A Pocket Full of Shells (6 page)

CHAPTER 14

     Mary stood on deck, one hand waving, the other in the pocket of her heavy woollen skirt. She was clutching the shells her daughter had picked up from the beach the day before as a present for James. The sight of the little girl waving goodbye almost broke Mary’s heart. Pat had hoisted Catherine onto his shoulders so that her mother would see her as the boat moved away. 

     “Is that your little one with her grandfather?” asked a young woman standing next to Mary.

     “It is. She doesn’t realize that I won’t be back for a long time, her father is sick in England and I’m going over to nurse him.”

     “What ails him, not the fever, I hope?”

Keeping her eyes glued to the quayside, Mary was afraid to blink in case she lost sight of her family. 

     “He has pneumonia,” she said.

A young boy came up to them and dragged the woman to the other side of the deck. Mary was glad to be left alone, to savour the image of Catherine smiling and waving until she became a soft blur in the distance. Just as James had done, she stood looking back at the land until it disappeared from view. 

     The deck was crowded and noisy, babies crying, children complaining and women shouting at their disgruntled offspring. The men were quiet. Mary tried to read the expressions on some of their faces. She imagined what it must have been like for James to stand on deck, surrounded by such chaos, knowing he was a man who preferred solitude. He loved to be out with his uncle in the bay, or on the beach repairing the nets, laying them out over the upturned boats. Everything about her husband’s life was the total opposite of what Mary was experiencing at that moment.

     She knew it would be even worse in Liverpool, with people arriving from, not just Dundalk, but Dublin, Drogheda, Belfast, and from other countries, too. Mary closed her eyes and tried to block out the sounds, but it didn’t work. She kept them shut tight, not wanting to look at the poverty and distress of her fellow passengers, or ‘deckers,’ as the crew called them. Not once did Mary consider herself as poor as those around her. Being content with her lot, she felt blessed to have a roof over her head, a good husband, a healthy child and people who cared about her. The lack of money was unfortunate as far as Mary was concerned but her life was rich in other ways. Now and then, someone would ask the young woman a question, or try to make conversation, but her eyes remained closed as she pretended to be asleep.

     When the ship docked, there was a rush to disembark. Standing on the quayside, Mary looked around for a shop or a ticket office where she might ask for directions and advice about transport to Sunderland. The sound of horses’ hooves on the cobblestoned road failed to alert Mary to the fact that a coach was fast approaching. As the crowd parted, the driver saw the young woman and reined in the horses. Mary turned at the last minute, suddenly realizing the danger she was in. It was too late; one of the animals knocked her aside as it came to a halt, sending her flying against a wooden barrel, head first. 

     As Mary was trying to pick herself up, firm hands grasped her shoulders, steadying the shaken young woman.

     “Is she hurt, Alexander?” a well-spoken female voice enquired from within the carriage.

The gentleman who had come to her aid stood back, releasing Mary. There was a large red mark on her temple and some scratches to the side of her face from the rough wood she had landed on. 

     “Are you about to swoon, my dear?” he asked.

Mary looked up into the eyes of a tall, stocky man in his late thirties. 

     “I do feel a little strange, sir,” she said, “But I will be fine in a moment or two.” 

She held onto the barrel to steady herself, embarrassed by the stares of the crowd gathering around them.

     “Alexander, offer the poor girl a seat in our carriage,” the soft voice urged from inside the cab.

The gentleman insisted that Mary sit up beside the driver, at least until they were clear of the crowded docks. Anxious to escape from the onlookers surrounding her, she allowed herself to be steered towards the coach and pulled up onto the seat by a strong pair of hands.

     “Driver, watch that she doesn’t have a fainting spell and fall off. Stop somewhere less crowded and clear of the docks.”

     The young lady was upset that her husband had not brought Mary inside the carriage.

     “Emma, you are so sweet and caring, it’s what I loved about you from the moment we met. Do you remember what you were doing when your father first brought me to your home?”

     “Of course I do, my parents still scold me over it even though it was so long ago.”

When her father first introduced Alexander to his family, Emma was cradling in her arms a dead robin, wrapped in a piece of muslin.

     “I was convinced that if I held the poor thing for long enough and nursed it, that it would recover,” she laughed, “I had even kept it in my bed the night before, unbeknownst to my mother.”

     The memory brought a smile to her face. Alexander Somerville, as a young man, had been invited to the Biggs’ home in London when Emma was a child. As soon as she was old enough, they married.

     “You grew more loving as the years went by. Even now, as a wife and mother, you still have the sweetest nature,” Alexander kissed the back of her gloved hand.

     “You are becoming soft in your old age,” Emma was referring to the age gap between them, “But obviously not soft enough to let that young girl ride in the carriage with us.” She was no longer smiling.

Alexander also became serious and his wife could hear it in his tone.

     “That young woman may have been on one of the boats arriving from Ireland. She could have typhus or some other disease. It’s not so long ago I was sick with a fever in Dublin and almost died. Do you think I want to risk you catching something like that – and what about our children, are they to be left motherless?”

Emma knew he was right and felt grateful for his concern. There was no need to answer his question, a slight nod of her head was enough to let Alexander know that she understood.

     Soon the horses came to a halt and the driver opened the carriage door.

     “I hope you haven’t been too frightened up there, young lady,” Alexander said, looking up at Mary.

     “No sir, I have been on top of hay carts much higher than this,” Mary hoped she didn’t sound too cheeky.

The driver offered a hand to the young woman to help her down, but Alexander stopped him.

     “Stay seated for a moment, my dear. Tell me, what is your destination?”

     “I am on my way to Sunderland. My husband has pneumonia and I want to be with him.”

Alexander questioned Mary about her health and where she had travelled from, then signalled the driver to help her climb down. Asking her to wait while he spoke with his wife, he disappeared back into the coach. 

     They both agreed that Mary did not seem to have any sign of illness and they should offer her assistance. Emma’s reason being her kind nature and that it was their fault that Mary had been injured. Alexander on the other hand, being a writer and a journalist, was more interested in her story. The door of the carriage opened and a small, gloved hand beckoned Mary to climb inside. Having shut the door, the driver took his seat and once more the horses were on the move. Mary sat looking at this strange couple, the woman quite a few years younger than her husband. She waited for one of them to say something, but they just kept smiling at her. The silence was becoming awkward so Mary cleared her throat, getting ready to thank them for their kindness. Just as she opened her mouth to speak the young lady asked if she had any children.

     “A little girl barely one year old, ma’am. Her name is Catherine.”

     “Such a lovely name; is she with her father?” enquired Emma.

Mary explained that she had left her daughter with relatives in Ireland. Alexander asked if she would be willing to tell him her story in exchange for some money, explaining that he might use it in his work. 

    “We are on our way to board a train for Manchester and I would like to buy you a ticket,” said Alexander. “From there we can arrange some transport for you to Sunderland. Does this sound agreeable to you?”

Mary did not have to think too long about it.

     “All you ask in return is my story, is that correct, sir?”

Alexander nodded and assured their young passenger that she would be well rewarded.

     When they arrived at the station and booked their seats, Emma suggested a meal in a nearby hotel. While Mary forced herself to eat slowly and with as much grace as she could muster, Alexander took out a pencil and paper. Emma suggested they have their meal first, saying it was rude to write at the table and that there was plenty of time before their train arrived.

A short while later, Mary found herself sitting in a sunny conservatory facing Emma and Alexander. A low, mahogany table laid with a silver teapot and delicate bone china cups and saucers separated her from the smiling couple. A tray had come with a collection of small cakes. Emma declined the delicacies but Alexander ate three of them. Mary managed one in spite of being full, a feeling she had not had for a very long time. She wanted to gather up the remaining food to bring with her for the journey and to share with James, but didn’t like to appear greedy. Every so often, as she told her story, her gaze would rest briefly on the silver cake stand, but Mary never interrupted her flow of words, conscious of the interest on the faces of the couple in front of her. 

     When it was time to board their train, Alexander went to settle the account. Emma beckoned to a waiter, who came over with an empty tray to clear the table. She whispered something to him, pointing to the cakes. Mary watched with disappointment as the remaining food was returned to the kitchen, annoyed with herself for not asking if she could take some with her. Having paid the bill, Alexander signalled to his wife that it was time to go. As the two women walked towards the door the waiter returned carrying a white cotton bundle. It was tied up with a blue ribbon. He handed it to Mary and Emma thanked him.

     “I thought you might like to have them for your journey,” said Emma. “You will have to stay overnight in lodgings and if it is late when you arrive there may be nothing left to eat but stale bread. It has happened to me before, so now I travel well prepared.”

     Mary thanked the young woman for her thoughtfulness and followed the couple across the street onto the station platform. Boarding the train and taking their seats in a beautifully decorated carriage, the couple chatted to Mary about their own children. A lot of what they said went over her head as she watched, with fascination, the world outside pass by. It was Mary’s first train journey but she tried to hide that fact by not allowing her excitement to show on her face.

     All too soon, the train was steaming into the station in Manchester. Emma brought Mary to a waiting room while Alexander went about some business that needed seeing to. A short while later, he came back with a newspaper and handed it to Mary. She was too embarrassed to let them know she couldn’t read.

     “Thank you very kindly, sir. I’m not one for reading much myself, but my husband will be delighted. Is this the paper that your stories go into?”

     “Yes, it is. I thought you might like something for the journey,” responded Alexander. “There is a coach leaving soon for Newcastle with a delivery of goods and some passengers. It will be on its way in about an hour. The driver assures me it will pass through Sunderland. He will be looking out for a young woman of your description holding a newspaper. I expect you are anxious to join your husband, so I took the liberty of arranging the transport for you. I hope you don’t mind.”

Mary was delighted, as the thought of making her way across the country alone was daunting. 

     “Thank you so much for all your kindness, both of you. I wish there was some way I could repay it.”

     “No need to think like that, my dear,” said Alexander, “Allowing me to write down your story is payment in full. I may use it in a book I plan on publishing.”

     Mary was to wait at the station until the coach driver arrived. She felt very much alone as she bade farewell to Alexander and Emma. As she watched the couple blend into the crowd, arm in arm, a longing for James swept through her.

     “Just one more day. One more day,” she whispered to herself.

CHAPTER 15

     The old man eased his stiff body into an upright position and shuffled to his front door. Opening it, he complained about being dragged from his chair. Squinting against the shaft of sunlight washing over him, it took a few seconds before he realized what the pretty young woman who stood on his doorstep was saying.

     “I’m sorry, dearie, which of the
McGrothers did you say you were looking for? There’s a few of them in this street.”

Mary took a breath and spoke much slower, asking for the second time about Owen and Rose. She followed the direction of a crooked, arthritic finger pointing to a door across the street. Thanking him, she ran to the other side and knocked. Straightening the creases from her skirt and checking her hair was still in place, Mary waited for the door to open. 

     “Who is it?” a small voice called out.

     “Is that wee Jamie I hear? It’s your Auntie Mary. Uncle James’s wife, all the way from Ireland.”

The door slowly opened and a small face appeared. 

     “Do you remember me? I used to spin you around until we were both giddy.” Mary was impatient to see her husband but didn’t want to alarm the child by rushing into the house. 

     “Is James in there with you?” she asked.

The young boy nodded and opened the door wide, a puzzled expression on his face. As Mary stepped inside, James’s sister Maggie came down the stairs carrying a wash bowl and cloth. She almost tripped on the last step at the sight of who was standing in the parlour. Mary rushed over to her, laughing and crying at the same time. The two women embraced; then Maggie stood back, pointing to a chair.

     “Sit down, just for a minute or two. I know you must be anxious to see James but there’s something you should be prepared for.”

     “I’m listening, go on,” implored Mary, her heart pounding with a mix of anxiety and excitement.

     “The pneumonia took a lot out of James, we nearly lost him. With nourishing broth and plenty of rest he is making a good recovery. Rose has been a great help, asking the doctors at the infirmary where she works how best to look after him.”

     “Can I see him, please? I have come such a long way. I promise not to wake him if he is asleep, I just want to be near him.” Mary was pleading.

     Maggie felt sorry for her sister-in-law. James was no longer the smiling young man that melted the hearts of his older siblings. His eyes had become dull and sad, giving the impression that he wasn’t quite there; even though he responded to questions and took his food. A simple “yes” or “no” was all any of the family could get out of James as he lay in bed, turning his back to them. 

     “The doctor said he is suffering from melancholia because of his illness. The shortage of food for the past year has weakened him, making recovery more difficult. Rose told me she sent for you, but the rest of the family don’t know. James’s brothers would not go against his wishes, you know what men are like.” 

Maggie rolled her eyes and pinched her little nephew on the cheek.

“You will grow up to be just as stubborn, my young man,” she said to the smiling child.

     “Are you telling me James won’t want to see me?” cried Mary.

Maggie took the young woman’s hand and held it in both of hers. 

     “James wants to see you with all his heart. It is you seeing him that bothers him. Men are proud, Mary – James feels he has let his family down. He told Owen he would rather die than go on being a burden to them. Rose overheard it and that was when she decided to get a message to you.”

Maggie stood, pulling Mary up with her. 

     “Now, do you think you are ready to see that young husband of yours?” she asked.

     Taking a deep breath, Mary composed herself and nodded, ready to deal with whatever way her husband chose to greet her. She would be delighted if he was happy to see her, but having been warned of his frame of mind, she would not let it upset her if he was angry – or worse still, ignored her completely. Mary felt as if she were climbing a mountain with every step on the stairs that took
her nearer to James. Outside the bedroom door she paused nervously, her hand raised in a tight fist, ready to knock.