A Woman Undefeated (6 page)

Maggie stumbled down the stairs with the feather mattress jogging behind her, its sides bumping against the thick whitewashed walls. Hearing the noise, Filbey came to ask if he could help her down with it. She would miss this kind man when he’d gone.

The couple stood together in the doorway, watching as Maggie careered across the farmyard half carrying, half dragging her hard won trophy. It was dark now, but at least the rain had cleared and the moon was so large it was taking up most of the sky.

She stopped for a moment to catch her breath and looked back to where Filbey had taken his wife’s hand in his and was patting it gently. Maggie could hear his voice as he soothed her, his words so clear in the still of the yard.

“There wasn’t much we could have done to help her, Bessie, but she’ll survive. Look at her balancing that mattress, she looks like a lad except for that skirt of hers trailing in the mud. She’s young, she’s a fighter, she has youth on her side, Bessie. Not like you or me!”

Maggie paused to catch her breath, leaning against the trunk of the same oak tree that had sheltered her before. A sleepy wood pigeon cooed above her and a rabbit darted past her legs causing her to stifle a scream. Her heart was racing madly anyway, as the burden of the clumsy mattress was beginning to take its toll. She began to wish that she had chosen something lighter to carry, but then chided herself for having selfish thoughts. This mattress was to make life more comfortable for her mammy. It could be her last act of love.

The thought that the earthly tie with her mother could soon be broken, brought a renewal of energy to her trembling body. She could see a light burning over at the cottage and remembered that the Widow Dockerty had offered her the loan of a lantern to guide her back home. Although she knew this track as well as any other in daylight, beyond the cottages lurked marshy bogs and peat land, a danger to any traveller walking after dark. Swinging the mattress over her back, she trudged slowly to her friend’s garden wall.

Maggie draped the mattress as best she could at the side of the cottage door. She peeped into the window to see the widow, pottering near the fireplace, talking away to someone that Maggie couldn’t see. Curious to know who the visitor was, she craned her neck to see who her friend was talking to. It was Johnny, Widow Dockerty’s eldest son! He was sitting in the padded winged chair, his long legs stretched out onto the hearth. In one hand he held a plate of stew, in the other a hunk of bread. She felt a surge of
delight at seeing him. He had seemed a friendly man when she had met him before. Perhaps Johnny would see that she found her way home safely?

Maggie tapped lightly on the window. Johnny turned around to look, while his mother bustled across the room to the door.

“Maggie!”, she exclaimed, when she saw the girl standing there shivering. “I was going to watch out for your return, but look who arrived not half an hour ago? Come in, come in. Whatever’s that you’ve brought along with you?”

She looked past Maggie to where the feather mattress was leaning drunkenly against her cottage wall.

Maggie whispered that it was a feather mattress that the Filbey’s had given her. She was beginning to feel shy now that she was going to be in Johnny’s presence again. He had got up from his chair politely, when his mother had opened the door and had come to stand behind her, smiling in amusement when he saw Maggie’s acquisition, no doubt wondering why she would be carting a mattress about in the dark and across the treacherous moor.

“Bring it in with you girl, it’s beginning to rain again,” Kathleen said. “It already looks filthy, but no point in making it worse than it is.”

Both Johnny and his mother smiled at one another benignly, no doubt thinking that the girl must have been desperate to have accepted a castoff so obviously ready for the bonfire. Then Kathleen hurried over to the stew pot, while Johnny helped Maggie to carry the mattress in.

“I’d made enough stew for you to take to your mother and sister,” Kathleen said, “but you can eat yours now before you go, if you want.”

She was soon serving the ravenous Maggie with a plate of hot and appetizing beef and vegetable stew, while Johnny pleaded for a second helping.

“Mother is the best cook in Ireland in my opinion,” he said, after she had put another steaming plate of stew in front of him. “That’s why I hurry home so often to be at her fireside.”

His mother was beginning to look her age though, he noted, as he sank back into his chair with a satisfied sigh. The hair that she wore in a bun on the top of her head looked whiter than he remembered before. Her skin was more wrinkled and rather lacklustre, though she still had her usual twinkle in her attractive hazel eyes. His dad had said that Mother had been a looker in her young days. She could have had any man in Galway, but she had chosen him. An odd match, his parents. She being small in height, gentle in her ways and educated and his father loud and brusque, a big bull of a man who could hardly add up his takings at the end of the day. Johnny adored his mother. It was just like her to befriend this bedraggled looking creature and just like her to be giving away food to the poor.

Maggie wouldn’t have been happy if she had known Johnny’s thoughts at that moment. She was in awe of him because of his status, admired his handsome looks and felt a stirring of excitement to be in his company again, because in her eyes she was a family friend. Her pride would have been severely dented if she had known his thoughts, though at that time she would have admitted to being needy and poor.

She searched for words, in between mouthfuls of satisfying dinner, to engage Johnny in interesting conversation. She didn’t want him to think that she was brainless, or a foolish girl with nothing to say because of butterflies in her head. His mother came to Maggie’s rescue, asking the outcome of the visit to the Filbey’s, which started her off panicking again.

“Would yer look at me sitting here,” she said soulfully. “Having all the comforts while me mammy and Molly are waitin’ on me. There’s no help ter be had at the Filbey’s, ‘cos they’re leavin’ fer Australia in a day or two. But I thank yer Widow Dockerty fer all yer kindness. Though if yer don’t mind I’ll be goin’. Got to get this mattress home. They’ll be wonderin’ where I’ve got to, I’ve bin hours away.”

In fact she had only been away two hours, though it had seemed like a lifetime to her at the time. Johnny took his fob watch
out from his pocket and glanced at it. It was just gone six. He was looking forward to a cosy evening of chatting with his mother and perhaps a bit of reading before he turned in. He had reckoned without the good heart in her, as she looked at her son in a quizzical way.

“Are you not going to help the girl down to Killala? Look at the state she’s in. How can she manage that mattress, lantern and the basket of food I’ve prepared for her family? I’m sure you’d be happy with a bit of a hand, isn’t that so, Maggie?”

“Oh no, it’s no trouble,” Maggie began to protest weakly, though her heart lifted at the thought of him accompanying her.

“I can manage, there’s a harvest moon that will light my way. Johnny will be tired having travelled all day from Sligo. It’s not fair to ask him.......”

Johnny could see from his mother’s face that there was no use trying to argue. He and Ted had learnt whilst children, that their gentle mother had a firmer side. He let out a gusty sigh.

“She’s right Maggie, I’ll help you down but only as far as the river. You’ll be fine once we get you down there. Fetch my jacket, Mother, dear, and the lantern, then I’ll get out the apple barrow to carry the mattress. That will save our arms from aching and the lantern will guide me back if the moon disappears.”

Five minutes on, with hugs and a promise to Widow Dockerty that Maggie would return in the morning to let her know how things were down in Killala, Johnny pushed the old handcart along the track. Maggie carried the lantern, as they walked through the dark shadows and eerie silence, occasionally interrupted by the rustle of a nocturnal creature pushing through the undergrowth sniffing out its food, or the hoot of an owl as it sat wisely in a tree. The track was narrow in places and the cart seemed to have a mind of its own, as it wheeled into a shallow peat bog or became entwined in thicket. The moon was covered now by fast flowing clouds and it would have been difficult to see without the lantern.

Not a word was spoken as they walked along, with Johnny wishing he was back in front of his mother’s fire. He had been
given a lift to Killala earlier by a travelling tinker, though the place where he had sat on the cart had not been under cover. He had thanked God that he had brought his oilskin with him, a necessary item both on his ship and in the pouring rain! A brisk walk had brought him down from the town of Ballina, where he looked forward to a good night’s sleep after a home cooked meal. He hadn’t reckoned to be escorting home this charmless girl, who now seemed to have been struck dumb.

Maggie was indeed feeling tongue-tied. Gone was the flush of elation at being in his company, replaced now with embarrassment at the scowl on Johnny’s face. No doubt he was only there to please his mother, and wouldn’t be wanting to spend his precious time with a young and ragged girl. She searched her mind for something to say that would break the silence, lighten his mood, make him see how grateful she was for guiding her back home. Instead her mind played tricks on her, making her dream of how life could be, if this man was always by her side.

Was he old enough to be her father, she wondered? It might be possible, as his dark curly hair was grey above his ears. He was probably in his thirties anyway. He was weather tanned and tall, with eyes the colour of the cornflowers that grew on the shore. He was muscular under his dark fustion jacket and walked with a rolling gait, which told of a man who went to sea. He would be a strong and caring husband. Look how he loved his mother. He would be the same with the lucky girl he made his wife.

Not like Jack. Maggie knew that Jack had plans that involved her marrying him. There was no way she could leave Ireland and go with him without marriage. A single girl would be frowned upon if there was no church blessing. For that reason alone, she was determined to stay on in Killala. She didn’t love Jack. He had changed since they were children growing up together. Gone was the carefree boy who had teased her, played tricks on her, climbed trees and paddled in the sea with her. He had got in with a wild crowd from Ballina, liked to drink and brawl with the rest of them, stopped attending church and was uncouth and badly behaved
towards his elders. Maybe he was thinking of changing his ways and needed a wife to calm him? Or was it his mother, Alice, who was at the bottom of it all? Was that really why Jack had asked her to go away?

The sound of water rushing into the “Giant’s Tub” brought Maggie and Johnny back from their reflections. They glanced at one another briefly and Maggie knew that now his duty was over, Johnny would turn away. She felt bereft. The future only held misery and anguish. This man would never look at her with yearning, she was a fool to let her imagination think that maybe he would.

He probably had a wife already, someone pretty, someone else he thought the world of, probably English and living on the mainland. He didn’t always come to visit his mother on his shore leaves, perhaps he also had a family tucked away.

Johnny looked upon her as she struggled with the mattress, then helpfully handed her the basket of food. It seemed as if a sudden wave of concern had come over him. Was he wondering what was to become of the girl too? He had seen the procession of migrants on their way to the port of Sligo, seen their tattered appearance and the hopelessness in their eyes. Watched them as they crowded together on the quayside, waiting to be taken aboard any ship that would give them passage. Most were without possessions, as they had been sold to pay their fares. Maybe that would be Maggie’s future if fate was to intervene.

The clouds suddenly parted to show a deep yellow moon. The rays from it cast a shadow on her face, causing her skin to have a luminous quality. Her eyes became deep pools. For a moment Johnny seemed trance-like as he stared across at her, shivering as he looked on something that perhaps touched his soul. Then the moment was over and he moved away, gruffly announcing that he must be heading back home. Maggie nodded in agreement and said her thanks. It seemed as if he wanted to say something further, but their time together was done. She watched him as he trundled the empty cart back up the track, then disappeared in the darkened gloom.

She waited until not a sound could be heard around her. When she was sure Johnny had gone, she flew behind a bush with her stomach churning and her bladder full. The relief of it all was bittersweet, as her body turned against her, rebellious of the good, rich food that she had eaten with such relish less than an hour ago. A little later, grimacing at the pain that was only just subsiding, she felt around for a clump of dock leaves, trying to avoid the nettles that were everywhere. Thus tidied, bare feet itching from the nettle she hadn’t been aware of, she stumbled and bumped her way down the track back home.