoghan? An’ ye won’t send me to the orphans? Or to America?”
“Och, there’s a thousand worries on ye, I see,” said Father Kelly, pinching her ear. “Sure, I wouldn’t dare take ye anywhere without your permission.”
“Then I’ll go with ye,” and Pegeen placed a trustful little fist into Father Kelly’s outstretched hand.
“That’s the girl,” said the priest, picking up his lantern. “An’ now we’d better be going back or they’ll be thinking the fairies took us. May I ask if ye have any objection to staying with me for a while? I know the housekeeper is not as sweet-spoken as she might be, but if ye’re willing to put up with her I’ll be very happy to have ye for a guest.”
“Oh, Father Kelly, indeed I’d love it!” cried Pegeen, rubbing her cheek against his sleeve like an affectionate kitten.
“That’s settled then, even if it does mean a fight with the ladies,” said Father Kelly bravely and, full of contentment, the two walked back to the cabin.

Table of Contents

1. Alone in the World
2. Letters
3. Pegeen Arrives
4. A Nice, Quiet Day
5. Pegeen at School
6. Pegeen Gets into Trouble
7. Pegeen Tries to Make Up for It
8. The Wedding Party
9. A Wild Ride
10. Mother Tells a Story
11. Pegeen’s Sacrifice
12. Forever and Ever
About the Author