A Woman Undefeated (19 page)

Her heart went out to those starving people. The article had caught her unawares. She had been too busy dwelling on her own despair. This was the plight of her fellow countrymen, left behind to face the hunger with little hope of being able to survive.

When Jack returned he found her sobbing, so he held her in his arms while she cried her sorrow out. Jack was angry, saying that he was of the opinion that no one could be bothered to help the poor in Ireland. The authorities were hoping that they would all just fade away, then the landlords would be free to do what they liked with the vacant tillage.

So another night went by where there was no sense in confrontation. How could she battle with Jack over the withholding of any money while there was plenty of hostility back home?

The wedding of Peggy and Dennis came and went, with Maggie finding herself with more time on her hands. She still had to appear at the farm every morning, but the Mistress was content to let her go at dinnertime. Maggie was glad of it, though her shorter working hours reflected in her wages. But it meant she could do lots of exploring around the village, along the coast and up Liverpool Road to the hamlet of Thornton, a pleasant little place with its own village green. She grew stronger and healthier, more than she had ever been in all of her life.

So, she felt it was rather strange to find her head down the privy hole when she got up one morning. She hadn’t eaten anything unusual, though the bigger portions she had been having she put down to the chill of wintry days, and trying to put some fat on in cold weather to help her ward off coughs and colds. Maggie resolved to go and see her neighbour. Ruthie would know what was wrong, being well used to illness, with all the children that she had.

Panic was making her heart beat faster later that morning, as she began to imagine she had white throat, tuberculosis or even cholera. She even sneaked a look into the mistress’s bedroom mirror, checking her tongue, neck and throat.

It was all quiet at Thistledown cottage when Maggie knocked at the door. She had never been inside Ruthie’s dwelling place before. There had never been any need to, as her neighbour seemed to spend her days outdoors.

It was strange not to hear the clamour of the children from within and she wondered if perhaps one of them was ill? Had they been carted off to the isolation ward, poisoned themselves with Deadly Nightshade or drowned themselves in the estuary? Her imagination was working overtime as she pushed the cottage door open and peered into the room.

Had the family upped and left, telling no one of their departure? Maggie looked at the living space, devoid of any rugs or furniture, just a couple of dirty looking mattresses lying on the un-swept floor. Although the dull looking cooking range which was in need of house-wifely attention, still threw out a little warmth, there was no kettle above, gently steaming, no pot or pan holding a hearty lunch time soup. Whatever had made them take to their heels had not occurred in the last half hour.

She heard a noise. A snuffly noise. It seemed to be coming from the room nearby. She tiptoed in and saw the palliasse, where a small, thin boy lay with dribble down his chin.

Maggie turned away. He was, what was known then as a spastic. An outcast, a child to be kept away from public gaze. No
wonder Ruthie kept herself to herself, not making any friends.

Maggie dithered. Should she stay and keep the poor mite company and hope that his mother would be returning soon? Surely the child hadn’t been abandoned? Ruthie would never be so cruel.

The noise of excited children chattering and Ruthie’s loud boom broke into her thoughts as she stood there, so she quickly ran up the path, to stand nonchalantly by the gap that once was filled with a gate. It would be best if her neighbour didn’t find her lurking by the cottage door. She watched as the family walked along the lane, dragging a log and a fir tree behind them.

“Cooee, Maggie.”

Ruthie began to wave her free arm madly, her children copying exuberantly behind. Maggie let out her breath in blessed relief and counted. Tommy, Ernie, Danny, with Annie carrying Katie, trailing behind. All looked healthy and sound.

“Maggie, we’ve bin to the woods and got our Christmas tree and yule log and Mam’s taking us to the market tomorrer. I can’t wait for Christmas Day.”

Ernie ran ahead of them all, abandoning his part of the fir tree, to joyfully dance around in front of her, then jig up the path to the cottage excitedly. Ruthie came waddling as fast as her enormous legs would carry her, leaving the tree in the middle of the lane, in her haste to catch up with her unruly son. Maggie stopped her mid-flight, laying her hand on the arm of her breathless neighbour.

“I know about your little boy, Ruthie,” she said quietly, as she realised that was why the woman was on the run. “I’ve been here a while and couldn’t help but hear his movements as I stood knocking on yer door.”

It was as if Ruthie had had the wind knocked out of her. She leant against the rickety fence that surrounded the cottage and didn’t say a word. The rest of the children stood waiting nervously, waiting for the storm that usually erupted when their mother was reminded of her poorly son.

“Then come in and meet him,” she said at last, resignedly. “Annie get his chair from the lean-to and put Katie on the floor.”

They all walked into the cottage and watched as Annie pushed a battered Bath chair in front of the fire. Ruthie brought it to life again with much rattling of the poker. The family gathered round to feel the heat, as it had been cold in the woods looking for their fir. Then Annie walked in from the bedroom carrying her disabled brother. His legs were thin and wasted and his large head lolled on his too small shoulders, but he managed to give them all a lopsided smile, when he saw his siblings standing there. Then his words tumbled out, all of a jumble, but the children seemed to understand as they all gathered around.

“This is our Lenny,” explained Ruthie, in a very kind voice, completely different to the tone she usually used with her other children.

“He’s our second eldest boy, next to Tommy. Ernie came after him. Say hello to Maggie. He can understand yer Maggie. It’s just he gets so excited talkin’, that his words come out all jumbled. He’s a clever lad really, isn’t he kids? But his legs don’t work, so he spends a lot of time on the palliasse. Solly says that one day he’ll make him a little cart fer the kids to push him around in. But he’ll never manage to make one. Always too busy at the farm.”

Maggie’s heart felt full of sympathy for Ruthie and poor Lenny and she asked if there was nothing that could have been done for him by the hospital or doctors when he was born?

“Like what?” Ruthie said scornfully. “Nelly Fleming, she was the midwife attending me at the birth, she told me just to let ’im go, not feed ’im or anythin’. But, me tits were giving me ’ell, full of milk and really ’urtin’, so I put the little runt to me breast and let ’im have a go. There was nothing wrong with ’is appetite, ’e took the lot and wanted more. Then Nelly said later, that p’raps I should put ’im in the asylum up at Clatterbridge, when ‘e didn’t grow much or begin to walk or talk. I said that she should go to ’ell. No one was taking ’im away from me. Our Lenny ’as just as much right to be on this earth as me others. No, I don’t have any truck with any doctors, because they’d only want to take me boy away from me.”

She looked over to her children and Maggie couldn’t believe the wealth of love that came into her eyes. Big loudmouthed Ruthie, a giant of a woman who most people feared, had a heart as soft as a feather pillow as far as her children were concerned.

Her mood, though, suddenly veered and she shouted to the children to go and play outside. There was nothing for it but to do as they were told. There was no furniture to sit on, no rug or toys they could play with, unless there were possessions hiding in the lean-to.

“If yer wondering why we’ve nothin’, yer can blame our Solly,” Ruthie said, once the children had left, as if she had been reading Maggie’s thoughts.

“The little sod has sold the lot over time. Me mother’s thing she called a chiffonier, the Welsh dresser, table and chairs, her rugs, nice beds, and everything. He said the kids would only break them. Probably true, but I really wanted her things. He said the money he got would go on me folks’ burial. Though I never saw sight nor hair of a penny of it meself. Oh, except he did get our Lenny that Bath chair.”

She stroked her big hand across her son’s head and adjusted the blanket that had been thrown around his shoulders. His thin body was only dressed in a flannel shirt and a pair of corduroy breeches. Like the rest of the children, he was bare-foot.

Maggie’s eyes filled with unshed tears and she turned away, hoping that she could disguise her sudden emotion. She’d forgotten why she had visited in the first place and planned to make a quick escape.

Ruthie suddenly reminded her.

“What were yer doin’ lurking round me door, anyhow? ‘Ad yer come to take a cup of tea with me, like the gentry does? Only yer didn’t leave me yer callin’ card.”

Maybe it was said as a joke, but her words only served to make Maggie feel humble, when she weighed up her worries against the worry that Ruthie must carry daily in her heart.

“Ruthie, I was wonderin’. Have yer heard if there’s bin any sickness? In the village or in the cottages around?”

“Why, is there something I don’t know of, some disease that people are catchin’?” she asked, as Maggie’s words began to sink in.

“Yer know we had a typhoid outbreak around here, a couple of years ago?”

She looked at Maggie fearfully. Her parents had died of that infection. Had it come back to the area again?

“I was sick this mornin’, Ruthie and I’m never ill,” Maggie blurted out. “Even when I was in Ireland and we were so weak with hunger, I never caught as much as a chill. I’ve been worrying about meself, thinking that I’ve caught some terrible plague.”

“Sick in the mornin’, is it? Have yer thought yer might have caught? That means yer might be expectin’ a little babby That’s what happens to me sometimes. Though I don’t always know when I’m expecting. Sometimes they just pop out, with me being so fat, yer see. Our Katie appeared one day when I was sittin’ on the privy and there’s lots of little Tibbs’es buried under the apple tree. Some just arrive when they’re not ready, not formed properly, or just born dead.”

Maggie felt horrified as she listened to her neighbour, pleased that she might be having a baby, yes, but the thought of all those little children buried in the cottage garden, made her eyes fill up with tears again.

“How can yer bear it, Ruthie? All those poor little souls waiting to be born, then having to go back up to Heaven again.”

“I dry me tears and get on with it. Solly’s always ready to get his twig up me, so it starts all over again.”

What a life, Maggie thought sorrowfully, as she wandered back towards her cottage. Her own happiness seemed to be wrong somehow, when she thought of the troubles that her neighbour had to bear. Yet, there she was, helping her children to get ready to celebrate Christmas, though Maggie couldn’t see what a fir tree had got to do with the annual festival of Jesus’s birth.

In Ireland, it was Mass on Christmas Eve or Mass on the day and a gathering of the family for a special meal. Small gifts to
mimic the presents given to the Holy baby, though not as generous as the gold, frankincense and myrrh that the Lord had received. More likely a knitted scarf or socks for the men, a handkerchief embroidered with the person’s name, a polished stone or a necklace made of shells. All given lovingly and just as gratefully received.

She lay on the sofa later, her mind churning with this new found knowledge that Ruthie had given her. She thought back to the time when her mother was expecting Molly. Had she been sick, as Maggie was?

She found she couldn’t remember. Poor Mammy, at least she was at peace now, with no more heartache to bear. Though she’d never know the pleasure of holding her first grandchild, Jack’s mother would be the grandma now. What would they call it and where would it sleep? Who would help her with the birth?

Her musings had to stop when Jack came in. She went to heat his dinner, it was vegetable stew again. The mistress had got a bit stingy with the leftovers that she allowed her workers to take home since the expense of Peggy’s wedding, and wasn’t adverse to telling them that they should be grateful for the meals they were given at the farm.

Maggie had begun to feel worried. How was she going to work and look after a tiny baby, when she was sure to lose her job as soon as she was too big to carry on with it? The baby was as much Jack’s responsibility as hers, she fretted. He was the one who had seemed intent on giving her a baby and it looked as if he had got his wish, or so it seemed.

“Jack, Ruthie thinks I might be having a baby,” she ventured, sitting back as they finished their meal, to see his reaction. It was one of disbelief, incredulity and happiness all rolled into one, as he took her into his arms, laughing and crying with surprise and delight!

“Are yer sure? A baby? Oh, Maggie, you are me dearest one.”

After the initial excitement though, Jack’s mood became sober. He lead her to the sofa then told her the truth. He had been getting
Solly to drum up support for a fighting match, just as Ruthie had said, while meantime Jack had been getting in some practice with local contenders for his big day. It had been a series of contests and he had won every one. Proudly he went into the bedroom and brought back a money belt.

To Maggie’s amazement, he poured the contents into her lap. There were sixpences and shillings, a few sovereigns, and even a white pound note!

“This is for our son,” he told her, as tears of emotion welled into his eyes. “ To give him the best start in his life with good clothes, good food and the best schooling. And this is only for starters, Maggie. When I win the big one, he’ll never go short of a thing.”

She suddenly became fearful, searching his face for bruises, healing cuts and slight abrasions, then realised that she was looking at him properly for the first time. This man who had taken her away from all that she held dear in Ireland, was risking his life for the good of their son. It struck her that perhaps she was beginning to love him now, because she cared that he could be hurt through his fighting. Would he listen if she begged him not to put his life at risk, or did he believe that this was the only way to riches, not content to live out their years working on someone else’s farm?