The Jarrow Lass

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  His expression turned from disbelief to anger as her rebuttal sank in. His fists bunched, crushing the cap, and for a moment she thought he would strike her. Instead he just fixed her with his unforgiving stare.

  ‘I don’t want a bloody housekeeper, you stuck-up bitch!’ he shouted harshly. ‘You think I’m not good enough for you? Well, you’re not a high-and-mighty Fawcett now. You’re a common-as-muck shoveller, relying on yer sister’s charity - aye, and that of her husband. But maybes it suits you to pay the rent in other ways, eh, Rose? You and Danny. Do you warm his bed too?’

  Rose gasped in offence. ‘How dare you suggest—’

  But John could not stop himself lashing out and trying to hurt her back. He could see he had provoked her at last. ‘Why else does he let you stay here?’ he hissed. ‘It’s what people are asking round the town.’

  ‘I don’t believe you!’ Rose flushed with indignation.

  ‘Aye, well, ask Danny,’ John said in savage triumph. ‘I’ve heard him boastin’ to his workmates in The Alkali.’

  Rose covered her face in mortification. What was she to believe?

  John was merciless. ‘I could’ve saved yer reputation. What other fool do you think’ll tak you on with all of Fawcett’s brats?’

  Rose was stung by his words. No one was going to insult her children or William’s memory, least of all him! She glared at John with contempt.

  ‘I’m not asking any man to take us on,’ she answered proudly, ‘least of all a foul-mouthed McMullen like you.’

  John jammed on his cap. ‘Well, that suits me.’ He grabbed the door handle and jerked it open. The icy December air blew in like a slap to her face. ‘Just remember, McMullens don’t ask twice!’ He stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

  Kate ran back into the kitchen. ‘What’s wrong, Mam? Aunt Maggie wouldn’t let me back in.’ She pulled on her mother’s hand. ‘Where’s the soldier, Mam?’

  ‘He’s gone,’ she said, beginning to shake uncontrollably.

  ‘What’d you say to him?’ Maggie asked accusingly, following with Mary in her arms.

  Rose could not bring herself to look at her sister. She was filled with shame at John’s poisonous insinuations about herself and Danny. She felt sick at the thought of people gossiping about her situation, that Danny himself might have fuelled the gossip. She would not believe it! But she could not banish the doubts that now plagued her.

  ‘What’ve you done, Rose?’ Maggie demanded.

  Rose faced her. ‘Told him I wouldn’t marry him,’ she whispered.

  ‘Oh, Rose,’ Maggie remonstrated.

  They stared at each other helplessly. ‘I’m sorry,’ Rose said, ‘I just couldn’t. . .’

  ‘How could you be so selfish?’ Maggie cried, and burst into tears.

  Kate stared open-mouthed at them both, baffled by their words.

  At that moment, Elizabeth ran in.

  ‘Quick, Mam! It’s Margaret—’

  ‘What’s happened?’ Rose demanded at once.

  ‘Her breathing’s all funny,’ the child gasped. ‘She wants you quick!’

  For a few seconds, Rose stood paralysed, her mind still in turmoil from the bruising encounter with John.

  ‘Please, Mam,’ Elizabeth was almost in tears.

  As she stared at the girl, she heard the ghastly rattling of Margaret’s breath through the open door. It was a sound that filled her with dread, a sound she had prayed never to hear again. Fear smothered her chest.

  ‘Oh, Mary, Mother of God! My bairn!’ she gasped.

  Rose dashed forward, her only thought to save her beloved eldest daughter.

  Chapter 22

  All through that long night, Rose stayed by Margaret’s bedside and bathed her face and body. She was red-hot to the touch and babbling incoherently. Rose and Maggie soaked a sheet in water and wrapped it around her to try to cool her down. Her breathing was ragged and laboured, her chest heaving and rattling with every painful breath.

  They fed her sips of whisky that Danny and old McConnell were keeping for Christmas, but this made Margaret retch and spew bile down her chin and over Rose’s arm. The child’s eyes stared wildly, trying to fix on her mother’s face, but Rose could not bear the look of terror. It mirrored what she felt inside.

  The other girls fell asleep in front of the hearth, huddled together like hibernating animals and Maggie covered them up with a blanket. Rose heard Danny whispering urgently to his wife that he did not want her tending the sick child for fear that she would succumb to fever. Maggie hushed him and he eventually went to bed, but Rose’s father sat in his chair talking to himself in agitation. He hated any sickness in the house since his wife had died and they had to endure his fretful ramblings.

  ‘He’s talking to Mam as if she’s in the room,’ Maggie said in distress.

  Rose was past caring. She too felt the ghosts of the past gathering in the shadows and her panic increased.

  ‘Maggie!’ She grabbed at her arm. ‘Will you send Danny for the doctor?’

  Maggie looked alarmed. ‘We’ve nowt to pay him with - Danny said.’

  Rose gripped her in desperation. ‘I’ll pay. Look at the lass - she’s hot as a fire. I don’t know what else to do for her. I’m scared, Maggie!’

  Maggie looked at her. ‘Give us your ring,’ she said quietly, nodding at Rose’s hand.

  Rose looked down at the thin marriage band on her calloused swollen finger. Apart from the family photograph, it was the one possession that she had kept that linked her to William. Everything else she had pawned or given to Maggie to sell, except this one token of William’s love. She looked up and saw the pity in her sister’s eyes. Rose clenched her jaw and yanked at the ring. What use had she for tokens now? Her daughter was fighting for her life. The ring meant nothing to her in comparison.

  But it would not budge over her swollen knuckle. She tugged and twisted, nearly weeping with the pain. Maggie stopped her.

  ‘I’ll go,’ she said. ‘You can pay him later.’

  She grabbed her shawl and went before Rose could say anything, the icy chill of the winter night howling round the door as she left. As the night wore on, Rose prayed and pleaded with the Virgin Mary to save Margaret.

  Briefly, Margaret’s speech became lucid. ‘Mam,’ she wheezed, ‘are you there, Mam?’

  Rose bent over her swiftly so that the child’s eyes could focus on her face. She stroked her forehead. ‘Aye, hinny, of course I’m here,’ she smiled tearfully, overcome to hear her voice again. Hope leapt within that the fever had peaked.

  ‘I feel cold.’ Margaret shivered, even though she was drenched in sweat. ‘Can I have another blanket?’

  ‘You’re too hot for blankets,’ Rose told her gently.

  ‘Where’re me sisters? Where’s Elizabeth?’ Margaret fretted. ‘I want to see ‘em.’

  ‘They’re sleepin’ by the fire - you’ll see them in the morning.’

  Margaret fixed her with a troubled look. ‘Why aren’t they here with us? Am I dying, Mam, like me da?’

  Rose’s heart squeezed in pain. She held her daughter’s limp hand. ‘No! Don’t think such a thing. Aunt Maggie’s gone for Dr Forbes - we’ll soon have you better.’

  ‘Can I gan back to school soon?’ Margaret whispered in hope.

  ‘Aye, soon,’ Rose answered.

  Margaret’s frown eased. ‘I don’t want to let Miss Quinlan down.’

  ‘You won’t,’ her mother smiled. ‘Now stop worrying and get some rest.’

  But Margaret continued to stare, her blue eyes so like William’s, it comforted and hurt Rose in equal measure.

  ‘Mam? Stay with me.’

  Rose’s throat constricted with tears. She struggled to remain composed.

  ‘I’m not ga
nin’ anywhere, hinny,’ she promised.

  ‘Good,’ Margaret smiled weakly. ‘Tell me one of your stories, Mam,’ she panted. ‘The one about the weddin’ - and the bride who looked like an angel. That’s me favourite.’

  Rose hardly trusted herself to speak, so choked was she with feeling for her sick daughter. But she gulped back the tears that threatened to betray her. She would do anything to ease Margaret’s fear and pain.

  After a while Margaret fell asleep and Rose began to worry over why Maggie was taking so long to bring the doctor. It seemed an age since she had gone. But she heard no footsteps or voices approach the house, only the howling of the wind.

  At one stage in the black night, Mary woke and began to cry. Rose realised that it was Maggie who normally tended to her in the night and took her into bed with her and Danny. The child’s whimpering jarred her ragged nerves, but she could not leave Margaret’s side.

  ‘Maggie, where are you?’ she cried out in anxiety, longing for her sister to return with help.

  But Mary’s crying grew louder and more insistent, and she howled for her aunt. A few minutes later the door creaked open and Elizabeth staggered in with a tearful Mary in her arms.

  ‘She wants you, Mam,’ said the sleepy-eyed child.

  Rose was at her wits’ end. ‘No she doesn’t. Keep her out of here!’

  Mary’s wailing increased. ‘Where’s Aunt Maggie?’ Elizabeth asked nervously.

  ‘Gone for the doctor,’ Rose said, turning back to bathe Margaret’s face. ‘Please take the bairn and quieten her down before she wakes everyone up,’ Rose pleaded.

  They went and a few minutes later she heard Mary’s crying subside to a whimper and then peter out in exhaustion. Rose sank forward and rested her head on the bed. Clutching Margaret’s hand and working the rosary she whispered, ‘Mary, Mother of God, I’ll be a better mother to the bairn, I promise. Just save our Margaret!’

  She closed her eyes and carried on praying. If she could just see her daughter through the night, the worst of it might be over. . .

  A hand touched her gently on the shoulder, shaking her awake. Rose looked up, needles of pain pricking her neck and shoulders as she moved. It was Maggie returned at last.

  ‘Where’ve you been? Where’s the doctor?’ Rose gasped. Maggie looked grey-faced, her dark eyes sunken.

  ‘I went all over Jarrow,’ Maggie said wearily. ‘I tried, but I couldn’t find him.’

  Rose turned from her in frustration. Then it struck her that Margaret’s noisy breathing had eased. Her heart leapt with relief to see her daughter’s restful pose. The florid flush had gone from her cheeks and her eyes were half open, looking over at her.

  ‘Margaret,’ she smiled, leaning forward and brushing her forehead.

  Her hand recoiled. The girl’s skin was cold and clammy to the touch. The fingers that lay on the cover were bunched into a claw-like fist, as if she had tried to grab something at the moment of death. Had she been reaching out for her? Rose clenched her teeth against the wave of nausea in her throat. She had been sleeping while her daughter died! Margaret had searched for her in the dark as the breath was sucked from her body, but she had not been there to comfort her. Had she been afraid? Had she tried to say anything to her? She would never know! How could she have fallen asleep at such a time?

  Rose clutched her small cold hand and let out a scream. ‘My bairn! Oh, help me, they’ve taken me bairn!’

  Maggie tried to hold her, but she rocked back and forth, howling like a wounded animal. ‘No, not Margaret! Not my Margaret! What have I done to deserve this?’

  Maggie could not prise her away from the dead girl. Rose clung on to her as if she could will her back to life by warming her in her own arms.

  ‘Rose, don’t let the other lasses see you like this,’ Maggie said in distress, but it made no difference. Rose was suffering in a terrifying world beyond reason, where grief stabbed at her like hot pokers. How could God have taken away her precious eldest daughter as well as her young husband? What terrible sins had she committed? What protection did she have now? If they could be snatched from her so easily, then what chance had her other children? None of them was safe!

  Rose could not stop her weeping; she was shaken by disbelief and loss. Some time later, just before dawn, the younger girls crept into the room and stood around their grief-stricken mother and gawped at the white-faced Margaret lying so still with her mouth open. Rose felt their young arms touching her and patting her shoulders.

  ‘I don’t want her to die!’ Elizabeth sobbed into her mother’s neck, bereft without her older sister.

  But Kate rubbed both their backs and said, ‘Don’t cry, Mammy. Margaret’s gone to be with Da and the saints now. She’s one of the angels, isn’t she?’

  Rose turned and looked at their anxious faces in the guttering candlelight. She stretched out her arms to embrace them all.

  ‘Aye, she is,’ she whispered, and pulled them into a fierce hug. They held and comforted each other with tears and soft words, until a pale dawn light spread into the room and heralded their first day without Margaret.

  Chapter 23

  Florrie and Albert came over the river for the funeral. It was a quiet affair on a raw December day with no pretence at a wake afterwards. Old McConnell seemed quite to have lost his mind at the sight of young Margaret’s body laid out on the kitchen table and thought it was one of his daughters. Lizzie came home to keep an eye on him and the younger children, but Elizabeth insisted on accompanying her mother to see her favourite sister buried. She would not let Rose out of her sight, her pale face pinched and anxious.

  At the graveside, Elizabeth shook with sobs and clung on to her mother’s arm as Margaret’s coffin was levered into the short gaping grave. But Rose’s broad face was expressionless. Her cheeks were purple with cold, and lines of pain marked her colourless mouth, her dark-ringed eyes staring ahead blankly. She had no more tears to cry. She felt as cold and empty as the wintry cemetery in which they stood. A few feet away, the dry stalks of autumn flowers lay like fragile bones beneath the wooden cross on William’s grave. Margaret had put them there on their last visit. The poignant thought made Rose crumble inside.

  Oh, Margaret! Why had she left her so soon?

  She had a sudden desire to throw herself headlong into the open grave, so painful was the thought of being parted from her eldest daughter for ever. She was stopped by the sound of a muffled moan close by. The priest hesitated in his words. For the first time Rose became aware of the small group of people around her. They were all staring. With a shock she realised that the stifled cry must have come from her.

  ‘Don’t cry, Mam,’ Elizabeth sobbed at her side. ‘Don’t cry.’

  But Rose could not stop the strange strangled sound that rose from the pit of her stomach and shook its way out of her throat as if she were trying to vomit. Maggie took her other arm and held on to her tightly while tearless weeping engulfed her. Only her sister’s grip prevented Rose from buckling at the knees. Then the brief committal was over and Maggie took her by the arm and led her swiftly away.

  Florrie and Albert made excuses about having to get back to Wallsend and did not make the muddy trek up to Simonside for the meagre cup of tea and biscuits offered them. On returning, Maggie put Rose straight to bed and told the girls to leave her to rest. The next day Rose did not have the strength to get up and Elizabeth assumed the role of eldest sister and got Sarah and Kate to church on time. All that following week, she did the same, getting the younger ones to school and helping her aunt with the washing and ironing, the way Margaret had always done.

  Rose was hardly aware of this as she lay in a twilight world of grief in the icy bedroom. Maggie tried to get her to eat, but she looked with incomprehension at the food offered her, as if she had forgotten what it was for. At the end of the week Maggie los
t her patience.

  ‘Rose Ann! Are you going to lie there until you die, an’ all?’ she demanded. ‘And what good will you be to your children then? Or don’t you remember that you’ve got four other daughters to care for? It’s them that need you now. You’re frightening them with your strange ways. Get up out of that bed now!’

  Rose was startled by her sister’s harsh tone. Despite their recent differences, Maggie had never spoken to her with such anger before. She looked at her helplessly.

  ‘I want to die,’ Rose whispered. ‘I just want to be left alone.’

  ‘Well, I’ll not let you,’ Maggie snapped. ‘You’re not the first woman in the world to lose her husband and one of her bairns - the town’s full of ‘em! Think what it must have been like for Mam, losing one baby after another when we were little? But did she give up and take to her bed? No! She thought of us and kept hersel’ going.’

  Rose was winded by her words. ‘You don’t know what it’s like!’ she cried.

  ‘No, I don’t,’ Maggie replied. ‘But I do know that you’re a strong person and you’re brave enough to bear what’s been given you. You’ve ten times more courage than most folk. This isn’t like you to turn your face to the wall and give up.’

  Rose began to shake. ‘I can’t do it without them,’ she hissed. ‘I need William and Margaret. They were the strong ones, not me.’

  Maggie stood over her and gripped her shoulder. ‘You can do it for them,’ she urged. ‘Get up out of that bed and be a mother to them unhappy bairns in the other room. Do it for William’s sake - for his memory - the way he would have wanted you to - expected you to.’

  Rose bowed her head and gave way to tears. She wanted to do as Maggie said, but she was overwhelmed with exhaustion and paralysed with fear. She could not face the world beyond these bare walls or the daily struggles of living. She dare not look her sister in the face for she knew she would find her cowardice contemptible.

  Maggie stood back, seeing how little effect her words were having. ‘Well, lie there and wallow in your self-pity,’ she said with disdain. ‘You’re not the woman I thought you were, Rose Ann. You know who you remind me of now?’