The Woman from Kerry (16 page)

There were some rapid nods and a few weak smiles, a response better than she’d hoped. She made the best of it.

‘James and Sam, have you shown Jacob and William the engine your Da made for you? she asked, nodding at the wooden box under the window. ‘Hannah, could you slip into the bedroom very, very quietly, and bring me Sarah’s blanket and a pillow. We’ll put her on the settle for a wee sleep. Maybe Jane dear, you’d go out to the wash house and bring in the biggest bowl and the baking board for me.’

Rose and Mary exchanged glances as the children promptly moved around and did as they were asked, but it was not until they were all sitting round the table, fingers sticky with syrup dripping from the warm soda bread that the dark pall of Mary Anne’s wrath finally began to disperse.

‘What’s she thinkin’ about at all?’ asked John, as they sat by the embers of the fire late that evening. ‘Sure that’s no way to treat childer, even if they have done wrong. An’ I can see no wrong in it. Can you?’

Rose sighed.

‘Well, I suppose if she told wee Robert not to move from where she could see him, then he was in the wrong,’ she said, trying to be reasonable. ‘But imagine keeping a child from playing with others,’ she burst out, her anger getting the better of her.

John shook his head sadly.

‘Sometimes Thomas bees very quiet. Ye’d not get a word outa him the day long. I think maybe now I see the way of it, if that’s what he has to put up with at home.’

They sat in silence, the room growing darker as the long summer’s evening turned towards dusk, the only sound the tick of the clock on the wall and the creak of the elderly armchair he’d been meaning to strengthen for weeks.

‘What are we going to do about the water?’ Rose asked quietly. ‘Can she really put them out of the orchard?’ she went on, her mind moving from one anxiety to another. ‘The garden at the back is not that big and we’ll be wanting to plant it anyway. Then they’ll have nowhere to play but the bit of common.’

John twisted awkwardly in his seat and was about to reply when a sudden high-pitched cry startled them both.

‘That’s Sarah,’ said Rose, already halfway across the room.

‘What’s wrong with her, Rose?’ he asked, his face contorted with anxiety as she reappeared moments later, the distraught, screaming child in her arms.

‘She’s soaked in sweat, John. She’s wet through,’ she said, as she cradled the child and tried to comfort her. ‘Go over to Robinson’s and ask old Mrs Robinson if she could she come to me. Tell her it’s fever of some kind, but I don’t know what.’

By the time John was back, a small bottle in his hand, Sarah had exhausted herself and lay silent.

‘She’s comin,’ but she’s slow on her bad leg. She said give her a teaspoon of this an’ wet a sheet in cold water,’ he said, putting the small bottle down beside her and bringing her a spoon from the dresser. ‘Where would I get a sheet?’

‘There’s one in the top drawer of Sarah’s sideboard, right hand side, but there’s only half a bucket of water left in the wash house.’

‘Never worry, I’ll get ye more. It’s not dark yet,’ he said, as he hurried into the bedroom.

Rose heard him speak to Hannah, telling her to go back to sleep, reassuring her that Sarah would be better soon. She looked down at the child in her arms. As pale as a ghost now the redness had left her face, her dark curls plastered damply to her small head, her tiny body no weight at all as she cradled her in her arms.

‘Good man,’ she said, as John brought her the sheet pushed into the half bucket of water. A step at the door told them old Mrs Robinson had managed it.

‘Ach, dear, dear,’ she said sympathetically, as she limped across the floor and looked down at the sick child. ‘Did ye give her the feverfew?’

‘Yes, we did.’

‘Will I away into Armagh for the doctor?’ said John, looking from one woman to the other.

Rose said nothing, she just watched Sophie Robinson, a woman well known for her skill with cures, as she took Sarah’s limp hands in hers and concentrated open-mouthed on the erratic breathing.

‘Sit yer ground man dear, or go to your bed,’ she said briskly. ‘The doctor might do her some good tomorrow, but she’s got to get through the night. She might and she might not. We can only do our best,’ she said matter-of-factly.

Rose glanced at John, saw the look of utter despair on his face and thought for a moment he was going to cry out. But he gathered himself.

‘Have we any more buckets? I’ll away to the well in case ye need more water.’

‘There’s one in the wash house that’s not scoured, but you can fill it with a clean jug,’ said Rose, as steadily as she could manage. ‘Wait a minute and you can have this one as well,’ she said, as she peeled off Sarah’s sodden nightdress. Sophie Robinson squeezed out the sheet and wrapped it round the inert and naked child.

It was Sophie who insisted John go to bed and gather his strength for when it was needed. As it was, he only took his boots off, ready at any moment to walk into Armagh for the doctor. The two women took it in turns to hold the child, rearranging the damp sheet when the fierce heat of her body dried it
in patches. Sarah herself lay still, barely stirring as they wrapped and unwrapped her. At moments, she opened her eyes, looked as if she might cry out and then lapsed back into stillness.

‘What’s wrong with her, Sophie?’ Rose whispered, plucking up her courage at last, as the first hint of light showed itself beyond the curtains which had never even been drawn the previous evening.

‘God knows, Rose, but I don’t. I’ve seen it before, though, many a time. All I can tell you is it can go either ways. Another hour or two an’ I’d say ye stan’ a chance. All ye can do is keep yer heart up. Maybe you’d make us a mouthful of tea.’

Rose did her best to collect herself, but she knew she was moving round the room as if she were in a dream, seldom taking her eyes from the pale, sweating face that Sophie wiped gently with a damp handkerchief. It seemed to take so long to stir the fire, to get the kettle to boil. She had to make a huge effort just to remember she needed cups and sugar and the tea caddy from the dresser, milk from the far side of the wash house where the north facing wall was always cold.

‘Would you eat a bite of soda bread, Sophie?’

‘I would indeed, thank you. I get far hungrier when I sit up in the night than I ever do by day. Isn’t that a strange thing?’ she said cheerfully.

Rose nodded and wondered to herself how she could be standing here buttering bread and smiling
and nodding at a neighbour when her little child, her littlest love, was so very bad she might die.

‘I’ll take her while you have a bite,’ she said, as she arranged Sophie’s bread on a plate and poured her tea.

‘I’m so grateful to you for coming to me,’ she went on, as she settled herself, the small body cradled in her arms, the damp warmth of the sheet penetrating her blouse.

‘Sure that’s what neighbours are for. Aren’t we put here on earth to help one another?’ she said vigorously, as she munched her way through the well-buttered soda bread.

Rose looked at her, an old woman, older than her own mother, and wondered if it was loss of some kind that had made Mary-Anne Scott so bitter and hard.

‘
Take comfort for your grief and your distress but never let yourself be bitter. It is bitterness that destroys life
.’

Rose closed her eyes, feeling the prick of tears she couldn’t prevent, as her mother’s words came back once more in her hour of need.

‘Dear Lord,’ she prayed silently, ‘give me back this child and I’ll try all my life never to be bitter. And I’ll try to forgive those that are.’

‘That was great, Rose. It would put heart in ye,’ said Sophie, rising from the table. ‘Now come and drink a cup of tea at least. I’ll have the wee one again.’

Rose drank the tea Sophie poured for her, surprised at how good it tasted and how thirsty she was. Fingers of light were now slanting across the stone floor as the sun rose through the lowest branches of the big pear tree beyond the forge.

‘What time does John start his work?’ Sophie asked suddenly.

‘Eight o’clock in summer,’ Rose replied, puzzled, but not anxious, for the tone of the question was steady and without alarm.

‘We’ll let him sleep till six, then he can go into town and leave a note for the doctor to call on his rounds. Have ye a clean nightdress and a wee blanket handy?’

‘They’re in the bedroom.’

‘An’ what time is it? Ah can’t see that clock of yours now we’ve put the lamp out.’

‘It’s half five.’

‘Near enough. Just slip in an’ get it,’ she said briskly. ‘If ye wake him, it’s no matter now.’

Cautiously, Rose slipped into the bedroom and took out a child’s nightdress from the left hand drawer of Sarah’s sideboard and a blanket from the cupboard underneath. John never stirred. Lying diagonally on the bed, face in the pillow, his stockinged feet pointing out over the edge, he’d fallen asleep where he’d thrown himself down.

Rose went back into the kitchen and found Sophie unwrapping the sheet and wiping the
remaining dampness from the small body. As she watched, she saw Sarah shiver and put her thumb in her mouth.

‘Put her wee nightdress on now and wrap her up well while I make up your fire,’ said Sophie, laying the naked child on Rose’s knee. ‘Another hour an’ ye might see a wee hint of colour in her face. But she may sleep the day out.’

Rose wrapped her in the blanket and sat rocking her by the fire as the old woman got to her feet.

‘She’s a pretty one. Aye and a fighter too,’ she said, grinning as she looked down at the sleeping child. ‘I’ll come over around tea time an’ see how you both are. Of the two of you, I’d say you were the paler,’ she added, laughing and nodding to Rose, as she took up her stick and opened the door.

Sunlight poured around her as she raised a hand in farewell and hobbled across the broken, weedy ground to the path by the forge that would take her back to the farm and to her bed.

Rose drew back a few threads of hair from the pleat she always wore when going out. Standing in front of the mirror on the bedroom wall above Sarah’s sideboard, she thought of the pretty dressing table with the comfortable padded stool she’d found waiting for her when she arrived at the house in Annacramp. Laid out with crocheted mats, a posy of flowers and a cut glass perfume bottle, she’d been amazed and delighted by such unexpected luxury.

‘Never mind, Rose, there are more important things, as you well know,’ she said to herself, as she smoothed out her skirt and adjusted the collar of her blouse, one ear tuned to the monologue going on close by in the tiny bedroom where Hannah and Sarah slept.

‘Now then, Ganny, you must tidy your hair like Ma, ‘cos we’re going visiting.’

Rose smiled. She still couldn’t say ‘Granny,’ with an ‘r’ though Hannah and her brothers kept coaxing her. Hardly a common name for a rag doll either,
but it was Sarah’s own choice. She’d named it the day Grandma Sarah had given it to her, just a few weeks before she died and had never thought of changing it. Its dress made from one of Sarah’s own old dresses, its apron cut from an apron little Sarah knew well; long, grey woollen hair neatly plaited as hers had been, there was much of Granny about Sarah’s large, comforting companion.

‘We’re going to see Ganny Sophie and the kittens. You like the kittens, don’t you?’

Rose sat down wearily on the edge of the bed, her back already aching with the effort of dressing and doing her hair in the small space between the head of the bed and the sideboard. She took her purse from the top drawer and counted out shillings from a worn leather pouch.

Little Sarah’s voice carried on, just as if she were talking to her grandmother still. Rose smiled, grateful for the innocence that could replace the beloved old lady with the rag doll she had spent her last weeks making.

‘Not so easy, Sarah dear, if you’re grown up,’ she whispered to herself. ‘Not easy at all if we’d lost you the night Granny Sophie came.’

The memory of that longest of nights flowed back to her once more, as it had a hundred times during the weeks of the summer. When she changed the sheets on the children’s bed, or found the best bucket half full of water, or encountered Sophie on her visits to
Robinsons, all the anxiety of that night would return, her stomach tighten and her mouth go dry. The best she ever managed was to recall as vividly as possible the comfort and hope of the day that followed.

Sarah had slept right through it, rousing briefly only when the doctor came and examined her.

‘I can’t tell you what it was, Mrs Hamilton,’ he said sadly, as they stepped back into the kitchen, ‘but this much comfort I can offer you. Children who survive such an event and have no recurrence often have long and healthy lives.’

To her surprise, Doctor Lindsey had accepted her offer of tea. After he’d washed his hands, he pulled his chair up to the hearth and settled himself comfortably. It was true he’d known John’s family for a long time, treated her after both miscarriages and been a regular visitor to Sarah, but in ten years she’d never known him sit down as if he had time to spend.

‘You’re looking very tired, Mrs Hamilton. You’ve had more to cope with than your anxiety over the child,’ he said matter-of-factly.

Rose admitted as much as she moved to and fro between dresser, table and hearth.

‘You’ve a good man out there, working for you,’ he said, nodding in the direction of the forge, where both anvils were going strongly, ‘but he’s a soft man, one not used to hardship or disappointment. How did he take the little one’s illness?’

‘He was totally distraught.’

‘That doesn’t surprise me,’ he said, shaking his head, as he took a cup of tea from her hand. ‘His father was the same. A lovely man, full of kindness and care. He and Sarah were as happy a couple as ever I’ve known, but without Sarah he’d have been lost. It can be hard on a woman to have that extra care, Mrs Hamilton. You must look to your own health and keep your strength up.’ He paused deliberately. ‘Your good neighbour Sophie Robinson might advise you better than I about women’s matters,’ he said, looking at her sharply to see if she caught his meaning.

When she nodded and smiled, he looked around the fresh, sun filled kitchen, his eye lingering on the red geraniums in the windows, the carefully arranged dishes and plates on the dresser, the bright fire and well swept hearth.

‘I knew this house before the Colvins emigrated,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘It wasn’t in great shape then. You’ve done well in such a short time.’

‘We were in dire straits,’ she admitted, ‘but once I knew this place wasn’t damp, I thought I could make something of it until we can find somewhere better.’

He nodded.

‘Well, you might be fortunate there. I’m not well informed these days. I think nevertheless, I would not recommend it unless another move were very favourable to the whole family.’

Rose was surprised by the strength of his tone. Even more by the sheer relief she felt at his words. So much had happened, she realised how desperately she needed a quiet time. Even finding a house as nice as the one they’d left would make a demand she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to meet.

‘It is possible,’ he began slowly, ‘only my own theory, of course, drawn indeed from observation, but certainly not supported by experimental knowledge – it is possible little Sarah may have come in contact with tuberculosis, either someone with the disease, or someone who carries it. And goodness knows it’s common enough these days,’ he said, shaking his head sadly.

He paused, as if he were passing through his mind some of those cases which had been part of his observation.

‘If she has,’ he continued steadily, ‘this very alarming episode may have been her bodies reaction to the infection. That she
has
reacted so violently may protect her indefinitely from the disease, but it will also have cost. I advise you to take great care of her over the next few months. Don’t mollycoddle her. She should be out and about and play with other children quite normally, but do watch carefully for signs of fatigue. That is the chief danger. If she is at all tired, she must rest. And you must see that she eats well. Does she like milk?’

‘No, I’m afraid she doesn’t,’ said Rose uneasily.
‘Neither she nor Hannah will drink it, though both the boys drink their share and more, any time I have it to spare. I didn’t think it right to force her,’ she went on. ‘She’s not an awkward child.’

‘Quite right. Quite right,’ he said, nodding vigorously. ‘Children often know what’s best for them, so long as we don’t confuse them. But it’s a pity about the milk. If she doesn’t like cow’s milk, you might just try goat’s. But you’re right not to force her. Do you ever give her oranges?’ he asked cautiously.

‘At Christmas,’ she said honestly.

‘If you can manage it, a couple every week for the next six weeks. And I’ll make you up a bottle that will encourage her to eat more. She’s very light for her age, but then, I expect her mother was too,’ he said, grinning unexpectedly.

Rose laughed heartily.

‘When I first met John, he used to pick me up and set me down like a parcel. It put me at a great disadvantage when we had words.’

Doctor Lindsay laughed and stood up.

‘I could sit long enough by this welcoming hearth of yours, but there’s work to be done. I’ll call again and see the wee one when I bring the mare to be shod, so there’ll be no charge for
that
visit,’ he said firmly, as he pocketed the half crown she’d left ready on the kitchen table.

‘Good day, now, and take care of yourself as
well. What would they all do without you?’ he said, nodding once again, as he made for the forge where he’d tethered his horse in the shoeing shop.

With Sarah and her beloved Ganny safely delivered to Sophie at the farm, Rose strode out gratefully. The fresh autumn morning, the tracery of spiders’ webs beaded with dew, the hedgerows bright with berries, lifted her spirits, bringing her an ease and a freedom she hadn’t felt for weeks.

The last time she’d been in Armagh was the fateful day when she’d taken delivery of the white envelope at Monroe’s. Two months ago now. With the children at home and so much to do to make the house workable, she’d had to rely on John’s visits to Armagh for necessities. He’d pay the rent and buy oranges for Sarah when he had to go to Turner’s for hardware for the forge. Sometimes, he had time to collect tea and sugar for her as well, but more often with the forge so busy she’d had to use what the baker’s cart provided. It gave her much less choice and was considerably more expensive.

She’d missed her visits to town sadly. Missed the weekly books from the library, the changing fashions in the windows of the best shops, the familiar faces in the grocers and drapers shops, but most of all she’d missed wearing clothes other than her working skirt and her oldest blouse. She felt as if she’d not stopped dusting and brushing, scrubbing
and sweeping, weeding and digging, since the day John pushed open the door into the abandoned house. For the first time in her life, her hands were so rough and dry they caught threads in her stockings when she put them on.

She’d had nothing to read but the newspapers, full of news that brought no comfort to anyone. No time to sew except for the usual collection of rips and tears, the backsides of James and Sam’s trousers after they’d been climbing or the knees of John’s when he’d been kneeling down to rim cartwheels on the stone circle.

Her only joy was clearing out the roots of the weeds around the front of the house and making two small flowerbeds under the windows. There, where she could keep a watchful eye on them while they were small, she planted out the first cuttings that had rooted from those she’d made from Sarah’s garden.

In the dusk of that last, long summer evening at Annacramp, weary from the effort of the day and clumsy with tiredness, she’d worked methodically along both borders and used every small flowerpot and empty tin can she could lay hands on. Determined not to abandon the most precious of Sarah’s plants when she ran out of containers, she’d cut much larger pieces from the most flourishing plants and put them in water in an old bucket with no handle, hoping she could take the cuttings later.
They’d had to wait till after the doctor’s visit, but they’d taken no harm from the delay. The small fragments of Sarah’s sweet-smelling herbs and shrubs had put out vigorous roots in an old wooden box she’d found in the wash house and filled with soil from the overgrown garden. Although she knew many of the cuttings she’d made would take years to mature, she’d been delighted she would be able to recreate the best of the Annacramp garden.

As she walked up Railway Street and made her way through the noise and bustle of the Shambles, she blessed Sophie once again for being so willing to have Sarah.

‘Sure I miss having a child about the place,’ she’d said, smiling down at her. ‘All my grandsons are big lumps and the granddaughters are walking out or newly married, so it’ll be a day or two before there are any wee Robinsons. At least, we may hope so,’ she added wryly. ‘Let me keep the wee one when you go into Armagh or down to see Mary Wylie,’ she’d added sharply. ‘Every woman needs to get away outa the house once in a while and have a quiet word with a friend.’

‘Good morning, Mrs Hamilton, it’s good to see you again. You’ve not been in for a while. What can I do for you today?’

Rose smiled and returned the greeting, exchanged news with the pleasant young man who always served her in the drapers, then gave her attention to
choosing material and trims for the baby’s dresses she made for a local outfitter. It would be good to have time to do fine work again. Indeed, it was very necessary she should make time. The expense of the move had absorbed all the extra money which came from the long hours worked at the forge in summer, money she always saved for the lean weeks of winter. She was already concerned she had so little to fall back on. The new rent might be less than the rent for the house at Annacramp, but they’d had to sell their cow and the chickens, because there was nowhere to put them. Instead of egg money coming in, there was now egg money going out to the farm each week. They had no milk or butter of their own, no potatoes or vegetables either, until next year’s crop.

‘Rose McGinley, well, well, this is fortunate indeed. Just the person I need.’

Still absorbed in her own thoughts while waiting for her purchases to be parcelled up, she turned towards the speaker, startled out of her reverie by a familiar voice she couldn’t immediately place.

‘Lady Ishbel,’ she said, dropping a neat curtsy out of long habit.

‘Indeed. A short ten years since we shared a carriage to Dublin with your good man trying to look like a groom rather than a bridegroom,’ she said cheerfully, laughing a little at her own joke. ‘Now, I need your help. My cousin asked me to
match these threads for her and my eyes aren’t up to it. They all look the same to me. I gave up embroidery years ago. Haven’t the patience, never mind the eyes.’

Rose smiled to herself. Forthrightness was certainly one of Lady Ishbel’s characteristics. It didn’t always go down well, even with people of her own class, but she’d always preferred it to the sweetness with which some ladies behaved towards servants in public and the indifference and bad temper, they showed them when there was no one around to see how they behaved.

Lady Ishbel’s cousin had been rather meagre in providing samples of the embroidery silks she needed. More than once she’d to go to the door of the shop to decide between two very similar shades. Meantime, Lady Ishbel stalked up and down between the counters, throwing out questions about velvet and patterns. By the time Rose had finished most of the staff of the shop were engaged in seeing to her requirements.

‘Most obliged, my dear. You always were good with a needle and had an eye for dress. Just like your mother. Is she well?’

‘Yes, thank you,’ replied Rose, beaming. ‘How kind of you to ask. She still hopes to visit us one day, but we’ve been unfortunate so far with children’s illness. And it
is
such a long way.’