Read Online Bury the Living (Revolutionary #1) by Jodi McIsaac - Free Book Online
Authors: Jodi McIsaac
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years of the Great Famine, when people would purposefully commit crimes in front of the authorities. They knew they were guaranteed at least one meal a day in prison, which was better than starving to death on the outside.
How bad must it have been, to want to come to this place?
Next they were onto the East Wing, which Nora recognized from the film In the Name of the Father . The soaring ceiling gave it an open, airy feeling that reminded her of a cathedral. It was shaped like a horseshoe, with cell doors all around the outer edge on three levels. An iron staircase descended from the third floor down to the main level, where they stood. Liz explained that this layout had allowed the wardens to see every single cell at once. Nora craned her neck with the rest of the tourists, scanning the three floors to see if this was true. Then her eyes fell back on the iron staircase, and her hands flew to her mouth.
Dozens of women were descending the staircase, but not willingly. Soldiers dragged them by their hair, slamming their heads against the iron rails as they pulled them down. One of them landed at Nora’s feet, and she stepped back, nearly colliding with the man standing behind her. The woman on the floor looked up at Nora, blood running into her eyes. Her lips were clenched together. As Nora watched, the woman rose and charged at the staircase, only to be tackled and wrestled to the ground.
Nora spun around wildly to see if anyone else was observing the same thing. Perhaps it was a special effect, some part of the tour. But no one else seemed to notice the women piling up at their feet. They were all either listening to Liz or blandly surveying their surroundings. When she looked back at the staircase, the women were gone.
Nora closed her eyes tightly. Her breath was ragged and shallow, and she struggled to control it. What the hell was that? The group was dispersing to look inside some of the cells, but the tour guide came toward Nora. “Are you okay?” she asked quietly.
“I . . . I . . .” Nora stammered. “I just thought I saw some women on the staircase, that’s all. Must have been a trick of the light.”
Liz looked at her thoughtfully. “This place has a long and tragic history. You’re not the first visitor to get a glimpse of the past. I don’t often say this in my tours, but I believe some of the inhabitants of Kilmainham have never left.”
Nora smiled awkwardly. “I think . . . I’m just tired,” she said, pulling her arms close to her chest. The bright sunlight shone through the large skylights in the ceiling, but it did nothing to dispel the chill she felt deep inside. She cast a nervous glance back at the staircase, then meandered over to one of the open cells. Carved into the doorframe were the words, “The Manse.” Who had carved that, and why? She stepped inside. It looked as if it had been recently whitewashed. A small window was set into the far wall, a good distance above her head. It let in a tiny ray of sunlight. Nora stood in the beam of light, willing it to warm her.
“Creepy place, isn’t it?” asked a middle-aged woman who had entered the same cell.
“Oh, aye,” Nora answered.
“Are you a local?” the woman asked in an American accent, a delighted look on her face.
“No. I’m from Belfast.”
“Oh, I see,” the woman said, looking concerned. “Do you know anyone who’s been bombed?”
“What?”
“They told us we shouldn’t go to Belfast because of the bombs. Have you been bombed?”
“No,” Nora said, turning away.
“Well, that’s good,” the woman answered. She continued gazing around. “I wonder who was kept in this cell.”
“Annie Humphreys,” Nora answered without thinking. How did she know that? And yet it was true; she was sure of it.
“Oh, you’ve done the tour before!”
Nora turned around slowly. Her eyes skimmed over the woman’s excited face and kept turning, taking in the four walls of the cell. “No,” she said
How bad must it have been, to want to come to this place?
Next they were onto the East Wing, which Nora recognized from the film In the Name of the Father . The soaring ceiling gave it an open, airy feeling that reminded her of a cathedral. It was shaped like a horseshoe, with cell doors all around the outer edge on three levels. An iron staircase descended from the third floor down to the main level, where they stood. Liz explained that this layout had allowed the wardens to see every single cell at once. Nora craned her neck with the rest of the tourists, scanning the three floors to see if this was true. Then her eyes fell back on the iron staircase, and her hands flew to her mouth.
Dozens of women were descending the staircase, but not willingly. Soldiers dragged them by their hair, slamming their heads against the iron rails as they pulled them down. One of them landed at Nora’s feet, and she stepped back, nearly colliding with the man standing behind her. The woman on the floor looked up at Nora, blood running into her eyes. Her lips were clenched together. As Nora watched, the woman rose and charged at the staircase, only to be tackled and wrestled to the ground.
Nora spun around wildly to see if anyone else was observing the same thing. Perhaps it was a special effect, some part of the tour. But no one else seemed to notice the women piling up at their feet. They were all either listening to Liz or blandly surveying their surroundings. When she looked back at the staircase, the women were gone.
Nora closed her eyes tightly. Her breath was ragged and shallow, and she struggled to control it. What the hell was that? The group was dispersing to look inside some of the cells, but the tour guide came toward Nora. “Are you okay?” she asked quietly.
“I . . . I . . .” Nora stammered. “I just thought I saw some women on the staircase, that’s all. Must have been a trick of the light.”
Liz looked at her thoughtfully. “This place has a long and tragic history. You’re not the first visitor to get a glimpse of the past. I don’t often say this in my tours, but I believe some of the inhabitants of Kilmainham have never left.”
Nora smiled awkwardly. “I think . . . I’m just tired,” she said, pulling her arms close to her chest. The bright sunlight shone through the large skylights in the ceiling, but it did nothing to dispel the chill she felt deep inside. She cast a nervous glance back at the staircase, then meandered over to one of the open cells. Carved into the doorframe were the words, “The Manse.” Who had carved that, and why? She stepped inside. It looked as if it had been recently whitewashed. A small window was set into the far wall, a good distance above her head. It let in a tiny ray of sunlight. Nora stood in the beam of light, willing it to warm her.
“Creepy place, isn’t it?” asked a middle-aged woman who had entered the same cell.
“Oh, aye,” Nora answered.
“Are you a local?” the woman asked in an American accent, a delighted look on her face.
“No. I’m from Belfast.”
“Oh, I see,” the woman said, looking concerned. “Do you know anyone who’s been bombed?”
“What?”
“They told us we shouldn’t go to Belfast because of the bombs. Have you been bombed?”
“No,” Nora said, turning away.
“Well, that’s good,” the woman answered. She continued gazing around. “I wonder who was kept in this cell.”
“Annie Humphreys,” Nora answered without thinking. How did she know that? And yet it was true; she was sure of it.
“Oh, you’ve done the tour before!”
Nora turned around slowly. Her eyes skimmed over the woman’s excited face and kept turning, taking in the four walls of the cell. “No,” she said
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