Having just completed his last assignment for his editor, Thomas made his way home through the slums of New York. Women in doorways called out to him suggestively, some extremely young, made up to look older. Barefoot children chasing swine through the dung filled alleyways brought to mind his own daughter back in Ireland. Thomas missed her sorely and tried to remember the feel of her soft arms against his neck, her hands clasped tightly under his chin as he gave her piggy-backs around his mother’s garden.
Lily was folding clothes and stacking them in a neat pile when he arrived at their tiny bedsit.
“I was paid well for that last assignment, so we can rest easy while we are in Ireland,” said Thomas.
“I was under the impression you had to work while we were there. Does that mean we can spend more time together?” Lily kissed an unshaved cheek, “I hope you’re going to get rid of those bristles before we leave. I want a respectable looking man on my arm when I board the ship, even if we must travel steerage.”
Thomas swept Lily into his arms and scrubbed her neck with his chin. As she pushed him away they both tripped and landed on the bed, on top of the pile of neatly folded clothes.
“Sorry, my love, but we don’t have time for any canoodling,” said Lily. “Help me up before I succumb to your charms.”
While Lily refolded the clothes, Thomas explained for the tenth time how important it was that his family think they had married in a church. A civil ceremony was not something his parents would be happy to hear about.
“So who was it married us?”
“Father McEvoy,” replied Lily, holding up a pair of white gloves.
“And what church and parish was it?”
“Saint Raymond’s of Castle Hill,” she sighed.
Lily gave Thomas a sly grin, “And we spent three days and nights in bed in a fancy hotel with our food left on trays outside the door of our room.”
“That’s the only part of our story that’s true, but you can’t mention it, especially not to Ma. I’d never be able to face her again.”
“For a journalist, you are certainly very prudish, Thomas. This is the nineteenth century, after all. Most adults are well aware of what goes on between newly-weds.”
“Not in Ireland. Or if they are, nobody talks about it, at least not the way you do. That would be considered men’s talk,” Thomas thought for a moment. “Except for my aunt Maggie. You’ll get along just fine with her.”
“So you are always telling me. I cannot wait to meet this woman that I remind you so much of. There, all packed. I think I did very well, forcing so much into such a small trunk, even if I do say so myself.”
******
Noticing the strain between her two eldest girls, Mary tried to ease the tension by reminding them of the anticipated arrival of their brother and his new wife. It seemed to work and Mary-Anne remarked on the fact that they would be staying in the hotel where she worked.
“It will seem strange not having Thomas here with us, but then I suppose his wife would like to have a little privacy, her being a city person and all,” said Mary.
“We offered them a place to stay too, Ma, but Thomas said they would prefer not to be a burden on anyone,” Catherine added.
“If he was travelling alone he would not think twice about burdening us with his presence. I hope his new wife is truly as pleasant as he describes in his letters,” said Mary-Anne. “I would hate to think of our dear Thomas being married to a snob.”
Mary and Catherine exchanged discreet smiles, for everyone knew that the young woman, who had recently become a companion to one of the hotel guests, was quite a snob herself.
“Now, Mary-Anne, don’t be judging the poor girl before you’ve even met her. She’s your sister-in-law, after all. We must give her a warm welcome and see to it that she is made to feel at home.”
“I’m not judging her, Ma, but I find it hard to understand why Thomas would prefer a hotel room to a bed in his parents’ home. It’s not like him at all, especially with him being one of them radicals or whatever it is he calls himself nowadays.”
“Hush your mouth, Mary-Anne. If you knew what it was like to be a newly-wed, you would understand why they need their privacy,” hissed Catherine.
Mary stood up and placed herself between the two sisters, blocking their view of each other. She had never before heard her eldest daughter speak with such venom in her voice.
“Well some of us have work to do. I had better start my bread-making before the morning is completely gone. Your father will be home for a bite to eat at midday. Is Patrick out for the day, Catherine? Must you be getting back to prepare a meal yourself?”
Her mother’s words brought Catherine to her senses and the anger she felt towards her sister left as quickly as it had flared up. Thankful that she had been given the perfect excuse to take her leave, she kissed her mother’s cheek.
“Oh my goodness Ma, I wasn’t aware of the time slipping by, I had best be getting back.”
Patrick had no intention of arriving home until later that evening, and Catherine was well aware of the fact. An uneasiness lay between them, and neither one was willing nor able to bridge the gap that had been slowly pushing them apart. None of this escaped Maggie’s notice but for once she was lost for any words that might help the young couple.
Later that day, walking back towards her home after a busy afternoon at the hotel, Maggie spied Patrick talking to Petey Halpin and suddenly developed a limp as she drew near them.
“Oh Patrick, son. What a sight for sore eyes you are – or sore legs, if I’m to be truthful.”
“Why are you limping, Maggie? Have you had a fall?” asked Patrick, taking hold of her arm.
“I’m getting old, that’s what ails me. Are ye finished your talking, by any chance? Only I could do with a good strong man like yourself to lean on, or I might still be trying to get home this time tomorrow.”
The men laughed and Petey bade them farewell as Maggie linked her arm through Patrick’s for the rest of the walk home.
“If I tell you a secret, you must promise not to breathe a whisper of it to anyone. Do I have your word on it, Patrick?”
“You can keep your old secrets to yourself, Maggie. I don’t need the burden of them, if you don’t mind.”
“Ah, Patrick. I’m fit to burst with this one. I have to tell someone or I might let it out to the others,” Maggie took a deep breath and didn’t wait for a response from her companion. “Thomas and his fine young wife are here already. I was talking to them at the hotel. So was Mary-Anne. They’re staying there, you know. Isn’t that grand all the same? And in one of the better rooms, at that, with a sea view.”
“So they arrived two days early? Or was that the way they planned it, to surprise the family?”
“It was indeed, Patrick. So our lips must be sealed, Mary-Anne’s too. She’s back at waiting tables now that Doctor Gilmore has arrived. He’ll be staying for a few days, so Mary-Anne will be home later this evening.”
Maggie had hoped the mention of Mary-Anne would lead her into a conversation about the trouble Patrick seemed to be having with his wife, but there was such an awkward silence, she was unable to speak of it.
It was Patrick that spoke instead. “There’s no need to fret, Maggie. I won’t let the cat out of the bag, it would spoil the surprise for Thomas. So you met his wife then?”
“I did indeed. Oh, Lily’s a grand girl, Patrick. And such a beauty. Why, our Thomas was as proud as a peacock when he introduced her to me.”
Maggie prattled on as they walked but Patrick took in little of what she said. His thoughts were on a meeting, soon to be held in Cootehill, and he had set his heart on going. He had even convinced a handful of men from one of the factories in Dundalk to attend. If Catherine found out about it there would be hell to pay. She had made him promise to stay away from such groups and organizations.
The goals of The International Working Men’s Association, more commonly known as the First International, were much the same as those espoused at that fateful meeting in Sheffield, when Patrick and his friends had been attacked by a gang sent to make trouble. In spite of him ending up with a knife in his side, put there by one of the assailants, the fight for the rights of the working man remained as close to Patrick’s heart as ever.
All the talk about Home Rule in Paddy Mac’s went over Patrick’s head. He wondered if any of those landless fishermen really believed they would one day have a say in how the country should be governed. Even with the secret ballot being introduced, not enough men in Ireland were eligible to vote anyway, so as to bring about any great change.
To make matters worse, there had been a steady increase in rents throughout the country, due to the meagre harvests because of continuous bad weather. Those who had lived through the Great Hunger feared a return of desperate years and when not discussing politics, the talk would often turn to the lack of work on land and at sea.