After a wild and blustery March, with Martha’s violent outbursts as turbulent as the gale force winds and her comments as sharp as the continuing frosts, April brought no change in her bitter mood. In complete contrast, a sudden settling of the weather blessed them with blue skies and sunshine and the first real warmth of the year.
The coming of spring had always been marked for Rosie, not by the budding of trees, nor even the visible growth of new grass, but by the flowering of a particular patch of lesser celandine on the steep bank of the lane exactly opposite the drive leading up to Lizzie’s house.
‘Hallo,’ she said out loud to herself, smiling broadly. ‘Good to see you again.’
She stopped to stare into the hundreds of small bright faces which had not been there even the previous day when she’d walked past on her Thursday visit to Miss Wilson.
As she stood looking down, the sun warm on her shoulders, the ecstatic song of small birds all around her, she wondered what else the sun might have coaxed into leaf or flower. Glancing across the lane, she caught her breath in pure delight. A south-facing branch of Mackay’s ancient magnolia was outlined against the pure blue of the sky, its exotic pink and white buds unfolding almost as she watched.
‘I shall have to take one of you home with me,’ she announced in the deserted lane, as she collected her thoughts, for once almost reluctant to move on, to pass beneath it and make her way up the drive and round to the back kitchen where Lizzie would be waiting for her.
Lizzie and her mother were there together, wiping the day’s eggs, a large bowl on the table between them. ‘Hallo, Rosie, any news?’
To her surprise, it was Mrs Mackay who addressed her.
Standing in a patch of sunshine that fell through the kitchen window and lit up the table where they worked, she was smiling broadly. Grey and drawn even on one of her infrequent ‘good days’, her face now looked quite different, softer and with a hint of colour. What really surprised Rosie were her eyes. She’d never before noticed that they were so vivid a green.
She shook her head.
‘Maybe, Rosie, these American relations will turn out to be sooo rich they won’t be interested in a wee place in Ireland,’ she went on.
‘Well, that would be one solution.’
The suggestion had been put with such lightheartedness, Mrs Mackay’s way of referring to ‘a wee place in Ireland’ had so distinct an ironic edge to it, that she could not help but laugh.
‘Now away on the pair of you and enjoy your walk,’ she said briskly, beaming at them both. ‘Sure it’s beautiful out. I’ll finish the eggs, Lizzie. And then I’m going to sit in the garden and do nothing,’ she announced with a wink and a vigorous nod of her head.
‘Lizzie, what’s happened to your ma? I can’t believe it,’ Rosie demanded, the moment they were out of earshot.
‘You’ll not believe me if I tell you,’ said Lizzie, staring at her wide-eyed.
‘Of course, I’ll believe you.’
Lizzie viewed this comment with scepticism, but nevertheless she pressed her lips together, stared up at the sky and launched forth.
‘She has this friend she used to go to school with that comes and visits her. She’s quite nice really, but a bit religious, always quoting the Bible and saying she’ll pray for me,’ Lizzie began, shrugging her shoulders impatiently. ‘Anyway, this friend had this idea about Ma going to some kind of a healer over Loughgall way. Ma wasn’t keen. She’s been to so many doctors and specialists she says they only make her worse, because she gets depressed, as well as feeling awful when they’ve finished with her. Anyway, a couple of weeks ago, she must have given in to Faith, or Mercy, I can never remember which, an’ gone to see yer man. She never told me, but I noticed she was gettin’ up more and eatin’ better. An’ Da and I couldn’t believe it when she started to laugh and pull our legs again. Do you remember, she always used to laugh an’ pull our legs when we were at Richhill School?’
Rosie nodded and waited for her to go on.
‘This man, it seems, waved his hands around a bit over her, told her something she wasn’t to repeat to anyone and gave her a list of things she’s not to eat. Eggs and milk and butter, I think it was. And she’s near back to normal. But it might wear off, Rosie,’ Lizzie ended, suddenly bursting into tears.
‘Oh there, love, don’t cry. Don’t cry. It’s wonderful news.’
She put her arms round her and found them a place to sit on a grassy bank nearby.
‘Do you not think it will?’ Lizzie sniffed. ‘Sure, we’re always hearin’ about miracles from these Tent Missions, but sure they never last.’
‘But this wasn’t a Tent Mission, Lizzie. This was different,’ she said firmly. ‘There was something about your mother today that isn’t going to go away. I don’t understand it any more than you, but I think she’s back to stay. And I’m so happy for you,’ she added, hugging her again, her own eyes filling with tears.
Rosie thought of Richard P. as she stroked Lizzie’s hair and heard the sniffs grow less frequent. In these last months, she had to admit to herself it wasn’t just things with a medical connection that made her think of him. She’d come to accept how much she wished she could talk to him the way they’d talked in the kitchen or the garden at Rathdrum during that long, long week of her grandfather’s dying.
Often enough, she’d asked herself how such a sad time could have brought her such moments of happiness, gaiety even. When she thought of Richard himself, of the hours she’d spent with Aunt Sarah and with Helen she wished so much she could see them all again.
Even Frances Harrington and Hugh Sinton, her cousins, very mature young men now down from university, she’d been able to be easy with, though at first she’d not been sure what to make of their formal manners and their English accents. Once she’d got over the unfamiliarity, she’d discovered just how friendly and approachable they both were. She’d only to say there was a job needing an extra pair of hands, or a trip into Banbridge to be made, and they were there, ready and willing to do whatever she asked.
Lizzie had wiped her eyes and was now looking much more like herself.
‘I’ve got some news for you, Rosie.’
Although Lizzie was smiling now, a wave of anxiety swept over her. News, these days, always seemed to make life yet more difficult.
‘Hugh and I are going to get married.’
‘What!’
Rosie was completely taken aback. Apart from the fact that Lizzie was a month younger than she was and wouldn’t be seventeen until August, she’d made no secret of the fact that Hugh had been trying to get a better job and had been completely unsuccessful. She couldn’t possibly think they might live on the pittance he earned from doing odd jobs and running messages for Mr Lamb of Fruitfield.
‘Ach, keep yer hair on Rosie, I don’t mean now this minit,’ Lizzie replied sharply. ‘It’ll be a year or two yet, but we’ve made up our minds. We’re engaged. But it’s a secret, except for you.’
‘Oh Lizzie, that’s lovely. I’m so pleased for you both and I’m very honoured. I won’t tell a soul. I promise.’
‘We’ve worked out a plan. Do you want to hear?’
‘Of course I do.’
‘Well, it does depend on Ma staying the way she is. I couldn’t leave her if she was poorly, but if she stays well, I’m goin’ to Belfast to do a course in typing and bookkeeping. Hugh’s never going to get anywhere where he is, but if I had the money to start a shop or a wee business, he’d be fine. He’s grand talkin’ to people an’ helpin’ them, so long as I was there to keep an eye on him and do the paperwork.’
Rosie nodded and listened. There was no doubt Lizzie had got the measure of her Hugh. She was quite unperturbed by the fact that his only apparent capacity was a very appealing good-naturedness. Apart from that, she knew that he’d always be willing to try and he would listen to her and do what she asked.
‘But where would you get the money to start a shop, Lizzie? Would your father be able to help you?’
‘He might, but I’d rather get started first, so he sees what a good job we can make of it. I’ve had a bit of a surprise,’ she went on, her face lighting up, her tears totally forgotten. ‘We worked out what we were going to do an’ it was all fine, but for the money. Guess what?’ she demanded. ‘Ma had this letter from Toronto,’ she went on without waiting for a reply. ‘I’ve a godmother I’ve never met. She was Ma’s bridesmaid and she went to Canada. She’s just died an’ left me a hundred pounds. We only heard yesterday.’
‘Oh Lizzie, that’s just great,’ Rosie said, clutching her hand. ‘What did Hugh say when you told him?’
‘He said, would you believe it, that whatever we did we’d always be all right. That we’d never want for money.’
She raised her eyes heavenwards and shook her dark curls.
‘If I didn’t love him, I’d think he wasn’t quite right in the head.’
‘But you do love him. I think loving someone makes everything different.’
‘How d’you mean?’
Rosie frowned and pressed her lips together.
‘I know Hugh’s right, but I can’t explain why. Not properly. I think it has something to do with having someone to help, having a friend, a partner, someone who’ll tell you things you don’t know for yourself and listening when you do the same for them …’
She stopped in mid-sentence, a familiar voice saying to her, ‘Two heads are better than one, Rosie.’
It was her grandfather’s voice and the phrase was one of his favourites. Whether it was a problem at the mills or difficulties with the people who worked the machines, he always assumed there was something he might not have thought of, something crucial that someone else would see immediately.
Time and time again, and especially when they were all together in Kerry, she’d heard him ask Granny what she thought. Yes, they sometimes disagreed, but they always talked things over and they always listened to each other. Yet she felt it was something more than talking and listening. It was what was between them. Maybe it was love itself. She really didn’t know, but it wouldn’t surprise her at all if Hugh and Lizzie ended up making a most successful team, just like Granny and Granda.
‘When had you thought of starting the course, Lizzie?’ she asked, aware she’d fallen silent. ‘Would you travel by train every day or go into digs and come home at the weekends?’
‘I’d go into digs. I’ve an auntie who takes people. Then, you see, I could do my studyin’ in the evenings and not have anythin’ to do but see Hugh when I came home at weekends.’
Rosie laughed. She never thought she’d see the day when Lizzie would make plans to study. But here she was setting aside four evenings a week and looking happy about it.
With so many new ideas to explore, they walked and talked all afternoon. When they parted finally on the lane beside the lesser celandines, Rosie was so full of thoughts of her own she forgot all about the spray of magnolia blossom she’d wanted to take home and paint.
Days passed and still there was no news from the solicitors. Martha came hurrying up the yard every time she saw the postman, or sat down and wrote to them herself every few days. On one occasion, she took the train to Portadown only to find the person she needed to speak to was out all day at the Petty Sessions in Armagh. She continued to bite everyone’s head off until the middle of April when at last the expected letter arrived.
The Loney relatives had been traced. Clearly they had not made a fortune in Pennsylvania, as Lizzie’s mother had hoped. They were delighted to have acquired a farm in Ireland and assumed it was worth a great deal of money, despite having been given a description of the house and the acreage of the land. They wanted it sold as quickly as possible.
As her mother stumped off to regale her neighbour with this latest piece of news, Rosie knew there was nothing she could do but accept there’d be another furious row the moment her father came home. At least the stew she’d just made for the evening meal could sit waiting on the back of the stove without spoiling until the worst was over.
‘An’ what are you goin’ to do about that, may I ask?’ Martha demanded, as she thrust the letter into his hand the moment he came through the door.
Before her father even had time to scan the contents she was at him.
‘Are we goin’ to be put out on the street before you lift a finger?’
He made no response, re-read the short letter a second time and placed it gently on the table.
‘What would you like me to do, Martha?’
‘Well, you could do somethin’ an’ not leave it all to me,’ she spat out, quite indifferent to the presence of Dolly and Jack who now disappeared as quickly as they could.
‘And what purpose have your letters served? Or your visit? There was nothing to be done till we had more information,’ he went on in the same even tone.
Rosie saw that he was very tired. He had a way of sitting in his chair and rubbing his forehead when the day had been heavier or more demanding than usual.
‘Ye can’t just let them sell this place over our heads.’
‘Have I proposed that they should?’
‘You’ve proposed nothin’,’ she came back at him, her voice heavy with sarcasm. ‘You’ve done nothin’. You’ve just sat there and let me worry about what’s to happen to us all.’
‘Well, if that is what you think, Martha, then you’ll be pleased at the news I have for you tonight,’ he began, speaking even more slowly. ‘I’ll not be here to annoy you for the next couple of months. We’ve got the contract for the transverse engine job and I’ve accepted the charge of getting it to the mill. I’ll be home for a few hours from time to time and possibly an occasional Sunday, but meantime you can send me the solicitor’s letters with Bobby or Rosie. Now there is something that might be done, I shall give them my full attention.’
Not waiting for a reply, he stood up stiffly and made his way out of the house and across to the barn.
Undeterred, her mother’s voice continued to hurl abuse after him, her parting shots quite predictable and equally unreasonable.
Rosie watched him go. Hungry and tired after a day’s work this was what he had to come home to. Night after night, she greeted him with hostile silence or an ill-tempered nag. The thought of what he’d suffered through all the years she’d been old enough to observe and understand came near to overwhelming her. At that moment, all she could think off was escaping herself to some safe place where her mother’s anger could not reach her, but she knew she had nowhere to go.
Suddenly she remembered what Auntie Sarah had said as they drove back from Rathdrum after Granda’s funeral. That her father had put up with things she herself would never have tolerated for five minutes. That he waited and waited, but in the end he acted.
She remembered how he’d spoken to her mother after her own ‘accident’. What he’d said she could not even imagine, but he had succeeded in altering her behaviour out of all recognition. In this latest crisis, she had to hope he would find as successful an answer.
Moving out of the corner by the dresser, where she’d been filling a jug with spring water for the supper table when her father arrived, she crossed to the stove, took a warm plate from the oven, served a generous portion of stew, covered it with another plate and carried it carefully over to the barn.
Her mother called after her, but she pretended she hadn’t heard.
‘Here you are, Da,’ she said, taking a knife and fork out of her apron pocket. ‘Don’t let it spoil your appetite.’
He managed a smile as she took the top plate away and the smell of well-cooked food rose into the air. He made no reply but began to eat slowly as if he had barely the energy to lift the fork to his mouth.
Rosie sat down in the old armchair and waited. If she didn’t go back to the house, her mother might well hand out generous second helpings to Dolly and Jack and leave no more than the scrapings of the pot for Emily and Charlie when they arrived home. It was a risk she would have to take.
Neither her father nor herself had ever had a problem sitting silently together in the barn, for they had never felt any need to talk for the sake of talking. If they did have to leave the farm, it would be the barn she’d miss far more than the house. Here in his workshop surrounded by the strange smells of oil and lubricant, acetylene and petrol, she felt at ease in a way she never felt in the house, even when her mother was out in the byre or in the fields and she had the place to herself.
‘That was very nice, dear,’ he said, clearing his plate. ‘You’re a real good cook. I’ll have to cook my own dinner for a while now, or let one of the boys do it. I’m not sure which of us would be the worst at it,’ he added with a little laugh.
‘How long, Da?’
‘Two months, maybe three. Depends on the weather.’
‘To Milford?’
He smiled his slow smile and there was a hint of laughter about his eyes.
‘Sure I know you could do it in an hour on a bicycle,’ he declared, leaning back against the workbench behind him. ‘The load is half the size of this barn. If we do half a mile in a day, it’ll be good goin’. An’ we may have to move at night. Forby, there’s a couple of bridges on the way, we may have to bypass or rebuild. There’ll be a road engineer to advise us and the police are involved as well. There’ll be a few headaches, I’m tellin’ you.’
‘Won’t you be able to leave it at night, or on Sundays? I can’t see anyone pinching it, can you?’
‘No, there’s no fear of that,’ he agreed. ‘But there’ll be two, maybe three, road engines and all their gear. There’s plenty of worthwhile stuff to tempt thieves. Besides that we’ll have to show lights at all times. There’s a caravan where we’ll cook and sleep. Two on every night and I’m responsible for the whole show.’
‘When do you start?’
‘Monday.’
‘So soon?’
‘Ach it should have been last autumn, but there was a delay at the foundry. Then the weather was bad. Now they’ve finished arguin’, it’s urgent. The mills are not in a good way since the war. If they don’t keep up to date they’ll lose what orders there are. It’s hard times for everybody, Rosie, and you and Bobby have your share to put up with,’ he added with a sigh.
He stood up, opened a drawer in the workbench, poked around among packets of differently sized nails and produced two battered envelopes.
‘When Joe died, I decided you and Bobby should have some payment for all the work you do, even if the sum is very small. But with this business over the farm, I felt it wise not to mention it,’ he explained, handing her an envelope. ‘Now that I won’t be here very often for some months, I’m givin’ you your half year’s pay now. It’ll mean you can go and visit your granny whenever you want. Or maybe there’s somethin’ you’re savin’ up for, like Emily,’ he continued, a flicker of anxiety passing over his face. ‘I’ll see Bobby before I go.’
Rosie put the envelope in her apron pocket, kissed his cheek and picked up his empty plate.
‘I’ll borrow a bicycle and come and see you. You won’t be far away for quite a while, will you? And I can bring you something to heat up in your caravan.’
‘Can ye ride mine?’
‘Yes, of course, but won’t you need it?’
He laughed silently, his face breaking into the broad grin which so delighted her.
‘I won’t be goin’ anywhere on a bicycle after Monday mornin’ goin to work. I’ll ask the boss to drop it back when he’s passin’ and you an’ Bobby can use it. Don’t let Jack out on it,’ he warned. ‘It’s too big for him.’
He turned away, glanced over his workbench to see which of the urgent jobs sitting there he might finish before he went, then turned back towards her.
‘I doubt if I’ll even get away for a few hours to go and see your Granny,’ he said sadly. ‘I’ll drop her a line. But it would do her more good to see you. Will you go as often as you can? Don’t let your ma stand in your way. The family’ll not starve for a weekend.’
She assured him she would and gathered herself for whatever she’d find when she went back over to the house.
Rosie couldn’t quite believe it when she opened the envelope and took out a carefully folded five-pound note. Unlike the envelope which was grubby and covered with oily fingerprints, the large parchment note with its silver stripe and beautiful flowing script was perfectly clean. Only rarely had she seen a five-pound note before and she’d certainly never possessed one.
She thought of Bridget O’Shea when she’d come to say goodbye the night before they’d left the hotel in Waterville. She’d told her that her granda had been very good to her. Paper money, she’d said. If there were a few more like him she’d soon have her ticket and her travel money saved.
As she refolded the large note and put it back in the envelope Rosie’s first thought was that she could now pay her debts. She’d come home from Kerry with the money her grandparents had given her for her holiday, money she’d never been able to spend because every time she went to buy something, her grandfather had bought it for her. But that money was long gone. Stamps and watercolour paper had used it up by Christmas. A few sixpences from her mother when she’d been in a good mood after Uncle Joe died had bought some new tubes of paint, but since then it was Emily who’d paid for her stamps and her drawing paper.
‘Well, I’ve some good news for you, Emily,’ she announced, as they walked up the lane together on Saturday afternoon to do the weekly shop.
‘That would make a nice change,’ Emily replied sharply.
Rosie looked at her, surprised by the tone. One of Emily’s gifts was the ability not to let their mother upset her. She could sit in the kitchen looking at the newspaper and appear not to notice what was going on around her, whoever might be getting the sharp edge of their mother’s tongue. It was seldom Emily herself, for she had a knack of not hearing what was said, or looking completely baffled at hostile comments should they come her way.
‘Oh Emily, what’s wrong? Have you had some bad news I don’t know about?’
‘Ach no, it’s just the usual. I wish Sammy got home oftener. An’ now Da’s goin’ away …’
Her voice trailed away and Rosie recognised the familiar weakness. Emily could seldom tell you right out what was upsetting her, but it did sound as if she was feeling the sort of loneliness that’s not just an absence of people you love, but a more personal kind of desolation. By the look on her face, Rosie judged there was little she could say to comfort her.
‘Emily, I have a problem,’ she began quietly. ‘I need change of five pounds.’
‘Ye don’t!’
‘I do.’
The effect was immediate and encouraging. Emily wanted to know every minute detail of this extraordinary occurrence and by the time they’d reached the top of the lane, her low spirits had completely disappeared.
‘But how do I get change, Emily?’ she persisted. ‘I can’t take my five-pound note to Uncle Henry’s or he’ll tell all of Richhill. And if I can’t get change, I can’t pay you the ten shillings I owe you.’
‘You don’t owe me anything,’ Emily retorted. ‘Look at all the nice dinners you cook for me, forby washin’ my knickers and smoothin’ my clean blouse every week.’
‘Oh yes, I do,’ Rosie came back at her. ‘Da’s just paid me for all I do in the house. So that’s not fair. I owe you at least ten shillings.’
‘No, you don’t. I only lent you nine and sixpence.’
Rosie laughed and shook her head.
‘Well, you’re the one that can do sums, I won’t argue. But I can’t pay you till I get change of this note.’
‘That’s easy. I have four pounds ten and sixpence put away at home. If you really want to pay me, then I’ll have the five pounds for my ticket.’
Rosie stopped dead and looked at her.
‘And what about the fifty dollars you have to have before you go?’
‘I saved that first. It’s in the Post Office.’
‘So you could go anytime now?’
Emily nodded and said nothing, but the look on her face told Rosie all she needed. She was longing to escape. Now she had the money she could go. Only a weeks’ notice was required by Fruitfield. From the beginning of May there would be dozens of advertisements in the newspapers. With the ice melting in the St Lawrence, she’d have a choice of both Canadian and American destinations.
There was no doubt in Rosie’s mind. Emily would be gone before the apple blossom came and she would be left to face the future without her support and comfort.