A Woman Undefeated (4 page)

Her thoughts were with Maggie, as she bustled around collecting the ingredients for the stew, then cutting up the rest of the cake for Maggie to take to her family. Tomorrow she would make another, as her eldest son was partial to lardy cake. The girl was certainly having her share of misfortune, though everyone around seemed affected in some way. How fortunate her own life had been, although she missed her husband, Con’, dreadfully.

The couple had come from Galway, where Kathleen Dockerty had helped her husband to run a thriving inn. Most of his family, though, lived in Ballina and on their frequent trips to visit, the couple had decided that Ballina was where they would retire. They had bought the cottage from Farmer Filbey, who had welcomed the money, as he had cash flow problems at the time. Sadly, Con had passed away within a fortnight, the slow down in his way of life having an effect on his heart.

It was peaceful now, because Kathleen had no neighbours. It had been noisy, rowdy and chaotic at times, when the Mulligans and O’ Rourkes had lived in the row. They had gone away to find a better life in the colonies and who could blame them, when the failure of the potato crop seemed to have touched most people’s lives. She thanked the Lord that her two sons didn’t rely on the vagaries of a harvest, both were shielded from that, thank God.

Johnny, her eldest, was a sea captain, who ran cattle from the Port of Sligo to farms by the River Dee. He came to visit often, to ensure that his mother was safe and well.

Her other son, Ted, had gone to live in England, running a successful tavern by the seaside, if the only letter she had received from him could be believed. He could be married with children for all she knew, as she had not seen or heard from Ted for many years. A daughter would have been different, she mused, someone like Maggie who had loyalty to her family. Daughters always seemed to stick closer to their mother’s sides.

Her friendship with Maggie had begun with a passing greeting, when the widow had been working in the previously neglected garden. Maggie would linger by the garden wall, admiring the transformation that the new owner had performed. A pathway of crazy paving, which had been laid down by Con just before he died, now lead to the cottage doorway. Small orange marigolds lined the borders, with lupins standing majestically behind. Bushes of lilac frilled with white sat in corners, with clumps of phlox and marguerites mingling between. There were pink delphiniums and roses, and fronds of honeysuckle trailed above the door. A real cottage garden that fascinated the girl, as at home the land was used to grow their food. There was no room for the frivolity of flowers, but they used to have a herb garden that was quite pleasing to the eye.

A passing greeting progressed to an invitation to take a drink of tea. A luxury to the hamlet dwelling Maggie.

Sometimes, if she could sneak off from the farm, if her Mistress was upstairs resting, she would spend an hour in the
comfortable little cottage. Her new friend seemed to welcome the company. The main attraction for Maggie, were the books that Kathleen Dockerty had brought with her from Galway. No one Maggie knew had such a collection. One book had pictures of Mary and Jesus and the print that the widow pointed out, was something called “words”. Seeing the girl’s interest, Kathleen helped her to read and copy and her pupil soon became an avid reader of religious books and poetry.

Her new found knowledge was hidden from Mistress Filbey, though, as a kitchen and general servant could never aspire to such a thing.

Kathleen, in her turn, developed a motherly affection towards Maggie. She had always wanted a daughter, but after Ted was born, no other babies had come along. Her own education had been limited, having been taught by a local priest who held a weekly class for his parishioners’ children after Sunday Mass. That was if their parents didn’t mind, as girls didn’t need an education and boys were too busy helping on their families’ farms. There were some parents though who had a broader vision, like Kathleen’s father and she had been grateful that a whole new world had been opened up through books and poetry. To everyone’s surprise, she wed an innkeeper and settled down to a happy married life.

The chill of the muddy puddles that Maggie had been splashing through, were balm to her aching feet. She soon sat down and inspected them, trying to decide whether to continue barefoot, or put up with the discomfort of the ill-fitting boots. She didn’t mind going without a pair that fitted, it was something she had been used to all her life. There had never been the money for the luxury of being well shod. She wiped her feet on the hem of her skirt, thinking to herself that she probably looked like a scarecrow. Mistress Filbey was bound to scold her, when she turned up at the farm in a few minutes time.

First, though, she had to kneel at the shrine of Mary, the Blessed Virgin. The small statue was situated only a few feet along
the path on a small wooden plinth. Protected as it was from the elements, by an arch constructed of local stone. Here, passersby could offer their prayers. A plea for the health of a loved one, a request for guidance in a matter that could not be faced alone.

Maggie tried to remember the prayer that Widow Dockerty had taught her. It was in Gaelic, but it had been translated into the English that Maggie understood, her parents having wisely decided that their children would only hear English spoken in their home. With the world changing around them, people travelling to foreign parts and stories of Irish uprisings against their English masters, her parents had accepted that maybe Gaelic would not be the chosen spoken word in Ireland in the foreseeable future.

She had a smattering of the old language and gazing at the statue, she prayed:

The words came easily, as she had said them over her mother and sister many times as they slept, hoping that the Holy Mother would intercede with Jesus for them. Her simple belief was that as much prayer as possible would alleviate their suffering, though hopefully her wages from the Filbey’s would ease their plight as well.

The farm was quiet as she walked into the rough muddy yard. Usually there was a great conflict of noise, with cows mooing and
hens squawking as they fought each other for grain; geese would be honking, dogs barking and the farmer shouting orders to his farmhands.

There was not a sound, except for a small black and white kitten, which, as he spied Maggie, rubbed his head against her leg, seemingly pleased to see her.

She decided that the Filbey’s must be inside the farmhouse, so she squelched her way across the yard to the open door. She left her dirty boots beside the iron scraper and peeped her head around the door.

“Are yer there, Mistress Filbey?” she cried, feeling anxious as she looked around the empty kitchen.

She was used to seeing the big kitchen range shining. One of her chores had been to black-lead it daily, in an effort to keep it spotless. Now it stood dull, the fire had gone out and the woven reed basket, which usually held the peat blocks, was empty. The eight heavy kitchen chairs had been neatly returned to their places under the long well scrubbed table, a rare sight as the labourers were so untidy. There was an air of sadness about the place, the only sound the ticking of the clock that sat on top of the kitchen dresser.

Maggie felt a wave of weariness wash over her, so she pulled out one of the chairs and sank gratefully into it. She put her head into her hands in despair. What was she going to do now if the Filbey’s had gone? Had she trailed all that way for no reason at all?

She heard a movement overhead, which gave her a great surge of hope that there was someone still in the building. She ran to the bottom of the stairs and shouted, “Is that you Mistress Filbey? Are you up there?”

She felt relief as the woman replied, “Maggie. I thought I heard someone, thought it was Mr. Filbey coming back. I’m here in the bedroom, come up if you will.”

The girl ran up the wooden stairs as fast as her legs would carry her. Her heart had soared at the sound of her mistress’s voice.

The farmhouse was a two storied dwelling. There were three
bedrooms, one situated over the cow byre, one over the parlour and one over the kitchen where the Filbey’s slept. A wise choice, as the room benefited from the heat rising from the kitchen. Maggie felt a sudden chill though as she entered the bedroom. She wondered if the damp air was already getting a grip on the place, or whether it was a sudden fear within her. Did the quietness of the place mean that the Filbey’s were leaving? What was she going to do if that was the case? With no job and no future, she and her sister would possibly starve.

“There you are, Maggie,” Mistress Filbey said, “I was saying to Mr Filbey only this morning that I wondered if you had heard that we were leaving. So, why have you come? To see us off, or is it that you think we owe you money? If that’s the reason, you can turn around right now!”

Maggie’s spirits sank when she heard her words. So what she had thought was true. They were going off like so many others. Abandoning the land they worked on, to try to find a better life for themselves.

“Where are you goin’, Mistress Filbey?” she asked worried. “Is it somewhere close by so I can still work fer you? I don’t mind travellin’. I’ll let me Aunt Tess look after Mammy and Molly and come back ter see them when I have a day to meself.

The girl looked at her mistress hopefully. If they were only moving to another county, she could perhaps hitch a lift with a carter, or at least send money to help her family out with food.

Mistress Filbey glared back at her in answer. She had the same look on her face as when she was about to tear a strip off Maggie for some misdeed. Perhaps she had chosen a bad time to make her presence felt, when she could see that the Mistress was up to her eyes in packing and her husband not around to give a hand.

“Where we’re going is on the other side of the world, Maggie,” she began irritably. “‘Tis hardly a day’s walk from here. Well, which one is it? Come to say goodbye or do you think we owe you money? It’s not like you to hold your tongue.”

The Mistress was a small, thinly built woman. She may have been pretty in her younger days, but now her sharp, pointed face was etched with lines and her down turned mouth spoke of unhappiness. She was leaving the place that her husband had brought her, as his young bride almost twenty years ago. They had been hard years for the young Bessie Filbey. The youngest daughter of a slater, she had been unused to supervising the staff needed to run a small dairy and arable farm. She had been unused to the baking, preserving, butter churning and cheese making and the household accounts and marketing. It had taken sheer willpower and dedication and the assistance of her mother who had moved in for a while, to help the farm show a good profit and to learn quickly how to handle a lazy kitchen girl or dairymaid. All that hard work had been for nothing. They were going away to start a new life, leave this all behind them. It was a crying shame.

Her usual mode of dress was a dark homespun dress and a blouse of white linen, covered by an all enveloping pinafore, with a wifely mobcap on her head.

Today, though, she was looking different, with her dark brown hair hanging loose onto the white lace collar of her best blue linen gown.

She had been putting some clothes into a heavy oak chest before Maggie arrived. Now she let go of the lid with a bang. Before Maggie could get a word in as to the purpose of her visit, the Mistress looked at her with the gleam of battle in her eyes.

“That’s it! You think we owe you money. Well, you had your three pounds for the half year, two months ago. Don’t forget you also had free bed and board. Since then you’ve been more away from the farm than on it, with clearing off down to Killala. It’s not my fault that your family is in the desperate state it’s in.”

Maggie felt a surge of anger at the woman’s disgraceful words. Where was her compassion, why take on such a spiteful tone? She had done all that she had been asked to when she worked there, had worked her fingers to the bone and had earned every penny
begrudged her. She knew though that she had to be careful, choose her words so that her anger and dismay didn’t show. She had come to get help for her family and the woman could easily turn her away.

“It’s me mammy,” Maggie replied quietly, shuffling her feet in an effort to appear submissive. She knew that the woman would still like to feel that she was mistress and for once Maggie would have to swallow her pride.

“She’s really poorly and Molly’s not so good either. We buried Father, as yer know, three weeks ago and there’s only me now for support. We’ve been eating the salt pork that we were keeping for winter, but now that’s gone, we’ve nothing left at all. I was thinking that perhaps you could spare me some butter or cheese or a loaf of bread, or maybe some pennies to buy them with?”

Maggie trailed off her sentence, hoping that she hadn’t overdone the pleading. The Mistress’s face seemed to be softening, so she forged on.

“Not that me mammy can keep much down, but perhaps some crusts of bread for me and Molly? If yer can spare them?”

“Oh, yes, your father, that’s why you left us, wasn’t it? I’m sorry, Maggie.”

The woman had the grace to look ashamed, but she had her own tale of woe to tell.

“We’re in the same boat now. Filbey sold our last three cows on Monday. We’ve been living off one of the chickens that he kept back, before selling the rest to the Colooneys. When folk know that you’re selling up, they beat you down to a price that they want to pay. He’s up at Colooney’s now, trying to raise money on the horse and farm cart, though God knows we need the cart for our journey to Sligo. It will take two strong men to lift our boxes on, though there’s not so many strong men around today.”