For Many a Long Day (20 page)

She dropped down on the wooden settle and held out her feet in front of the stove. It was always a relief when her mother took to her bed and she didn’t have to listen to a monologue of comment and complaint or sort out her confused questionings. She and her father had found Jinny to help with the housework when her new job no longer left her time to do all she’d been doing. It would be such a relief if she could help them out with some cooking as well.

Although she was hungry, she found she had little appetite, but she finished her meal, washed up her plate and cutlery and put the teacloth to dry.
As she straightened up from spreading the damp cloth on the metal bars over the stove, she saw two Airmail letters, resting against the clock.

She felt her heart jump to her mouth, more with anxiety than excitement, as she reached up and brought them across to the table where the light was better. They were both for her. One was from George, a little thicker than usual, the other from Polly. Instead of a fat letter with extra postage it was only an official pre-stamped Air Letter.

She sat examining both envelopes, studying the postmarks, the stamps, the handwritten return addresses on the back, as if they would tell her what to do next. Then she collected herself, took a knife from the drawer in the table and sawed carefully along the inside of George’s envelope to avoid damaging the thin folded sheets.

There were three sheets, not the usual two, but his writing seemed to have got larger. She read the short letter quickly, jumped to her feet, then read it again, anger and disbelief overwhelming her, as she walked up and down the kitchen.

She dropped the flimsy sheets on the table and burst into tears. It had happened. Some part of her had
always known it would happen, but she’d never imagined it could come as a miserable letter full of absolute rubbish. For a moment, she was so angry she almost thrust the letter, envelope and all, into the cheering flames of the stove.

‘No, Ellie, don’t do that,’ she said, jumping to her feet again and tramping up and down the empty room. ‘Come on, dry your eyes in case Da and Charlie, come up to the house and catch you.’

She did as she bid herself, then she fetched a glass of spring water from the enamel bucket in the press and forced herself to drink it slowly.

‘A home bird,’ she repeated furiously. ‘He makes me sound like an idiot. A poor wee thing that has to be looked after. If he’d read his history of Peterborough, like I have, he’d have found that some of the settler women that came out from wee country places like here were every bit as tough as the men. Providing, of course, they had a decent man to work with.
AND
he’s forgotten that he once said
HE
was a home bird.’

She paused, hearing a sound, thinking it could be a foot at the door, but a moment later the sound came again, clearer and sharper. It was the barn owl that lived somewhere nearby.

The lonesome cry of the owl in the darkness made her think of the book Polly had sent her, an old, musty-smelling book she’d bought at a sale in aid of the church. It had been written by a woman
who’d arrived in Peterborough when it was still Scott’s Plains. She’d gone North with her husband and young children on a trail marked only by blazes on the trees, to what would later become Smith, except there was nothing there at all, only a concession and a Lot number. This was a woman who’d braved the Atlantic and an unknown world full of danger, Indians and fevers, hunger and cold in the winter months.

George had no idea what a woman was capable of, had he, but then George hadn’t much idea about people in general. In fact, she thought bitterly, he didn’t have much time for thinking about other people, he was far too busy thinking about himself.

She stopped, startled. It was not like her to be so uncharitable, but perhaps that was
her
mistake. Daisy always said she’d let George off too easily, he could do more. There was no doubt that listening to Daisy talk about the plans she and Frank were making had made her feel sad and lonely. She kept remembering the night he’d told her he was going to Canada. They’d gone on his motorbike to a dance and he’d never even noticed how cold she was, nor how long he’d kept her standing while he took care to see it wasn’t stolen. Yet today, Sam Hamilton had worried about her shoes, and how she’d get home, dressed in her going-to-Belfast outfit, and he was just a friend.

She sat on the settle looking into the fire, determined not to cry. She felt if once she started she could cry all night and that would not do. Sometime soon her father would be coming up weary from the forge needing water to wash and a cup of tea. She drew forward a kettle on the stove, removed the dry tea cloth and remembered there was also a letter from Polly.

Ellie pushed the letter quickly into her pocket as she heard voices on the path and steps in the hall.

‘Kettle’s boiling,’ she said, with a calmness that amazed her, as her father and Charlie Running came in bringing with them with a draught of icy air.

‘A cup of tea would go down well,’ said Charlie, standing to one side of the stove to let Robert draw off a basin of warm water from the tank.

‘You timed it well, Charlie,’ Ellie said, ‘I’d just pulled the kettle forward thinking you might be up,’
she went on, surprised she could behave so normally, as she reached up to the mantelpiece yet again, for the tea-caddy with its silver, Coronation spoon.

George’s letter still lay on the table, but she swept it up deftly into her other pocket as she went to trim the lamp. Neither of the two men even noticed, as she moved around the room collecting cups and saucers and making the tea.

Friday the first of March, 1934, was a mild, breezy day in Armagh, glints of sun falling on green fields where every trace of snow had gone. The road was bone dry as Ellie set off for work, the
wee country town
of George’s letter as busy as ever when she paused at the Post Office to send off a note to Polly.

Written by candle light in her bedroom, a blanket over her shoulders, she knew it was neither as legible nor as coherent as she would wish, but she needed to tell Polly not to worry. However upset she felt at the moment of writing she was grateful that Polly’s note had come when it did. It had made things a lot better and would be very useful when she came to write to George herself. But that, she said to Polly, would have to wait till it suited her.

She had taken off her coat and was changing her shoes in the staff-room when she heard the strident ring of the telephone at the back of the shop downstairs. Minutes later Susie hurried in, her face flushed, her eyes bright.

‘Poor Daisy,’ she began, ‘that was Frank. He says he thinks she’s got flu. He was out seeing her last night and she started sweating and couldn’t breathe. She got in such a state because she couldn’t breathe he asked if he could stay and he sat up with her all night.’

‘Oh dear, Susie. Is she any better this morning?’ asked Ellie anxiously.

‘No. He says he’s getting the doctor to be on the safe side,’ Susie said, bending down to change her shoes. ‘It must have come on terribly quickly, though she had a funny little cough yesterday. I thought it was just dust from some of the boxes …’

Susie broke off. Glancing up she’d discovered to her amazement that Ellie was as white as a sheet and had tears in her eyes.

‘Oh Ellie, Ellie, what’s wrong? You don’t think she’s going to die?’ demanded Susie, a stricken look on her face.

‘No, of course not,’ Ellie reassured her, coming and giving her a hug. ‘Daisy is perfectly healthy and Frank and her Ma will look after her well. I’m just being silly. I didn’t sleep very well …’

‘Something’s wrong. I know it is. Is it George? Has he killed himself up a tree?’

Ellie tried not to laugh, but she failed. As George had treated her like an idiot, perhaps it was a good thing if Susie returned the compliment on her behalf. But one look at Susie’s face and she knew
she’d have to tell her the truth. There were rather a lot of people she’d have to tell, so she might as well start with those who knew her best.

‘Susie dear, George has got engaged to someone else. He doesn’t know that I know, so he tried to say that Canada might not suit me.’

‘Oh the so-and-so! Aren’t you absolutely furious?’

‘One bit of me is, but another bit is very upset with myself. When you talked about Frank sitting up all night with Daisy, I thought immediately of what George would have done, or rather, not have done and I felt I should have known better, or at least
sooner
. I’m blaming myself for being so trusting.’

‘For making a mistake you mean?’

Ellie nodded.

‘And what did you say to me about making mistakes when I first came?’ Susie demanded.

‘I’ve no idea.’

‘You said that unless you makes mistakes you can’t learn. That it’s all very well having rules and guidelines and all the rest of it, but the thing that really teaches you is when it goes wrong and you need help to put it right,’ she said, with a firmness and a fluency that left Ellie quite speechless. ‘Then you’ll remember next time and as well as that you’ll start to see a whole lot of other things as well, because mistakes often happen by doing the
SAME
thing when you need to do
different
things.’

‘Did I say that?’

‘Yes, you did. And it’s been a great help to me and to Joe. He used to be so afraid of making mistakes that he hid inside the books he read. Now he does all sorts of things. He’s really quite clever, isn’t he?’ she ended, shyly.

‘Indeed he is, Susie. I can’t believe how clever he is with those awful invoices,’ she said weakly, quite overcome by the idea that Susie had encouraged Joe to start using talents no one else had seen.

‘You need a nice cup of tea, Ellie. I’ll go and tell Joe and the boys that Daisy won’t be in and we’ll be down soon. They can start our jobs until we come. It was your idea, Ellie, that we all do as many of each other’s jobs as we can and that no one would be cross if we made mistakes. So you can’t be cross with
you
. I won’t allow it.’

Susie lit the gas fire, switched the kettle on and hurried off downstairs, leaving Ellie to recover her composure as best she could.

As Daisy said when she came back to work, she had no notion of dying, but never having been ill before, she’d been in a bad way. Fully herself again, she threw her energy into helping run the shop while her colleagues dressed the windows with spring fashion and fabrics and into planning her wedding. Frank had had his promotion and his formal transfer to Fivemiletown would come through at the beginning
of May. They’d been told there was a police house available with the job so there was nothing now to stop them going ahead.

‘There’s only one thing I want from you as a wedding present,’ she said to Ellie, on a mild April day when they were both free to take their sandwiches to The Mall.

‘What’s that then?’ asked Ellie, cautiously.

‘I want you to forget all about George Robinson,’ she said firmly. ‘I know you say you’re over it, but yer not right. I don’t know when I last heard you laugh.’

‘Oh dear, I’m sorry. Have I been a misery?’

‘No, I didn’t really mean that,’ said Daisy more gently. ‘You
do
laugh and you can always take a joke, but …’

Ellie looked at her friend and saw her struggling to find words.

‘You
are
right, Daisy, I’m not feeling very happy these days,’ Ellie said quietly. ‘I don’t really know why. The more I think about George the more I know I’d never have been happy with him. He’s just not reliable. And the thought of being in Canada with him, even with Polly there, makes me shiver. Imagine being married to someone and having his children, yet knowing all the time you were on your own. Not physically on your own like women who lose their husbands, but knowing there was no help for you from the person you loved and who you thought loved you.’

Daisy looked at her closely as she crumbled up her last piece of crust for the sparrows who were watching their every move.

‘Ellie, you shouldn’t be thinkin’ about what
might
have happened. It
didn’t
happen. It wouldn’t have happened. If he’d have come home you’d have taken one look at him and known it wasn’t right. You’d have broken it off yourself.’

‘Would I?’

‘Yes, you
would
. Are you afraid you mightn’t have?’

Ellie nodded and brushed the crumbs from her skirt to the great delight of the waiting sparrows.

‘Then that’s what’s wrong with you,’ Daisy declared. ‘I
know
you wouldn’t make that mistake, but
you
don’t seem to know that. What are we goin’ to do about it?’

‘I honestly don’t know, Daisy, but I know what my friend Rose would say.
Well, it didn’t work out but you’re that much further on
. And I am, thanks to you,’ she said, nodding quietly. ‘It’s awfully hard to put something right until you know it’s wrong in the first place.’

‘Aye, d’ye mind the day we thought the bailiffs were comin’ to put us out? Sure it was
you
sorted that out. It’ll be all right, Ellie. You wait an’ see. You’ll not make the same mistake twice. You’re not stupid.’

‘Thank you, Daisy, I’m glad you think that,’
she said, beaming. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever get over George Robinson trying to tell me I was a poor wee thing that couldn’t leave her
quiet wee place
in the country.’

She said it with such unaccustomed vehemence that Daisy burst out laughing and went on laughing till Ellie herself started laughing too and so startled the sparrows that they made a hasty retreat to the railings nearby.

Daisy’s wedding was a small family affair. As neither of them had any significant church connection, they were married in the Armagh Registry Office late on a Wednesday morning, so that at least some of their friends could come for what Daisy called ‘a wedding breakfast at lunch time’ set out at her own home.

Ellie and Richard Sleator had been asked to provide the necessary witnesses to the marriage and Richard’s car provided transport. They arrived back at Daisy’s home to find Susie, Joe, Harry and Stanley had all managed to squash in to a somewhat larger vehicle lent by John Sleator and driven by Sam Hamilton.

It was not simply the bride who looked radiant in a new dress worn with Ellie’s close-fitting, going-up-to-Belfast hat, the groom beamed on everyone as he poured whiskey for the men and port for the ladies. The cold lunch required two sittings in the
farm kitchen, but afterwards everyone squeezed in to hear Richard and Frank’s speeches which were short but very witty. Full of food and good spirits of both kinds, they then trooped out into the well-swept farmyard where the cake sat on a borrowed milk-churn, all three tiers iced to perfection and decorated with silver paper good wishes and edible lucky horseshoes.

Stanley and Joe took photos with their Box Brownies and a friend of Frank’s who worked at the Allison Studio took four formal pictures with a large plate camera. The bride and groom cut the cake several times before he was satisfied and then he requested that every chair, stool, or wooden box, in house or barn, be brought out so he could take a picture of the whole wedding party.

One or two of the older people said, ‘Ach no, I’ve too many wrinkles,’ when what they meant was that there were not enough chairs, but eventually, everyone was accommodated, the smaller people standing on chairs at the back, the tallest in the middle and the immediate family sitting on either side of the bride and groom. Daisy’s brothers and a few small cousins obligingly sat cross-legged on the ground.

The cake was now taken into the kitchen, carved and distributed, none the worse for so many insertions from the borrowed silver knife. Under the crisp, white icing the fruit cake Daisy’s mother had baked was rich and moist.

‘Hello, Ellie,’ said Sam, handing her a piece on a tea-plate.

‘Hello, Sam,’ Ellie replied. ‘Where’s yours?’

‘I’ll have mine later. I came to see how you’re gettin’ home. You can’t very well go back with the bride and groom when Richard takes them to the train.’

‘And I haven’t got a taxi handy like the last time we met,’ she said laughing.

‘Well, actually I’m the taxi man here today, but I think I’m fully booked for the first few trips,’ he said soberly. ‘Richard’s organising it. Some need to get to Portadown. Some back to Armagh. Could ye wait till I’ve done those?’ he asked, looking somewhat anxious.

‘Of course I could,’ she said quickly. ‘I wasn’t going to leave Mrs Hutchinson with all the clearing up. Don’t hurry, there’s a fair bit to do.’

A little later, the bride appeared in her going-away outfit, a pretty summer dress with the very smart shoes she and Ellie had bought together in Thomas Street. In her hand, she carried the spray of flowers her mother had ordered specially from Blakeley’s nursery.

Richard looked up at the sky, decided the odd large cloud was harmless enough and put the top down on the motor before ushering the bride and groom into the back.

‘Remember to throw your flowers, Daisy,’ he
said, as he walked round to the driver’s side.

‘Not on your life, Richard,’ she came back at him. ‘I’m not taking any chances with these. Come here, Ellie,’ she called, as she stood up and leant out, flowers in hand. ‘You were never much good at catchin’ things, but why bother when I’m puttin’ them right into your hand,’ she said, giving her a kiss.

There were shouts and cheers as Ellie took the flowers and Daisy’s younger brother hopped up on the running board of the motor to pour confetti liberally over the bride’s hair and down the groom’s neck.

Richard drove through the cheering guests at snail’s pace, still unaware that the same young man had managed in complete secrecy to do a thorough job of tying tin cans to his well-polished rear bumper.

The first thing Ellie did after Sam Hamilton drove her home late in the afternoon was to take Daisy’s bouquet carefully apart. Having sat in a bowl of water while the remains of the wedding party were being cleared up, the beautifully matched blooms were not even wilting. As she carefully removed the pieces of wire and the made-up bows and streamers of white and gold ribbon, she transferred the individual stems to a vase and a small collection of jam pots.

She studied all the containers closely and was
delighted. On several of the creamy-white carnations and the two blending shades of heather, there were small side shoots just big enough to handle. With care, they were pieces she could root. She spent the evening finding exactly what she needed to encourage her slips to grow before putting them on the window-sill with the already vigorous cuttings of Hamilton’s Pink.

As she got into bed that night, she decided it had been the happiest day she’d spent for a long, long time.

There were many happy days to follow over the summer. To begin with, she was able to take her week’s holiday in June. She and Ruth went window shopping, took a bus tour to the Glens of Antrim and visited Belfast Zoo.

Ellie spent a good deal of time with Rose and was there for her birthday, a quiet affair, a special lunch cooked by the housekeeper. James teased them by insisting he had cut a meeting with Lord Brookeborough himself in order to be free to join them. He had been quite right about Hamilton’s Pink. The home grown cutting which had amused the bus conductor on the way up to Belfast, delighted Rose as much as he’d said it would. It looked so flourishing, a minute set of buds already in place. As she examined the little bush carefully, Rose said she agreed with her grand-daughter. Even if it wasn’t a successor to the one she’d tended all those years
ago, then it was a cousin. It was, she said, still one of the family and a joy to have.