THE LAST OF THE DOG MEAT WAS GONE AND THE CHILDREN GREW weaker, whining and complaining of pains in their bellies much of the time. Mary couldn’t bear it, so, with an eagle eye, she searched their cottage for anything left to pawn or sell to buy meal.
She bundled up the warm patchwork counterpane she had made for their marriage bed, which left them with only a grey blanket. She gathered up her only good dress, the pin-tucked dresses she had made for Nora and Annie, and John’s tweed waistcoat, and folded them up neatly to take into town.
‘Near everything we have is gone to that man!’ John shouted angrily as he watched her. ‘Hegarty and his like are robbing the people blind with the hunger and making money.’
Skibbereen was busy, with beggars, hands outstretched looking for food or money. She pushed past them all and joined the short line outside Hegarty’s pawnbrokers. As the young couple ahead of her moved forward and put down their heavy load on the floor in front of the shop counter, Mary kept her eyes low.
‘The chair and footstool were made by a craftsman and are in perfect condition,’ the young man began.
Mary could tell Hegarty was intrigued, but he feigned disinterest.
‘I have a warehouse of furniture. What am I to do with them?’
‘We have to sell them, for we are taking passage to America.’
‘Sir, we are not looking for a fortune, but we are here to sell them today,’ the young woman insisted.
The proprietor shrugged. ‘Perhaps you could try somewhere else?’
‘I am selling my bridal dress too. It is made of fine lace and embroidery, and is precious to me,’ she continued, the desperation in her voice growing.
Mary remembered how bad she had felt when she brought her own wedding dress to the shop last year.
Hegarty fingered the young woman’s garment and carefully examined its pearl buttons and delicate stitching. His wife and daughter were known for their fashion and Mary could see at once that he was tempted by the gown.
‘For a young couple going to the New World, I will be generous. What do you say if I give you two guineas for the furniture alongside the dress?’
‘It is not enough,’ blurted the husband. ‘They are worth far more.’
‘I will take the dress with me,’ the woman added defiantly. ‘Sell it when I get there.’
The pawnbroker sighed, exasperated. ‘Three pounds and not a farthing more.’
The couple stood still, taking stock of the offer. Mary could see that the young wife was ready to argue with Hegarty, but her husband’s fingers caught her wrist, warning her to say no more.
‘Thank you, sir. We will accept your offer,’ he muttered.
Before Mary could step forward, an old woman with a bundle pushed ahead of her. The woman’s grey hair fell lank around her shoulders and her dress was soiled and muddy. Mary caught the stale odour of the woman’s body as she reached to untie her parcel of scraps of material.
‘It’s just rags,’ the pawnbroker retorted. ‘Rags are no good to me.’
‘A few pennies are all I want, sir,’ the woman argued loudly. ‘’Tis all I’ve left to sell.’
Mr Hegarty cut short her pleas and ordered her from his premises.
‘I can’t have beggars like her in here. This is a place of business,’ he said brusquely, beckoning Mary to come forward.
‘Mr Hegarty, I have a few more items that I wish to sell,’ Mary said, placing them in front of him. ‘I made the counterpane and dresses myself. It is good work, for I am a seamstress.’
As the pawnbroker thumbed the coloured patchwork cover, she could sense his greedy brain working and assessing what price the items might fetch. They finally settled on only four shillings and Mary hid her disappointment as she bid him good day. It was little enough to buy what she needed.
As was her habit, Mary paused outside Honora Barry’s dressmaking shop. Honora was inside and so Mary knocked on the glass, filled with a wild hope that her former employer might have some mending work for her. Miss Barry let her in and enquired politely how she and her family were faring.
‘Things have been very hard,’ Mary admitted. ‘John took ill and could not work, so I had to work breaking stones on the road these past weeks.’
‘My poor dear child,’ she sympathized. ‘Look at your hands and fingers!’
‘Just a few bruises and scratches,’ Mary said defensively. ‘I can still sew.’
Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a customer at the door to collect an item. Honora disappeared into the back of the shop for a minute and returned with a white garment, which she rolled up carefully and wrapped in paper as the tearful older woman paid her.
‘Thank you, Miss Barry, for your kindness to us in our time of trouble,’ the woman said, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief.
‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ the dressmaker said, walking her to the door.
‘Mrs Callaghan’s daughter died two days ago,’ she explained to Mary once her customer had left.
She gestured to a roll of creamy white material on the far side of the room.
‘All people want me to make these days are shrouds to bury their dead in. For God help us, there are no coffins. This is what keeps me busy. Have you ever made one of them, Mary?’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘Never.’
‘I didn’t ever think that I’d see the day I’d be taking on such work either,’ the dressmaker admitted ruefully, ‘but it is what is necessary. I promise that they are easy enough to make. That is, if you are interested in helping me?’
Eager for work, Mary agreed without hesitation.
‘They are a simple pattern,’ she explained, ‘and people will pay promptly for them.’
Mary studied the shroud that the dressmaker had been stitching when she came in.
‘I can teach you how to make one,’ Honora offered, leading her to the workroom.
The dressmaker showed her quickly how to cut out the pattern, wasting as little material as possible, and how to shape it and sew the simple seams.
‘No one is going to examine it stitch by stitch,’ Honora reminded her, ‘but people do expect good work for their dear departed … despite the circumstances of their burial.’
It was certainly not the type of work Mary had expected to be offered, but work was work. She promised to return next week with the five shrouds they had agreed upon.
‘Do you have a good supply of thread and needles?’ the dressmaker asked as she carefully measured out and parcelled up the lengths of material that Mary would need.
Mary blushed. How could she admit that she had come here looking for work and yet had barely a spool of thread at home! The other woman lowered her eyes discreetly and generously added a packet of needles and a few spools of thread to one of the packages.
‘If you want, I could let you have an advance of six pennies now and the rest when you are finished,’ she offered.
Mary was overcome with gratitude for the kindness of her old employer, who was proving herself a true friend.
‘But you must promise to have the shrouds back to me by Tuesday,’ she urged. ‘And they must be spotlessly clean, with no smudges of turf or dirt on them.’
Mary agreed without question and watched as Honora took some coins from the small drawer and counted them into her hand. It was little enough but it would buy a small bag of oats to take home with her.
‘Take this too, for it doesn’t agree with me,’ insisted the kindly woman, wrapping up a half loaf of rye bread for her.
Mary carried the parcels through the town, deciding to stop at Kathleen’s as she hadn’t seen her sister for weeks. Sarah and Lizzie were both sick, and her sister looked more tired and thinner than she had ever seen her before.
‘We are lucky we can take the soup every day,’ she sighed, ‘but it runs through me.’
Mary looked around the cottage. The straw underfoot was dirty and foul and in need of changing. The whole place could have done with being swept out and washed down.
‘I haven’t the energy for cleaning it,’ admitted Kathleen, as if reading her sister’s mind.
Mary told her about getting work making the shrouds.
‘God between us and all harm, but I suppose someone has to do it!’
‘I’m happy to have work,’ she said defensively.
‘If only my Joseph could find some kind of job now the roadworks have closed down,’ Kathleen complained, ‘we wouldn’t always be in the terrible state that we are in.’
Walking home, Mary couldn’t wait to tell John the good news of her new job, even if it was as a shroud-maker to the dead.