Harry Magowan smiled as Sarah paid him for last week’s shopping and thanked him again for the way he had resolved her problems. He brought her shopping bags round from behind the counter where he’d kept them while she went to the bank. Now, he walked to the door with her, handed them back and smiled even more broadly as he said he’d look forward to seeing her next week.
As she stepped out into English Street, the pavements now more crowded, Sarah felt tiredness suddenly overtake her, the prospect of the long walk home somewhat intimidating. But she was so grateful for all that had happened in the last busy hour that she set out briskly.
Harry’s sister-in-law, Ethel Magowan, a square, robust woman with iron-grey hair and small round spectacles, had been every bit as good as Harry had suggested. She’d taken Sarah into the manager’s office, he having conveniently gone out for lunch, and sat her down at his desk. There, Ethel glanced at the death certificate Harry had provided, and produced a form for the redemption of the burial fund. While Sarah filled it in, the older woman concentrated fiercely as she calculated the exact figure for the matured policy. It was the largest sum of money Sarah had ever seen and only a pound less than her own calculation. Ethel Magowan then proceed to open a new account in Sarah’s own name. Then, and only then, did she manage a small smile as she reassured Sarah that ‘our manager would always be ready to assist her with help or advice’.
Now, with a larger than usual amount of money in her purse, most of which would go into the brown handbag for unexpected bills of which there might be more, she thought longingly of sitting down, but she couldn’t face the noise and bustle of any of the places where she might have ordered a pot of tea or a bite to eat. She gathered herself once again, stepped out briskly, then, as she was about to walk past the Guardian office further along English Street, she remembered the newspaper.
For once the place was empty but for a young assistant she had never met before. Suddenly, grateful there would be no need to mention John, she simply gave her name and collected two newspapers: one from last week and today’s edition which still smelt of printers’ ink.
Sliding them down behind the tea and sugar at the back of one of her shopping bags, she was suddenly taken by the thought that John would never read to her again. He would never comment on the doings of the gentry: their marriages, their coach passages through Armagh on the way to their country estates, the honours bestowed upon them on their visits to London. Nor would he read out the deaths recorded, the fires in the mills, the weekly admissions to the workhouse, or the comments on the state of the weather and the likely effect upon crops.
She handed over pennies from the small change Mrs Magowan had thoughtfully suggested when she’d counted out the notes of her withdrawal. She decided she would cancel the papers. But not today. That job would have to wait. Today, she just had to get away, to pick up her bags and head for home before she was ambushed again by her tears.
To her surprise there was hardly a vehicle to be seen on the Loughgall Road. Once she passed the blocked-off entrance where the gates of the new railway station would stand, she saw nothing moving except children and dogs.
One or two women standing at the doors of the small stone terrace of Gillis Row nodded to her, as they rested from their morning’s work and held their faces up to the sunlight, but beyond the noise and clatter of Drumcairn Mill and the entrance to the Richardson’s house at Drumsollen, where two men were erecting new gates, all was quiet, sunlit and empty.
She sat down to rest once or twice where the hedge bank was a convenient height, but once sitting down she found herself restless, a deep sense of being alone invading her. How different from bowling along in the trap, John pleased to have an outing and her company and to be away from the forge for a while. It always seemed that even Daisy was in good spirits and was herself happy to be on the road with him.
She got to her feet quickly. No, that was not the way. She’d had so much kindness and support from Harry and his sister-in-law: Harry open and approachable, his sister-in-law apparently tight-lipped and severe, but in the event just as committed to helping her. Give thanks in all things, look forward not back.
She smiled, then had to wipe away tears again, as her grandmother’s words came into her mind. She got to her feet, picked up her bags and set off again, reminding herself that Riley’s Rocks was not far away. John reckoned that was the midpoint of their journey. He always insisted that Daisy knew that too, for she always speeded up at that point on the way home, knowing there would be food and some small treat when she got back, before she was unharnessed and then turned out into her own field.
The sun was now high in a clear blue sky, Sarah felt hot and sticky, and longed for the cool of the house, the fire kept in but smoored down by Sam or Ben so that she could boil up the kettle as soon as she arrived back. She thought longingly of a large mug of tea. Not the day for the best china, nor even the large, everyday delph cups and saucers, only the half pint mugs John had once bought in the market in Armagh would serve her need.
It was as she turned off the Loughgall Road into the Ballybrannon Road that she heard a vehicle come up behind her and then stop a little way ahead.
‘Can I give ye a lift, missus? Are ye goin’ far?’
‘Thank you, that would be very kind. I’m going to Drumilly Hill, to the forge,’ she replied, raising her voice.
A short ginger-haired man jumped down from the cart and with a word to the horse walked back to meet her.
‘Ach dear,’ he said. ‘Wou’d ye be Mrs Hamilton, Mrs John Hamilton?’ he said slowly, his voice so soft and the look on his face so plain she knew what was coming next.
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak as he held out his hand and grasped hers firmly.
‘Mrs Hamilton, ye don’t know me, but Sam Keenan is a very old friend o’ mine an’ I was heart-sorry to hear about yer good man,’ he said, reaching out for her bags. ‘I’m Paddy McCann and many’s a time yer John helped m’ brother an’ me out over at the Cart Manufactory when we’d rims to fit. He and Sam wou’d come over of an evenin’ and giv’ us a han’ if it was a difficult job, aye or sometimes even when we jus’ had more work than we cou’d cope with,’ he added, as he lifted her shopping carefully into the high-sided cart. He shook his head sadly and went on, ‘Yer John was a great han’ with metal. I’m a good carpenter, but that wasen much help when it came to fittin’ rims,’ he added laughing shortly. He paused. ‘Now give me yer han’ an’ I’ll help ye up the wheel. It’s far higher than yer trap wou’d be and no step fer ye, but he’s a good, steady horse and won’t move on ye.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, catching up her skirt and gripping the side of the cart with her other hand as she climbed steadily up the wheel. She settled herself on the bag of straw with which he’d padded the driving seat. ‘I have to admit I’m very tired,’ she confessed, knowing she’d have to make an effort to smile and say a few words to put him at ease. But before she’d given it any thought at all, he shook the reins and the horse responded promptly.
He turned to face her, and looked at her in amazement. ‘Did ye walk the whole way as well?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I did,’ she said, nodding. ‘I was half expecting to get a lift when I got to the main road, but it all seems to be very quiet on a Monday. I think more people must go in on the market days, or Saturday, like ourselves, but I had things to see to …’
She broke off suddenly as she recognised the small stone bridge where Daisy had taken fright. He glanced at her quickly and pressed his lips together, his face screwed up in distress when he remembered what Sam Keenan had told him.
‘Ach dear, ye’ll think of him ivery time you pass that wee stone wall, but sure he was one good man. He’ll be in a better place right enough, but it’s you hasta go on by yerself. I heer ye want to keep the forge goin’. That’s why I was comin’ over t’see you forby gettin’ this fellow a set of new shoes,’ he said vigorously, as they left the bridge behind them. ‘That trap of yours was a lovely thing, even I says it as shu’den’, seein’ I made the most of it, but sure it’s not a bit of use t’ you the way it is. I’ll give ye a very fair price to make it like new. Then ye can keep it, or sell it, but it’ll not break yer heart again ivery time ye see it like ye will wi’ that bit of stone wall.’
Sarah could hardly believe how quickly they arrived home; Paddy’s horse, several hands higher than Daisy and of a stronger build made light work of the hill. As they passed Mary-Anne’s house, Sarah was aware of the ring of hammer on anvil – the first time in days. She knew it was Sam. It was nearly always Sam when she and John came back from Armagh together.
Then, when they heard Daisy’s step on the cobbles, Scottie would run out to take the reins while John helped Sarah down. Ben would follow more slowly to carry the shopping bags into the house and take to its place anything John might have collected for the forge.
Now, on this sunlit Monday, no one appeared till the clatter of Paddy’s horse on the cobbles brought Scottie to the door of the forge to look out and see who it might be. Usually, if it was a customer known to them, he could tell from the sound of the hooves, but this strong black horse he could not recall.
‘It’s missus,’ he called over his shoulder, moments before Paddy drew up by the front door. The hammering stopped instantly and Sam and Ben came out to meet them. Scottie grabbed her bags and ran off into the house while Ben took the reins and stood awkwardly by the horse’s head watching Sarah as Sam and Paddy helped her down.
Tea, Sarah said to herself, as Paddy and Sam greeted each other, the old friends that they were. That was what she most wanted, but now it would have to be tea and a piece of cake. Paddy was not only a customer, albeit one she didn’t know, but he was also a visitor, come on an errand of kindness. If there was one thing Sarah had observed in her two years at the forge it was that a welcome was always given, gentry or neighbour, even if it was only a glass of spring water offered when it was warm and the road was dusty. ‘Sure it’s only like a smile,’ John had always said, ‘isn’t there always a way of showing a bit of kindness?’
Her heart sank as she thought of the effort of making Paddy welcome, but she need not have been anxious. As she came into the kitchen, having issued an invitation to all of them, she saw a woman straighten up from putting the kettle on its hook over a blazing fire. Mary-Anne turned the moment she heard her step, came and put her arms around her without a word.
Sarah let Mary-Anne hold her, but it was all she could do not to burst into tears like an overtired child. Another step in the short corridor leading from the front door to the kitchen told her she mustn’t relax. But it was only Scottie, in whose eyes she could do no wrong.
‘Can I come too?’ he asked tentatively.
‘Of course you can,’ she said, watching the anxious look disappear. ‘You’ve been busy too, I’m sure, and you must meet Paddy McCann. Would you go an’ tell Sam to give us a few minutes till the kettle boils? We’ll need the big teapot today.’
Mary-Anne had brought milk as she always did on a Monday, and had already found cake in the tin.
‘Sarah, I cou’d find no tea or sugar. Why did ye not send down to me? I cou’d have give ye some to keep you goin’. I knew when Scottie came down lookin’ for buttermilk this morning ye must have run out. Did ye get a cup o’tea at all today?’ she asked sharply. ‘Scottie said ye’d left them champ to reheat for their dinner and I was jus’ wonderin’ what ye might have had left fer yerself.’
Mary-Anne was anxious to know why Sarah had been so long in town, fearing there’d been some difficulty, but she insisted that Sarah sit by the fire and rest herself while she cleared the table and carried away the stacked up dishes. Only when she’d made sure Sarah had planned a proper bite to eat to make up for the dinner she hadn’t had, did she ask if she could come up and see her in the morning and hear her news then.
Sarah was grateful for her thoughtfulness and said she was always welcome but made her promise not to come up till it suited her. After she left, Sarah sat unmoving as the fire burnt low again. She felt so tired she wondered if she could manage one more word to anyone. She knew perfectly well that when Paddy’s horse was shod he’d want a word about the trap. It was too far from the busy manufactory on the road between Grange Church and Cabragh for him to just call back another time.
The beam of light falling on the well-swept floor from the south-facing window had changed its angle. Sarah opened her eyes and looked at the patch of sunlight which had moved across the room and now lit up the space in front of the dresser. She could not quite believe it: she had fallen asleep in her chair in broad daylight. It was one thing John dozing off after a long, hard day while she was still preparing their supper, but she’d never fallen asleep before during the day.
She stared at the tiny dust motes which rose and fell spinning and catching the light, moving in the slight draught from the open doors. The front door always stood open, except in the worst of weather, and the kitchen door was always propped open through the long working hours of the day, as she was in and out with buckets of water, or collecting potatoes from the store, or turf for the fire.
Sometimes she needed the cool draught to help dry the floor when she had scrubbed it, or to disperse the smoke when the wind was blustery and blew down the chimney. Looking around her, it seemed as if she had always lived here, tending her own house, making a place of comfort for the husband who worked so hard to make a good living and to support both them and the family they hoped to have.
It occurred to her that she could celebrate what she’d had or bemoan what she had lost. She smiled to herself. Whatever doubts she might have about some of the strictures and regulations of the Quakers, and the nature of the queries they put to themselves so regularly, she was sure her grandmother’s vision of what their lives should be would never leave her. Her grandmother would have loved John too, loved his honesty and his kindness. He was someone who could be trusted implicitly.
‘Ach, ye’ve had a bit of a rest. I diden knock in case ye were asleep an’ then I’d a come back anither time.’
‘Well you nearly caught me, Paddy,’ she said smiling easily. ‘I thought I’d never fall asleep in a chair, but I did.’
‘Aye, an’ why not? Ye’ve hard enough to work an’ ye’ve a lot on yer mind. I wrote you a price in case ye’d gone to lie down,’ he added, producing a page torn from the jotter they kept in the forge for totting up bills and making lists of things that needed replacing.
‘That is a very fair price, Paddy,’ she said, glancing down at it as he handed it to her. ‘Are you sure it’s enough?’ she went on quickly, thinking of the bills from the forge for labour or machinery that needed repairing. ‘I don’t know anything much about carpentry, but I know the trap is in a very bad way. Would you even be able to take it back with you?’
‘Aye, if you say the word. Sam’s made a rig that will hold it together if we take it slow, and Ben and Scottie say they’ll walk alongside to take the pressure off on the bad bits o’ road. I think we can manage. D’ye think yer Daisy wou’d be up to it?’
‘Don’t ask me, Paddy,’ she said, laughing. ‘Ask Scottie. He’s got the measure of Daisy.’
‘Aye,’ he said, his face crinkling into a grin. ‘Some people has gifts they may niver even find out about, but he was lucky. He came to a forge an’ him no size at all t’be a smith, but yer good man saw somethin’ in him an’ took him on. That was his gift; he cou’d see the good in people, like m’frien’, Sam Keenan, an’ him a Catholic he diden even know. I’d say ye have the same gift as yer John had. Ye’ll always know who ye can trust. Ye’ll only need to take one luk at them.’