A Pocket Full of Shells (5 page)

CHAPTER 12

     Rose was sure that James would need to be hospitalized and said so to her husband on the journey home. Owen remained silent for a few minutes, then asked if they would take him in at the infirmary where she worked.

     “Doctor
Henshaw will know what’s best. I can’t say for sure, but if it’s typhus he might suggest the workhouse. They have a fever ward,” Rose was preparing him for the worst possible news.

     “The infirmary has a fever ward too, he can go there,” said Owen.

     Rose put a hand on his arm, explaining, “It’s full to the brim, love. The sick are lying on the floor as it is. I just want you to know what might be said.”

     “Nobody belonging to me is going to the workhouse. I will find a place to keep him until he’s recovered. I can take the time off work. We can manage,” Owen meant what he said and there would be no changing his mind.

James started to cough and tried to sit up.

     “You are not losing your wages on account of me, I’m feeling much better, in spite of the fact that you tried to drown me. I don’t recall much of what happened since Michael left me, but I distinctly remember being plunged into freezing cold water.”

Rose asked him how long he had been awake and James said he heard her mention typhus.

     “Do you think that’s what I have?”

     “Maybe, I don’t know for sure but that is why we dunked you and your clothes in the river, James,” his sister-in-law replied.

It wasn’t long before the horse turned into Chester Lane, stopping at the infirmary. They had reached their destination.

     Rose jumped down from the cart as it pulled up, and ran inside. Owen followed carrying his brother, who was beginning to burn up again, leaving Michael to look after the horse. Instructing them to follow him into an examination room, Doctor Henshaw took one look at the way James was breathing and said he didn’t think it was typhus. He checked for the tell-tale rash on his body and other symptoms that would suggest the dreaded disease, some called, the Irish Fever.

There was an epidemic of typhus in 1847 following the mass migration of starving, impoverished people from Ireland to England, America and Canada.

     After a thorough examination the doctor informed James that he was suffering from pneumonia. Owen smiled and slapped his brother on the back, which set off another fit of coughing.

     Rose gasped and said, “We put him in a stream and then lathered him with soap. I was afraid he would infect us. Did we make him worse?”

She knew how serious an illness pneumonia was. Doctor Henshaw put a hand on her shoulder.

     “Not at all, Rose. That’s what brought his temperature down, but he does need to keep warm.” 

He gave her instructions on how to care for James, most of which she already knew. 

     A lot of people had gathered in the street to await the return of the cart. Rose cautioned James to avoid coughing, so as not to alarm anyone. He closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep. A hush came over the crowd as James was carried by Owen into the house. Michael followed, embarrassed to be among so many strangers wearing only a blanket. Everyone moved away, fearing the worst at the sight of the unconscious young man. 

     “Is it the fever?” someone asked.

Rose told them that he had pneumonia, not the fever, and had been seen by a doctor.

     “He should be in the infirmary, it’s wrong of you to bring sickness into our street, Owen, even if it is your brother,” a woman shouted out.

     “How do we know what you say is the truth?” a voice at the back of the crowd piped up.

Rose turned to face her neighbours before entering the house. 

     “How many of you have been nursed through an illness by me?” she asked.

An uneasy silence hung in the air.

     “Did I ever turn anyone away from my door? There is no need to worry. If I am prepared to let James into my home with my children inside, then you should not be afraid to have him in the street. Nobody is asking you to pay him a visit. Now go back about your business and let us get on with ours.”

With that, Rose went inside and slammed the door shut with such force it made those who were standing nearby jump.

     James had been placed upstairs in the children’s bed. He was to have that room to himself for the next few weeks. Rose sat by the range and pulled her youngest son up onto her lap.

     “No need to be so glum, Jamie,” she said, “Your uncle James will be right as rain in no time.” 

Owen sat beside her, warming himself by the fire. 

     “It’s been a long time since I ran naked through a field, Rosie love. Not a very pleasant thing to do at this time of year. I might get sick myself, then you’ll have to nurse me, too.” 

He pulled her close, a strong arm circling her waist.

     “You’ve never been a day sick in your life, Owen McGrother,” Rose said, tickling the little boy on her knee. 

     “Your daddy is just looking to skive off work, isn’t he?”

As young Jamie squirmed and laughed, the memory of the twin daughters they lost to measles just a few years before came flooding back to Owen.

     “The doctor is right about the pneumonia, isn’t he? I meant what I said earlier about staying somewhere with James until he got better,” he said solemnly.

Rose took his big, calloused hand in hers. She traced every scar with her finger, reminding herself of how hard he worked at the forge to keep them warm and fed. Owen was the eldest in his family and sixteen years older than James. He had been like a father to his youngest brother since the death of their parents. Rose knew what the young man meant to her husband.

     “If I felt our children were in any danger I would never have put your brother in their room. They will be sharing with us anyway, and your sister Maggie will be here when I’m at work during the day – to make sure this young scallywag doesn’t get in to disturb his uncle.” 

Again, she tickled her son before allowing him to wriggle free. Owen remarked that the neighbours were not too happy about the situation.

     “Never mind that lot, a person can’t have an innocent sneeze without them going into a panic,” said Rose. 

She stood up and began to prepare breakfast. Michael, who had fallen asleep on a bench against the wall, was snoring loudly.

     “I’m glad he is staying with Maggie. That noise wou
ld wake the dead,” she laughed.

CHAPTER 13

     A loud knock woke Catherine from her afternoon nap. Mary ran to the door, annoyed at whoever was interrupting her daughter’s sleep. On the doorstep stood one of Paddy Mac’s children.

     “Mary – sorry, I mean
Mrs. McGrother – can you come to our house, Mammy has news for you. She says you’re not to worry, but it’s about your husband.”

There was a loud screech out of the startled baby as Mary grabbed her from a warm bed. The young boy put his hands over his ears

     “She sure can make a noise, can’t she?” he said.

     Catherine screamed the whole way to Paddy Mac’s. His wife,
Bridie, took the baby from Mary and gave her to their eldest daughter to bring outside.

     “Show her the hens. That will distract her and mind you keep the shawl around the two of you. There’s a bitter wind out there.”

Mary stood by the fire, her back to Bridie, preparing herself for the worst. 

     “Turn around now, girl, and face me. I know what you’re thinking, and I’m going to be honest with you. We got a message from a man passing through on his way back from Sunderland. He was asked by a Rose
McGrother to call with news of James. Here, sit yourself down,” she said pointing to a bench. 

Mary shook her head, and remained standing.

     “Bridie, just tell me, for pity’s sake, and put me out of my misery.”

     “James has pneumonia. His brother’s wife, Rose, works at the infirmary near where they live and she has medicine. A doctor has examined him, so he is being well looked after.”

Bridie had made some tea. She sat down and patted the space beside her. 

     “Come on now. Have a sup, it will make you feel better.”

Mary took the cup being held out to her, but instead of sitting, she paced up and down the room, asking what else had been said.

    
Bridie sighed, “James didn’t want you to be told of his illness. He knows you would want to go to him if you found out. Rose asked this man to call. She said if it was her husband, she would want to know. That’s the message that was delivered to me.”

Mary ran outside, having thanked
Bridie for the tea and the news about James. The children were playing with Catherine and making her laugh, but she began to cry again when her mother took her away. Holding her baby close, Mary walked to Brigid’s house, deep in thought.

     Her friend knew as soon as she saw Mary’s face that something was wrong. 

     “Is it Michael, has he had an accident?” asked Brigid.

Mary shook her head, unable to speak for a few seconds.

“It’s James,” she said.

A wave of relief swept over
Brigid, just for a moment, then she felt bad.

     “What happened, is he not well? Sit down and let me take Catherine.”

Brigid placed the child beside her son, Francis. As the two babies lay on the bed kicking their legs into the air, Mary told her about the message from Sunderland.

     “What do you make of it?”
Brigid asked. “Do you think he is worse than Rose is letting on?”

     “I do,” said Mary, “She would never have gone behind his back if it wasn’t serious. Don’t we ourselves know many a poor soul taken by pneumonia?”

Brigid tried to reassure Mary by reminding her how fit her husband was. 

     “I need to talk this over with Pat and Annie, but if I go to James, would you be willing to help them take care of Catherine?”

     “Of course I would. She can have some of my milk. She is taking meal and soup now, anyway. I know there will be no talking you out of it if you make your mind up to go, but please Mary, be sure you are doing the right thing.”

     When Mary returned home, Annie was back from foraging in the woods. Pat was at the bog, cutting turf with some of the other men and boys from the village. The old woman was very upset to hear of her nephew’s condition.

     “I’m sorry I had to break such bad news to you, Annie. I want to ask your advice about something and I already know what Pat will say, but you will understand my reasons better than any man.”

Annie took hold of the young woman’s hands. 

     “I know what you are thinking, Mary, and if it was my husband lying on a sickbed in a strange land I would be on the first boat over. Does that answer your question?”

     Mary smiled, “Pat will go mad, won’t he?”

     “You leave that old goat to me. I might head up to the bog and meet him on his way home. Better to break the news about James to him as he is walking in the fresh air.”

     By the time Annie met up with her husband it was quite late and he was nearly home. He was surprised to see her, usually she would be at the house preparing food and keeping the fire going. As he got closer, the smile faded from his tired face.

     “Have you been crying?” asked Pat, putting an arm around her shoulder.

Annie nodded and wiped her eyes. 

     “James is sick, he has pneumonia.” 

She gave him the news that had come from England.

     They walked along in silence, not a sound being made by their footsteps on the grassy track. Each time a group of men or boys passed by, all the old couple could give was a wave of the hand, too sad to return the usual cheerful banter that always accompanied the end of a day at the bog.

     “Why were you walking on your own, Pat?” the thought suddenly struck Annie.

     Her husband shrugged his shoulders, saying, “I’m an old man now, love. I just got tired and had to leave before the others.”

Telling him that Mary was planning on going to James, Annie asked what he thought about it.

     “What difference would it make how I felt? That young woman is as stubborn as you. Once she has an idea in her head about something there’s no changing her mind, is there?” 

There was more than a hint of annoyance in Pat’s voice. 

     Annie replied, “Now don’t be mad at me, but I sold two of my wooden bowls to that woman who …”

     “YOU WHAT?” roared Pat. 

His wife jumped at the sound of it, as did two young men who had just walked past them. 

     “I could have raised the money for the fare. You can go and get them back, do you hear?” Pat said in a slightly quieter voice.

     “All right so, I can do that. Calm down will you? Just don’t tell Mary what I did,” said Annie sheepishly.

     Mary was standing by the fire when the door opened. She saw the worried look on Pat’s face. Trying to keep everything as normal as possible she smiled at the elderly couple as she placed some food on the table.

“Annie, two of your bowls are missing, did you lend them to someone?”

Pat glared at his wife and slammed the door shut. He walked past Mary and climbed the stairs to his bed. The two women looked at each other for a moment, then Annie confessed to Mary what she had done with her bowls.

     “Oh no! There was no need to sell them. I have enough to get me to Liverpool.” 

Mary was distraught and feeling guilty for being the reason the older woman had parted with such treasured family heirlooms.

     “People are more important than things, Mary,” said Annie. “Don’t mind Pat, his pride is hurt. He feels he’s let us down because I had to sell something to raise a bit of money. We have never had to do anything like that in all the years we have been together.” 

Annie excused herself and went upstairs to talk to her husband. Mary poured the broth she had made back into the cauldron, having lost her appetite. She picked up her baby and cuddled her. Catherine squirmed and wriggled, as if she knew her mother was about to leave her.

     “Don’t be cross, little one. Don’t you want me to fetch your daddy home? Sure you’ll have a great time without your mammy to scold you. Pat and Annie spoil you rotten, don’t they?” 

     As she was tickling her daughter under the chin, Pat appeared at the bottom of the stairs. He sat on the bench beside her, smiling at Catherine.

     “So, you are determined to go, are you?” he asked, not taking his eyes off the gurgling baby.

     “I am, Pat,” she said, continuing to play with the child.

     “What if I went instead, Mary? Would that make any difference?”

The young woman placed a hand on the old man’s shoulder and looked him in the eye.

     “You are the kindest man I know. I can see where James gets his soft heart from, but Catherine and Francis need a man about the place to look after them. Who else but you could do that, with both of their fathers away?”

     Annie crept quietly down the stairs, not wanting to interrupt the conversation she knew would be taking place. Hearing the tail end of it, she smiled at how tactfully the young woman spoke. Before she even saw his face, Annie knew that her husband had resigned himself to the fact that Mary was leaving. She crossed the room to the fireplace.

     “Something smells good,” she said, looking into the cauldron.