LIEBERT HAD SURPRISED them by returning home to Dublin after years away at sea. Isabella warmly welcomed her dearly loved son, who had a few weeks’ leave from his ship. Life in the navy suited him: he was tanned, fit and more muscular, but had also become more confident and mature. She had missed him terribly, for with his easy way and good humour he had always been a particular favourite of hers. His return to Temple Villas brought great joy and Frederick’s eyes welled with tears when he saw their son.
‘Your father is in good spirits despite everything, and your visit home has cheered him up immensely.’
‘I’m so sorry, Mother,’ he apologized, shocked to see how infirm his father was. ‘I should have come sooner. I cannot believe that Father has become such a frail old man.’
She watched as he tried to make his amends for such a long absence from home.
They still employed a nurse to assist with her husband’s care and had purchased a wheelchair, as Frederick was barely able to walk or stand unaided and his balance was very poor. With infinite patience, Liebert helped his father downstairs and into the wheelchair, bringing him for walks in the park and down to Rathmines, and even wheeling him out to the garden if there was any sunshine.
‘The prodigal has returned,’ teased Nellie and Grace, though Isabella knew that her daughters were delighted to have their brother finally home in Temple Villas.
He regaled them with stories of the navy and shipboard life, as well as of the exotic places he had visited around the world – Africa, Egypt, South America and Hong Kong. He also described the unseen danger of German U-boat attacks that now filled the sea. He would sit with Frederick in the bedroom telling him of his voyages and sea crossings, of the huge blue whales that lived in the deep oceans and of schools of jumping dolphins and coloured flying fish.
Liebert scooped Muriel’s children up in his arms and declared them two little rascals, and he enjoyed meeting MacDonagh, whom he declared a fine brother-in-law even if they did disagree politically.
Isabella had heard only a week before his arrival that young Frank Heuston, the second of the Heuston twins, had died at Ypres. She was overwhelmed with sadness when she thought of the kind young man, who only months ago had been let home on leave to attend his father’s funeral. Now he was dead, just like his twin brother. She made the decision not to tell Frederick: it would upset him far too much.
‘You cannot distress Father with such news,’ agreed Muriel, who had accompanied her to the Heustons’ home on St Stephen’s Green to pay their respects.
Liebert read the papers aloud every morning for Frederick and Isabella begged him not to mention the casualties of the war but to concentrate on good news, if there was any …
Her son spent much of his time catching up with many of his old friends, some now married with families of their own. He brought her out to lunches and to a show in The Gaiety. Her daughters all seemed so caught up in their own lives now and were rarely at home, so it was a joy to have her son to escort her.
She confided her worries about Grace’s engagement to Joe Plunkett.
‘Grace will pay absolutely no heed to my concerns or wishes in this regard,’ she complained. ‘She and your sisters all have minds of their own and refuse to give any credence to anything I say or advise.’
‘From what I remember they were always like that,’ he joked, ‘so I see that nothing has changed.’
‘Liebert, I do wish that you could stay in Ireland,’ she ventured nervously. ‘It would be wonderful for your father to have you back living here, at home or close by – whatever would suit. Frederick does miss you boys so much.’
‘Mother, I return to my ship in a few weeks,’ he answered patiently. ‘I enjoy being at sea – I could not imagine anything else. I have no plans to return to live here.’
‘Of course,’ she replied, trying to hide her crushing disappointment.
‘Let us enjoy the time I have left in Dublin,’ he said. ‘What about a trip to the Botanic Gardens or to Kingstown for a stroll down the pier and some afternoon tea?’
‘The gardens would be nice,’ she agreed, smiling. ‘Your father used to like to bring me there.’
‘Very well,’ he said, ‘Glasnevin it is next week then.’
Liebert went off to visit a friend and Isabella sat for a while in the drawing room alone, listening to the tick of the clock, the house silent, chiding herself for her foolishness in being upset at his response.