Four months later, on a mild April morning, Rose beamed at the postman as he handed over an envelope covered with brightly coloured stamps. She took it indoors and sat down at the kitchen table. It was all she could do to stop herself ripping open Sam’s first letter from America, but she knew the boys would want to save the stamps. By the time she’d extracted the closely written sheets, she was so excited and agitated it was all she could do to hold the paper steady enough to read.
My dearest Rose,
I am writing this on board ship, but the captain says we will arrive at midday tomorrow. By the time you receive it, I shall be in Pennsylvania with Eva and her family. I can hardly believe it has all happened so quickly. The Atlantic crossing will have taken only eight days, though this ship, the Germanic, has previously done it in seven and a half. You may tell John from me Ulstermen build great ships and Harland and Wolff have every right to the fame they’ve won.
I have thought of you so often on the crossing and I wonder if you and John will follow me. If you do, I must insist you come by steamship. Yes, it is more expensive, but I am convinced that the shorter journey will be better for all of you. My first crossing was under sail and it was often rough, people were sick and the children frightened. Even with similar heavy seas, the effect is much diminished on a steamship.
As I am travelling on my own, I have the cheapest possible ticket. I will not pretend it is very comfortable. Once again, I feel you should think about second class. It may seem a great extravagance, but I’m convinced it would be money well spent, a little rest and pleasure for both you and John and an experience to be remembered for the children.
I wish I could say that I would help with the expense, but starting out as I am myself, I just don’t know what the immediate future will bring. Eva has saved up a little money for us, but as you know my work with the League was poorly paid, which means that I have no resources of my own to add to it. What I do hope is that, by then, we would have a home, however modest, where you would be welcome for as long as you need to find your own place.
I have asked Eva’s father about the prospects of work for John and he says that skilled craftsmen of any kind are in such demand that he would have a choice of jobs and in most cases will also be entitled to a grant of land.
Rose put the letter down and stared out of the window.
‘A grant of land,’ she said aloud, as she focused on the path from the forge to Thomas’s house.
The tall pear tree almost opposite was already showing grey points as the buds grew thicker in the mild air. The year was moving upwards, the confinement of winter’s dark and cold would soon be ended. She longed for the warmth and light of summer days when she could sit outside with her sewing, when the washing dried in a long morning and going to the well was a pleasure.
‘A grant of land,’ she repeated.
She smiled to herself. Yes, the phrase had something quite magical about it. A promise of openness, of space and light.
She drew back sharply from the window as she caught a glimpse of movement under the archway of Thomas’s house. A moment later, her Bible under her arm, Mary-Anne tramped down the path, looking neither to the right or to the left. Nor did she pause a moment at the forge to say a word to Thomas.
Rose sighed. Perhaps she should be grateful that Mary-Anne had never again knocked on her door, since the morning after Sam brought the news of their mother’s death. But then again, she’d never spoken when they’d met in the lane or on the shortcut over to Robinson’s, choosing to lead her life behind closed doors. Nor was there any obvious softening of her resentment towards herself and her family. For all she knew, she was still referred to as ‘yer wuman from Kerry.’
When she was sure Mary-Anne was on her way, Rose moved back into the sunlight and read the rest of Sam’s letter. He wrote of the preparations being made for their wedding. In a small township like Eva’s, the real importance of a wedding was the opportunity for a huge celebration. Eva had warned him a special beer was always brewed and he’d be expected to prove his manhood, not by abducting the bride, but by lowering a very large tankard all at one go.
Rose laughed and let her thoughts move into this new world of Sam’s. A kinder climate, he said. Though there was often more snow in winter, the cold that came with it was not so hard to bear. Often there was sunshine and there was less of the damp, misty weather she found so depressing.
Sometimes she wondered if it was the lack of space in their home and in their immediate surrounding that weighed down her spirits so. Other times, she felt it had to be the pervasive presence of Mary-Anne, her closed door, closed face and lack of joy.
Suddenly and quite unexpectedly, she found herself walking round Sarah’s garden in Annacramp. A great longing overwhelmed her. She could see so vividly the tall stems of delphinium, their heavy blooms carefully supported with sticks hidden in their foliage, the prolific foxgloves which never needed planting, only thinning out. She saw the bright flame of geraniums in window boxes, their descendants in her own windows, tended and slipped each year, so that Sarah’s garden would never totally disappear.
After their move, she’d scolded herself whenever she’d caught herself longing to return to the old house, but now she let her mind move as it would. She thought of the field behind, the cow they’d bought when James was on the way, the chickens who’d earned her egg money. For all her years there, she’d been so happy.
And now? Could she say she was unhappy? Or was she just older and wiser? Yes, she was that, but sadder also. Sarah once said the longer you lived the more there was of sadness and loss. You couldn’t avoid it, so you had to find what there was to set against it.
She and John had had their hard times, indeed they had, but there’d never been any hurt between them. She’d never regretted marrying him, or leaving behind her known world. The children were good children, even when they were cross, or upset. They’d never been hard to love, or hard to please. When she’d been in poor spirits herself, it was the stories they brought from school, the games they invented, the questions they asked, that brought her to herself again, ready to find some little treat, some small pleasure to share with them.
What would it be like for the children if they left all that was known and secure and set out on such an adventure? What would they gain in a new place, among such different people, to balance the loss?
She sat for a long time, letting the thoughts move back and forward, as if she sensed it was important to have a very clear picture of what was at stake. Only when the fire needed making up did she move for there’d be no bread if she didn’t. Even so, only a fraction of her mind was given to the familiar task.
A little later, the bread hardening on its stand, her hands washed and well dried, ready to take up her sewing, she paused again, picked up the newspaper from the window sill and looked at the long list of advertisements for sailings to America. There were plenty to chose from and many from Belfast, both sail and steam. She went back to her sewing, her mind occupied with figures and calculations. All the while she sat, she could hear Sam’s words, ‘A grant of land,’ echoing in her mind. She really hadn’t the slightest idea why the phrase should have lodged there, teasing continually on the edge of consciousness, but sooner or later its meaning would emerge. As Sarah used to say: ‘If you wait long enough, time solves most of your puzzles.’
Rose didn’t have to wait long. A couple of weeks later the April weather turned bitterly cold right at the end of the month. There was no snow but heavy frost made the ground hard as stone and the road into Armagh icy and treacherous.
‘Mind yerself, won’t you,’ she said to John, as she gave him his piece.
‘Don’t worry love, the boots has a good grip,’ he said kissing her as she walked to the door with him, the children still asleep at this early hour.
John didn’t fall on the road, but three nights later, arriving home later than usual, he almost fell into the kitchen when he opened the door. His face was ashen as he began to shake. A few minutes later he was violently sick.
‘James, help me get Da to the fire,’ she said, putting an arm round him and trying to steady him the short distance across to the settle.
‘Was it raining out there?’ she asked startled, for his clothes were wet through, the sodden fabric icy to the touch.
‘What?’ he said, screwing up his face.
She repeated the question, but he still didn’t hear her.
‘No, it’s not raining Ma,’ Hannah said sharply, her eyes grown round with shock. ‘It hasn’t rained all day.’
John was sick again and upset at the mess he made. A few minutes later, he began to waver back and forth on the settle, his face taking on a greenish hue. It was only the quick action of Rose and both boys that stopped him falling heavily when he passed out.
‘James, go and see if Thomas is still working,’ she said quickly. ‘If he’s not, you may go to the house. If it’s Mrs Scott, say you’ve a message for Thomas. Ask him would he come over.’
Rose and Hannah prised off the sodden jacket and found his shirt was just as saturated.
‘Get me a towel, love,’ she said to Hannah, who had put her warm hands on her father’s icy chest. ‘Sam, put more turf on the fire, please. Small pieces at a time to keep it hot. Sarah, sit well back in case the sparks fly. Don’t worry now,’ she added, seeing Sarah’s eyes large and bright, firmly fixed on John’s crumpled figure. ‘Da’ll be better soon.’
‘Ach, dear a dear, what’s happened at all,’ said Thomas, crossing the room in a couple of strides and dropping down on his knees beside her.
‘Could we get him to bed, Thomas. His clothes are soaked through and he’s been very sick.’
Thomas felt John’s head, which burnt with fever, while his naked chest remained icy cold, despite the warm fire so close to where he lay.
‘Come on now, man, up ye come,’ said Thomas, his arm firmly round John’s waist.
To Rose’s surprise and amazement, he lifted John to his feet and held him there till John opened his eyes and looked at him bemused.
‘Come on till yer bed, man. Ye’ve wrought too hard,’ he said reassuringly, as he half marched, half carried him across the floor, Hannah darting in front of them to open the bedroom door.
They stripped off his clothes and got him into bed, rubbing him vigorously with dry towels, then wrapping him in the blankets Hannah and Sarah had warmed in front of the fire.
‘Do you think I should send for the Doctor, Thomas? Would he come out at this hour?’
‘He might. It’s not that late. I’ll see if George has the mare in the stable. If he hasn’t, I’d be as quick walkin’ into town as fetchin’ her up from the meadow and harnessin’ her. Do yer best to get him warmed up in the body. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
Thomas was as good as his word. He arrived back in less than an hour, but the Doctor couldn’t come. He was out with a woman in labour and daren’t leave her until the situation was resolved one way or another. He’d be sure to come first thing in the morning.
Rose would never forget that night. Like the night when she and Sophie had sat up with Sarah, she didn’t know whether or not she was going to lose the love of her life. Thomas tried to reassure her, but John was so sick he couldn’t even keep water in his stomach. His head was wet with perspiration, but his body remained chill for all their efforts to warm him.
‘I wish I had a few good bricks I could heat in the fire,’ said Thomas, as they wrapped him again in warm blankets. ‘Have ye anythin’ like old stone bottles or maybe a flower pot?’
‘Yes, I think I have. They’re only small though.’
‘No matter. They’re better than nothin.”
She took a candle to the wash house and poked around at the back door, found the flowerpots and two old ginger beer bottles. They were clean for she’d used them for bunches of flowers, but the pots were still full of soil. Hurriedly, she scraped them out with a knife and rubbed at them with a wet cloth, feeling the weight of every passing minute, so anxious was she to get back to John, lying inert as if he would never move again. At last they were clean and she ran back into the house.
‘Great girl. You sit here now and we’ll see what we can do,’ he said, as he took them from her and went out into the kitchen.
He came back after a very short time, towels wrapped round the bottles he’d heated with boiling water and the pots he’d cooked up in the fire. They kept replacing them with fresh ones, until finally John’s body lost it’s deadly chill. Only then did Thomas speak of going.
‘Get in beside him, Rose. Sure wouldn’t that bring any man back from the dead,’ he said, gently as they went to the door and she tried to find words to thank him. ‘I’ll be over in the mornin’ as soon as I see your smoke.’
The Doctor arrived shortly after Thomas’s visit. He looked older and more tired than when she’d last seen him, but he’d lost nothing of his sharpness nor his kindliness.
‘Not often I see you, Mrs Hamilton,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I congratulate you on your healthy children. It’s years since I was last here. Now what’s this about your good man?’ he added kindly.
John had woken at the sound of voices, but made no move. His ghastly pallor had been replaced by a slightly yellow look. When the doctor asked him to sit up, to sound out his chest, he had to let Rose help him.
‘How long have you been in the mill now, John?’ Doctor Lindsay asked casually.
John looked quickly at Rose, who repeated the question.
‘About nine months,’ he replied, very weakly.
‘And when did you move to the spinning rooms?’
John screwed up his face, opened his mouth slightly and waited. Doctor Lindsay repeated the question.
‘I’m not in the spinnin’ rooms, not usually that is,’ John began. ‘I’m mostly in the workshop. But there was new looms went in this week. The heat in them rooms is desperate,’ he said, shaking his head.
‘And the noise, John?’
John nodded.
‘And the heat, and the smell and the spray of water to keep the fibre moist,’ the doctor added, deliberately raising his voice.
John nodded and looked slightly sheepish.
‘Well, I’m glad to say there’s nothing wrong with your lungs. I can’t tell about your hearing, but it doesn’t usually deteriorate this quickly. It’s probably a result of the last week and will improve with rest,’ he said thoughtfully.
‘But you’ve had a warning,’ he said, looking severe. ‘Never, never again, if you want to live, come out of those rooms with your clothes wet and walk home in the cold night air. I’ve know men do that, catch pneumonia and be gone in three days,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘Fortunately, you’re made of tougher stuff and you’re not half-starved. But be warned. Keep dry clothes at your work and get into the fresh air at the meal breaks. Stay in bed today, stay in the house tomorrow, and don’t go back to the mill till you have your full strength. A week if you can afford it. If you’re not on your feet in three days send for me again,’ he said, putting his stethoscope back in his bag and snapping it shut.
Rose shut the bedroom door behind them. As he washed his hands in the water she’d left ready at the kitchen table, she offered him a cup of tea.
‘Sadly, I must say no. I remember the last one I had here, by your bright fire. How is the little one. Sarah, was it?’
‘It was indeed. My goodness, what a memory,’ she said, beaming at him.
‘I try, but old age plays havoc with it. Especially after a short night,’ he said, as he picked up the clean towel and dried his hands vigorously.
‘It was a woman in labour. My neighbour, Thomas, told me,’ she said, tentatively.
He nodded briefly and Rose didn’t ask the question shaping in her mind, for his face told her quite clearly the woman had not survived.
‘Your good man should feel better quite soon. Plenty of spring water and food when he wants it, but not until he asks. It’s a pity about the partnership with Thomas,’ he said sadly. ‘I heard what happened to them. It sometimes makes me despair that men can behave in such a way, making enemies to fight when there’s enemies in plenty round every corner. But illness and poverty are not as exciting as waving banners and playing soldiers,’ he added bitterly.
He picked up his half crown from the table and put it in his pocket.
‘I hear you’re a loss yourself to the healing profession. It doesn’t surprise me.’
‘What do you mean?’ she asked, totally surprised by his remark.
‘The Matron of the Infirmary’s an old friend of mine. She was rather impressed by the way you coped with Thomas’s injury. She thinks he’s lucky to have survived.’
‘Thanks goodness he did. He saved me last night. I was wild with worry.’
‘’Tis a weakness of women, I fear. Yet it usually comes from love, so I tend to forgive it. Even when it causes me a mite of trouble,’ he added with a dry smile.
He opened the door and the bitter cold air touched her face.
‘You did right to call me, but you’ve no cause for worry today,’ he said, reassuringly. ‘You must think ahead, however. The spinning rooms can cost a man dear.’
John’s recovery was much as Dr Lindsay had expected. At Rose’s insistence, he took a week at home, despite the fact that he felt perfectly well after three or four days.
She found it strange to have him all to herself in the morning hours. Once he was on his feet again, he wouldn’t sit idle, but helped with her work and fetched water from the well. After a day or two, the weather changed again. Suddenly, it was warm enough to sit on the wall of the back garden where he’d set a broad plank in cement to make a seat for them beyond the shadow of the house.
Sitting there one afternoon, she decided the time had come to share what she’d been thinking about, ever since he’d come home and collapsed on her.
‘Ye’ve it all worked out in yer head, haven’t you?’ he said, looking at her in amazement, when she’d finished.
‘Yes,’ she agreed, laughing. ‘I have to admit it. I’ve been thinking about it ever since Sam’s visit. I even made some calculations a month or so ago. But it was the day you slept the clock round it really came to me. I know you were glad to get the job, John, and I know we can be careful, like Doctor Lindsay advised us, but I don’t want you going on at the mill, year after year. I think we’ll have to find some other way of earning our living that’s better for you, and better for all of us.’
They sat in the sun, the insects now busy with the flowers that had bloomed in the sudden warmth.
‘So when would you see us goin’?’
‘It’ll take a year at least to save up enough for the fares, more if we have a bad winter like the one before last,’ she said easily. ‘And maybe five to six months for rail fares and something to keep us going while you see what’s best for you.’
‘An’ woud ye think the childer could face it?’
‘They’re growing up fast, John. Even Sarah is no baby. I’m sure they’d be sad to leave wee friends and the place they know. But then, so will we. It can’t ever be an easy decision, but I think we should consider it as a real possibility.’
‘Rose dear, there’s no considerin’ to be done. You’ve always shown me the way when I couldn’t see any way meself, like when we were put out at Annacramp. Tell me what ye want an’ I’ll do what I can to help.’
‘What I most want, John, is for you to stay well,’ she said, touching his cheek. ‘You gave me an awful fright.’
‘Sure I think I frightened m’self, Rose. I’ve niver been as sick as that in me life. When Thomas lifted me up off the floor, I couldn’t have got up if ye’d paid me.’
‘Will we tell the children d’ye think?’ John asked tentatively.
‘No, love,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘We’ll not tell anyone. We’ve a fair way to go. We don’t know what lies ahead of us that might hold us back. We’ll wait till we’re ready to buy the tickets.’
‘It’ll be a wee secret, Rose,’ he said grinning. ‘Sure we’ve not had many of those, have we?’ he laughed. ‘An’ then again, sure if it didn’t come off, we’d be none the worse, for nobody knowed in the first place.’