A Pocket Full of Shells (8 page)

CHAPTER 20

     Clapping her hands and stamping her feet, just like the adults, young Catherine was the image of her mother. Pat lifted her up and swung her around the parlour. Annie held Francis in her arms as she danced among the neighbours, the two children loving the fact that they were now eye to eye with the adults around them. Brigid and Mary sat down, out of breath.

     "The
McGrothers know how to throw a party, that's for sure," said Mary, "This is the second one I've been to in a week."

Brigid
laughed and hugged her friend. 

     "Oh Mary, I wish you were coming, too. I will miss you so much."

The two young women were dragged back up onto the floor, cutting short their conversation. Mary was glad of the interruption, there had been too many goodbyes for her lately. It was good to see so many happy faces and hear the children laughing. She did not want to think about the next day, when she would have to watch another friend take the boat.

     The following morning, Mary and Catherine stood on the quayside, waving. She knew what it felt like to be in
Brigid's shoes at that moment. The prospect of being reunited with her husband would ease the pain of leaving her home and friends behind. However, Brigid was going for good. Mary knew by the words Michael had spoken that he would never return. He had bitterness in his heart and she feared he might even take his wife and child as far away as America. Then she would never see them again.

     Pat laid his arm gently on Mary's shoulder. He held Catherine in his other arm as she laughed and waved at Francis, up on deck.

     "Smile for your friend, Mary. Don't let her last image of your pretty face be one of sadness. There's plenty of time for that when we go home," he counselled.

It was as if he read her thoughts.

     “I know, Pat. Sure look at the state of her – she’s crying enough for both of us.”

They stayed watching the steam ship until it was so far out that the people on board couldn't be seen any more. The two mile walk back home was a quiet one, Catherine's baby-talk the only thing breaking their silence.

     Annie was stirring the pot over the fire when they walked through the door. She swept her little grandniece into her arms and kissed her soft hair.

     "Why the long face, Mary? Sure when times are better you can always visit them in England – and won't they be home at some stage themselves, to see the family?"

Annie was trying to comfort Mary. The young woman looked sadly at Pat and he shrugged his shoulders. He knew what she was thinking. Mary excused herself and ran up the stairs, leaving Catherine with Annie.

     "Have I upset her by what I said, Pat, I didn't mean to?"

     "No, Annie, she just needs some time alone. That felt very much like a final farewell on the quayside this morning."

     "Not at all, it's only a short journey across the water, young people are always coming and going between here and Liverpool," Annie asserted as she scooped up Catherine to give her a cuddle, "Isn't that so, little woman?"

Pat looked at the smile on his wife's face and thought better of putting any sad thoughts into her head. He knew Michael had a lot of anger bottled up over the conditions in Ireland and being in England wasn't going to melt it away, it could very well make it worse. 

     "You're right, love, sure we have plenty of room here for them when they visit. Maybe we can take a trip over ourselves sometime."

Annie stopped playing with Catherine and looked at her husband.

     "Now you are talking nonsense, Pat
McGrother. Sure you can't even go the two miles to Dundalk without feeling homesick, never mind a trip to England." 

     As Mary lay upstairs, her eyes red and swollen from crying, the laughter of her family in the parlour below swept, like a gentle wave, into the bedroom. She sat up, wiped her face and took a deep breath. Her life was good, there were people much worse off than she was. Catherine would love a walk on the beach and Annie might join them. Maybe they would find that extra special shell they always looked for. Or maybe they wouldn't. The time spent toge
ther was reward enough for Mary.

CHAPTER 21

     “Are you alright?” asked Michael, concerned at the fit of coughing his friend was having. James nodded, took a deep breath and began another bout. 

     “Sorry, Michael, I will have to go outside for some fresh air.”

     “I don’t know about it being fresh, it’s a wonder we’re not all choking, living here,” said Michael, who had been on edge all evening.

James felt better in the cool night air. It was very seldom he accompanied his friend, or even his brothers, on their trips to the local public houses. He wasn’t much of a drinker and hated to put his hard earned money into other people’s pockets. Most of his wages got sent home to Mary.

     “Let’s walk back home, James, there’s something I need to tell you.”

     The two friends were silent as they walked along the busy streets, ignoring the begging children, who should have been in bed, and the women who came up to them touting for business. 

     “We’re not interested, go home to your parents,” said Michael as he and James pried the arms of two young women from around their necks. 

     “Hah! Our mother is out here with us. We can go get her if it’s an older woman that interests you,” one of them spat back as they ran off laughing.

     “They didn’t look more than fifteen. This is not the place I want to bring up my children. Brigid and myself have talked it over and come to a decision.”

     “She’s going back to Ireland, I knew it. We can make a go of it there, Michael, things will get better and we can help each other out.”

     Michael looked at his friend’s beaming face. He hadn’t seen him smile like that since Mary left, and he tried to find the right words for what he had to say.

     “No James. There’s nothing back there for us either. We are leaving for America as soon as we have enough money saved. You know I’ve always loved working the land. While I’m still young enough and have the strength and courage to do it, I want to have a go at that homesteading we’re always hearing about. Think of it James, owning your own land. No landlord or his agent telling you what to plant, taking all your harvest as rent. Even worse, evicting you or paying you to emigrate, so as to pull down your home and run sheep or cattle across the land.” Michael stopped to take a breath. “Come with us, James.”

     “Michael, you know I’m not a farmer. I’m a fisherman, I couldn’t survive being stuck in the middle of a vast foreign land. You are a fisherman, too. How can you even think of going?” 

James knew by the look on his friend’s face that it was useless to try and talk Michael out his decision.

“My father is a fisherman, but I always wanted to be a farmer. Your father worked as a farm hand, James, but I am going to own the land I work.”

     The mention of James’s father working the land brought back a memory. It was one of the few he had of a time before his parents died and although he would only have been about four years old, the image was crystal clear in his head. He was sitting on his father’s shoulders, listening to him name the different wild plants and flowers they came across on their walk along the hedgerows. No matter what James pointed to, his father could identify it, having a great love of nature. James knew that if his father was in his shoes at that moment, he would be off with Michael in a heartbeat.

     “I can see you are determined to go, so I wish you well, Michael. You will be sorely missed, Brigid and Francis, too.”

     Michael decided to give it one more try to persuade James about going with them.

     “How long has your uncle Pat been a fisherman?”

     “All his life, as you well know,” said James.

     “And he still doesn’t own his own boat, does he?” Michael felt bad saying it, but he wanted to make a point.

James could see where the conversation was going.

     “Pat is not ambitious, Michael. He’s happy enough to be part of a crew. Himself and Annie manage fine, in spite of the hunger that has a grip on Ireland.”

     “Do you honestly think that you will ever have your own boat, James?”

Feeling he needed to defend both himself and his uncle, James squared his shoulders and thumped his chest with a clenched fist.

     “I have dreams too, Michael, just like you, only mine are of home and the sea. If I want my own boat, then I will get one.”

    The two friends stood facing each other, their stance rigid and unyielding.

     “How soon do you think you’ll be going, then?” asked James, breaking the tension between them.

     “This time Brigid won’t let me go without her and Francis. I wouldn’t want them making that crossing on their own anyway, so we agreed to go a month from now. We have enough saved for passage but we need a bit to spare until I get some work. Remember how your cousin Bernard sent word home that he had land needing labourers if anyone wanted to join him over there?”

James nodded, his heart feeling like a lump of lead in his chest.

     “Well, I hope to join him and when the time is right, stake my own claim.”

      Michael’s eyes were bright as he shared with James the plans that himself and
Brigid had talked over, night after night, ever since she arrived. However, his enthusiasm was lost on his friend.

     “I knew you two were thinking on something important. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” asked James.

     “I didn’t want you trying to talk me out of it. When Brigid got here and I told her, she was as excited as I am about it. With her on my side, I knew I could follow through on my goal.”

     “I understand, Michael. I would have tried to change your mind at first, but I can see how you come to life just talking about America. There are great opportunities there for the right people, but I am not one of them. You and
Brigid will achieve whatever you set out to do, I know you will, and you have my best wishes going with you.”

James held out his hand and as Michael took it the two friends embraced, an exchange of unspoken love, an
d sadness, passing between them.

CHAPTER 22

     As Pat approached his cottage he heard a strange sound coming from behind a hedge that separated the garden from the field. He stopped and listened, thinking he must have imagined it. Then it started again and he knew what it was he was listening to. Dropping his share of the catch from a good night’s fishing, Pat ran inside and called out to Annie to come downstairs.

     “You were right about Mary; I heard her getting sick in the field, behind the hedge. Go on out to her Annie and tell her we know what ails her.”

Throwing a shawl around her shoulders, Annie stepped outside and heard a soft moan to her left. The air was heavy with the soapy smell of elderflowers opening their petals to the early morning sun. As she got nearer to the hedge, another familiar smell reached her nostrils.

     “Mary, come on out of the field, I know why you are in there hiding.”

     A pale and worried young woman stepped sheepishly out from behind the hedge.

     “Oh, Annie, what am I going to do? What will James say? I don’t want him to find out, not till he gets back.”

The older woman laughed and took hold of Mary’s hand. She had suspected a pregnancy some weeks before and said as much to Pat. They had decided to let Mary tell them in her own good time.

     “You poor wee mite! Sure James will be delighted with the news. Maybe he will have a son this time.”

     “Annie, you never look on the bad side of anything, do you? It means another mouth to feed. If James finds out, he may not come home at the end of next month. He will feel obliged to stay in England to earn more money.”

     “Well now, there’s not a lot you can do about the baby, but if you don’t want James to find out – then don’t tell anyone. Besides yourself,
me and Pat are the only ones that know and our lips are sealed. Now come on inside and have some tea to settle your stomach,” Annie pulled Mary along behind her.

     Pat was bouncing Catherine on his knee when the two women entered the cottage. Annie related to her husband Mary’s wish that James remain ignorant of the situation until his return. She said they should keep the news to themselves for the time being, not telling anyone in the village.

     “You won’t show for a good while yet, Mary,” said Annie, “By then, James will be back and it won’t matter who knows. What do you say, Pat?”

     “I don’t know what you are talking about and that’s the way we will leave it. I’m not going to have my nephew accuse me of conspiring with you two, to get him home under false pretence. Now, if you will excuse me, I am going into the field to check my snares – maybe when I come back my good wife will have made some breakfast.”

As Pat reached for the cap he had placed on a hook inside the door, Catherine went to run after him, but Mary held her back. When she was sure her husband was out of earshot, Annie turned to Mary. 

     “Men and their pride. Don’t worry about Pat, he means it when he says he won’t say a word and my advice to you, young woman, is to act surprised when James gets back and notices your swollen belly. You can blame the money he sent home and the food it bought, for your weight gain. Why, I think I’ve put on a pound or two myself.”

Mary laughed as Annie placed both hands over her flat stomach and puffed out her cheeks.

     Early next morning, Mary woke up to the familiar watery feeling in her mouth. She thought if she could just lie still and flat, she might not throw up last night’s supper. Pat and Annie were asleep upstairs and Catherine was snuggled up next to her. Mary slowly turned on her side to look at her daughter. Her soft hair was damp with sweat from the body heat they had built up between them.

     “There’s three of us now,” Mary thought as she laid a hand gently on her stomach.

The bile started to rise and knowing she was going to be sick, Mary eased herself off the bed, being careful not to wake Catherine. The door creaked as it was slowly opened, but not loud enough to disturb the sleeping household. This time Mary didn’t make it as far as the hedge, but threw up at the
rear of the cottage. Feeling better, although shaky on her feet, she walked back inside the house and gasped at the sight that met her eyes. 

     A strange, ragged, man had Catherine sitting on his knee. She was wide awake and looking up at him, smiling. 

     “Who are you, what are you doing with my child on your lap?”

Mary was paralyzed with fear for her daughter. Her eyes were drawn to a knife he held in his hand behind the little girl’s back. Mary recognized it as Pat’s, the one he used for gutting fish.

     “I’m sorry to frighten you like this, Missus. I won’t harm the child. Can you see how desperate I am?”

     He looked about fifty, but starvation had that effect on people and Mary guessed he was nearer to thirty. She listened for any sign of a creak from the floor boards upstairs, but it was very early in the morning. As Pat had not been fishing the night before, there was no reason for anyone to be awake. Mary decided that it was probably a good thing he was still asleep. Another person appearing might panic the stranger, who was still holding on to Catherine.

     “What is it you want? We have no money in the house and nothing left to sell,” said Mary.

     “Food, that’s all I want. Just give me some food and I’ll be on my way.”

     “Can I put my little one back into her bed, first, she’s getting cold?”

The man looked at the small child on his lap and his face softened. 

     “Fetch a shawl to wrap around her, she’s fine where she is,” he said.

     Mary lifted a blanket from the bed and wrapped it around Catherine. She thought about grabbing her daughter and running outside, but the sight of the knife reminded her of the danger they were in. She had seen the mildest of people driven to madness with hunger.

     “You’re not from around here, I can’t place your accent. Have you travelled far?” Mary was trying to keep as calm as possible.

     “No more talking, please – just give me some food and let me leave you in peace.”

Catherine began to cry, the change in tone of the man’s voice frightening her. He tried to keep a firm grip but in the struggle to get away from him, she slipped out from under the blanket and landed on the floor. Mary scooped her up and turned towards the door, but as she reached the threshold she heard the sound of a chair falling over and a loud thud. When she looked back, the man had passed out on the floor, the chair overturned beside him. The knife was lying six inches away from his outstretched hand. 

     Pat and Annie were still asleep upstairs, and Mary knew she had to get that knife before the stranger came round. Wrapping the blanket tightly around Catherine’s small body, she placed her at the gate, far enough away from the house but still visible from the inside the parlour. 

     “Stay there and hold this blanket around you. I am going to get your auntie Annie to come for a walk with us. Don’t move, Catherine, be a good girl.”

Mary could see the badly worn soles of the man’s boots, a hole in the centre of each of them. His feet didn’t move and the knife was still on the floor. She ran passed him and as she bent down, her fingers about to curl around the wooden handle, a bony hand grabbed hold of her ankle.