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could contribute to the cause.
    She found the housekeeper in the kitchen washing vegetables. India had been unable to see the woman clearly last night. Now in the morning light she saw that she was an elderly woman, alarmingly thin with a face like a dried apple. She smiled a broad toothless grin and greeted India.
    “I believe I met your granddaughter this morning, Mrs. Burke,” India said.
    The woman laughed. “She was supposed to be pickin’ mushrooms. Did she have any?”
    “I didn’t notice. We spoke so briefly.”
    “Probably not,” she said turning to her soda bread. “She is the flightiest child I have ever seen.”
    “Do her parents live here?” India asked.
    The woman's smile faded. “No, me daughter died givin’ birth to her, and the child's father went to the Colonies to find a better life.” She shook her head. “We are losing all our young people to this new land.”
    India nodded. It was a story she had heard over and over.
    “But your husband,” the housekeeper said lifting her chin. “Your husband has offered us hope. Maybe our young will stay here after all.”
    "He is a good man, Mrs. Burke."
    "Aye," she agreed. "The best."
    India had met a hundred women like this housekeeper, women beaten down by years of deprivation and grief. They were gray and wrinkled before their time, burying their children one after another, yet never waning in their love of the Lord. Now they could put their faith in Colm Fitzpatrick as well. Tirelessly, Colm traveled across Ireland, listening to them air their grievances and vent their anger. He met with them individually, at meetings or in public houses offering them hope and encouragement time and time again. He assured them to have faith that he and his repparees would bring a better life to them all.
    India was in awe of her husband. He seemed to work miracles, and she felt useless and inadequate beside him. She wanted desperately to have a more active role in the rebellion, but he would not hear of it. He dismissed her saying that it was out of the question. He would not risk her safety.
    India felt herself growing increasingly lonely and anxious. During the day when she was busy, she was content. She would prepare Colm's meals, visit with the staff, or go for a walk, but when night fell, she became restless. She would explore the library of the manor or play the pianoforte, but inevitably, she would grow bored and anxious. She desperately missed human companionship and worried about the safety of her husband continually.
    India had little opportunity to make friends, and now that the babies were gone her evenings seemed interminable. When they were newlyweds, Colm used to take her riding after supper, but that ended. They used play chess in the evening, but now that he was gone every night, that diversion had come to an end as well.
    Now she would sit by the fire and embroider. It was unnerving being inside the great houses at night. The housekeepers retired to their quarters after supper, leaving India alone to wander in the large rooms draped with sheets. Even though men stood guard outside, it was still eerie being inside the great homes when the sun set.
    Colm returned after midnight then India was relieved. She felt warm and protected sitting cross legged on the bed like a child listening to his stories about the rebellion. He talked almost exclusively about the insurgency sharing strategies and maneuvers with her. Occasionally, he would ask her opinion, and this pleased her immensely. India knew that her suggestions seemed foolish and superficial, but Colm indulged her. Sometimes she would share what she learned from books on Greek and Roman military strategy, and he would listen patiently then pat her on the knee and say, “You are my adorable girl.”
    One evening, Colm burst into the library demanding India's help. He startled her as she was reading, curled up in a window seat with a blanket. He explained that he must speak that evening to a very