Nonie was still parading around, totally unaware of the trouble she had caused. “She loves the dress, Mammy. What matter if it gets a bit worn and shabby,” murmured Esther.
“But the good communion dress will be in tatters in no time,” complained her mother.
“So what! There’s no-one to pass it down to. Let Nonie have it if it makes her happy!”
Good sense or not, Nonie was allowed to wear the white broderie-anglaise dress. Her brothers might jeer and tease her, but they still loved her and were ready to give in to her strange ways. What a sight for sore eyes she was, fetching the eggs, strolling along on the strand, or worse, sitting on the side of the ditch in that dress!
“Nora Patricia, you are to stop following me! D’ye hear?” argued Esther.
“I want to come with you,” whined her small sister tearfully. “I’m lonesome on my own.”
“No!”
“Where you going, Esther? Why can’t I come too?” beseeched Nonie.
“I’m not telling you, and ‘tis none of your business!” replied Esther crossly. “I stood up for you about the dress and now you won’t do a simple thing for me and leave me alone!”
“You’ve got lipstick on and some of Mammy’s new perfume. I’ll tell on you,” she whispered slyly.
“There’s nothing to tell, madam; anyways just you remember nobody likes a tell-tale-tit!” With that Esther turned on her heel and began to march up along the road, hoping that Nonie wouldn’t follow. At the top of the road she looked back, and there were Nonie and Mixer, playing some strange form of catch-ball; her sister had probably forgotten their cross words already. Esther walked faster.
Still not a sign of him. She couldn’t credit it. He was nowhere to be seen, and it wasn’t as if she was going to march up to the farmhouse door and enquire about him. Perhaps he was in the barn—she’d try there anyways. Ah, there he was, trying to clean and sharpen a rusty old scythe.
“Con!”
He turned on hearing his name and she could see the welcome in his eyes. “Esther, I’m sorry I let you down, but I couldn’t get away. Herself sent me to the market with two calves and has me worn out with work.”
“‘Tis all right! I understand.”
Standing up, Conor wiped his hands on the greasy rag on the ground before pulling her close and greeting her properly with a kiss. Esther kept an eye on the barn door. “Nuala has gone into town, to Galway, so I’ve the place all to myself for a few hours.” She was not sure what to make of this information, but at least they wouldn’t be disturbed. “Will you come up to the house for a cup of tea? I’m parched.”
Esther hesitated. The barn was warm and cosy and she didn’t mind the animals at all. Still, you always heard stories about people getting up to things in barns.
“Aye, that would be grand, Con. I feel like a cup of tea too.”
She followed him out across the yard and over a square-patched piece of grass. A tumble of creeping rose clung to the warm stone of the farmhouse and a bed of many-coloured lupins and Sweet William basked in the wide curve of the flower bed. He pushed open the blue-painted door, dragging off his boots and pulling on a pair of worn leather calfskin shoes. She followed him into the red-tiled kitchen with its neat dresser and huge scrubbed deal table, thinking how lonely it must be to sit at such a table and eat a single meal.
“I’ll just wash up and put the kettle on,” he smiled, disappearing into the scullery. Esther was glad of the chance to have a look at the place. ‘Twas a far bigger kitchen than theirs at home, but it was not as cosy or as sunny. She noticed the chipped jug filled with wild woodbine and buttercups, and wondered if Nuala had set them on the table to brighten the place up a bit. Conor was searching for a towel and seemed to be going to a lot of trouble washing himself. Through the part-open door she could see the long hallway with its polished wooden floor and warm red mat, and the curving stairs and the distant parlour. The McGuinness house was neat and clean, with not a thing out of place, but there was a strange sour smell of damp or mould that pervaded the air, as if someone hadn’t opened every window and let the fresh air fill every corner and space for many a year.
Conor reappeared and lifted two willow-patterned cups and saucers off the dresser, placing them on the table near her, and then made a pot of tea. She was so busy watching him that when she took the first sip it nearly scalded her. He laughed out loud. Sitting here looking at him just like this, laughing, she could imagine a time when they would sit at a table of their own, married, and he would tell her of his day’s work. He seemed to be almost able to read her mind.
“I know,” he whispered softly, reaching for her hand and guiding her to come and sit on his lap. She slipped her arms around his neck, nuzzling the wind-burnt red-brown skin. Turning her head he began to kiss her open mouth, filling her with his tongue and breath; making her respond as their kiss deepened, his hands moved along the front buttoning of her dress. She sighed as he released her breasts from the soft cotton brassiere, his lips and mouth greedily claiming her flesh, biting and sucking at her pale pink-brown nipples. He hungered for her. Through the light seersucker dress she could feel his arousal, also aware of the growing dampness between her own thighs and the need to pull him closer and closer to her. She pulled his dark head to her, and he looked up. The whole front of her dress lay unbuttoned, her skin touching his. Breathless, she stood up and followed Con as he led her into his small downstairs bedroom, guiding her to the simple white-sheeted bed. Leaving her dress on the floor and wriggling off her stupid support, she lay down on the bed, watching as he undressed, tugging off his work clothes. She drew him towards her, knowing only that he must be closer, must be inside her.
“Is it all right, Esther?” he asked, hesitantly. She urged him to her, wriggling out of her knickers and letting her hand touch his large throbbing penis. Growing up in a house full of boys and bathing and washing the younger ones had ensured that Esther was well used to the sight of “mickeys,” but this was different. She stroked the rigid purple length of him, guiding it towards her, ready for him as he lay on top of her. She clung to his buttocks as he slowly began to push inside her. She could sense his restraint as he realized that this was her first time.
“Go on, Con!” she pleaded, raising her pelvis to meet him as he pushed and penetrated deep inside her, her body joining his in its almost primitive rhythm, so that as he began to thrust and jerk inside her, waves of shuddering intensity left her panting and gasping as they clung together, sweat-soaked, on his narrow bed. Afterwards she lay exhausted, wrapped in his arms. So this was it! The strange act of loving that bonded men and women together. At last she understood. Con’s eyes were closed; he had dozed off. She moved against him, skin and bone together, almost fused, the sticky wetness drying against her thighs as she turned to face him, rubbing her belly and breasts against him, till she felt his erection begin. She was ready to have him love her all over again.
“God Almighty! Look at the time!” groaned Conor.
Esther gazed lazily at the clock. They had lain together in this bed for almost three hours. She snuggled against him, pulling the blanket and sheet over her shoulders.
“Esther! Wake up! Don’t go back asleep!” he joked. “Nuala is due back any minute, and she’d have my guts for garters if she caught the two of us like this!”
Muzzily Esther tried to rouse herself. She didn’t want to put foot out of his bed ever, for now that she had started loving him she never wanted to stop. She watched as he dragged his clothes back on, the whole time anxiously peering out the window that overlooked the yard. “She’ll be back any minute now!” he warned.
Esther stretched lazily, almost annoyed with Conor’s words, though she supposed there was no point in getting themselves caught.
“Come on, Esther, love!” he urged, passing her the dress off the floor.
She scrambled for her undergarments, suddenly feeling shy of him. “I need to go to the bathroom,” she confided.
He p
ointed her to the small water closet, with its seat-less toilet, rusty overhead cistern and cracked white enamel sink. A collection of spindly brown long-legged spiders watched as she sat there, lost in the complexity of what had happened to her. Wetness and semen seeped from deep inside her as she was left to consider the loss of her virginity, and the strength of her feelings for Conor. She needed to wash, but there was no towel or soap; wiping herself as best she could she pulled on her dress and went back out to him. He was straightening the bed, so that there was no tell-tale sign of their love-making. He reached for her hand.
“You look beautiful, Esther!” he declared, reassuring her.
She smiled. She felt beautiful too.
“You’d better fix your hair,” he suggested, passing her a worn bristle brush off the kidney-shaped dressing table. She pulled it through the wavy mass of her light brown curls, posing as she knew he was watching her.
They left the room and walked back out through the kitchen and across the farmyard. It took an age to say goodbye. She kept hold of his hand, not wanting to leave him yet. They only broke apart when Con recognized the distant chugging of the Galway bus coming from the top road.
The bus grumbled to a halt. “There’s herself!” Nuala McGuinness was stepping off the country bus, laden down with packages and parcels.
“I suppose I’d better go up to the roadway and give her a hand,” he murmured, letting go of her entwined fingers. “I’ll try and see you tomorrow. Take care, Esther, love!”
Leaving him to join his employer, Esther blushed, thinking of tomorrow. Would he lie with her again?
“Goodbye, Con!” she called, racing home to her own tea.
Over the next few weeks they took every opportunity they could to be together. Twice more they had lain together in the bed in McGuinness’s. She had got used to the feel of soft grass and hard clay under her back as they made love. Once they had lain on the damp golden strand, but between the pieces of shale that stuck into her back and young Paddy and Nonie’s questions as to how she had got so much sand in her hair, it was just too risky. Conor would often call down by the cottage for her in the evenings and they would have to content themselves with walking a bit along the roadway and finding a dark spot to kiss and touch each other.
“Be wary of that stranger!” warned her mother, to which she paid not the slightest bit of heed.
Gerard and Donal had been almost rude to him one night when he’d joined them for a bite of late supper. “It’s not his fault that he’s not a local!” she’d pleaded.
Nonie was the only one who liked him, as he’d always find a chewy toffee or a humbug or a bull’s-eye hidden in his pocket for her. Her little sister was always trying to follow them, and they had a whole lot of trouble giving her the slip. “Those old sweets will rot her teeth!” was all her mother would say, not giving him any credit. Anyways, Esther didn’t care. She was in love with him and that was all that mattered.
Chapter Eleven
Esther hurried home. She was late for tea. She hoped she’d be able to slip inside and freshen up, wanting to wash away that strange musty smell that clung to her after being with Con. She wondered if her mother had noticed, could she tell? She was lucky, there was no-one around, only Liam sitting in the corner of the kitchen reading a comic. She washed and, wasting no time, returned to the kitchen. Strange, the tea was almost cooked and yet there was no sign of her mother. She turned down the oven and drained the huge saucepan of potatoes before busying herself laying the table. Majella appeared, pushing through the wooden door.
“Where’s Nonie?” she asked, glancing around the kitchen.
Esther shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“She was with you! Nonie went with you!” insisted Majella. “Sure I saw her following down the path behind you. Where did the two of you get to?”
Esther’s cheeks flamed; she felt like a small child caught out in some misdeed. “Honest, Mammy! I don’t know where she is. She wasn’t with me!”
Her mother grabbed her by the shoulders. “Nonie went with you, I saw her with my own eyes trailing along after you. You must have seen her, Esther! Where did you go anyways?”
“Honest to Jesus, Mammy, I didn’t see her since about three o’clock.”
“Where were you then all afternoon,” questioned her mother sharply, “if you weren’t minding your wee sister?”
“I just went for a bit of a walk and to call on a friend,” lied Esther, aware of the rush of mortification that washed over her. Secretly she cursed Nonie for drawing attention to her absence and inviting her mother’s suspicions. Majella was about to question her more, only her younger brothers came in from playing football and Ger and Donal arrived in starving and the tea was ready to eat. “She’ll turn up,” added Esther lamely, serving the food out on to the plates and half expecting Nonie to push in the door at any minute.
“She’s out playing with the dog, Mammy. You know what she’s like about time unless someone reminds her,” suggested Liam, helping himself to another potato.
“Aye, I suppose you’re right,” murmured Majella. “It’s just that I can’t help worrying about her.”
“We’ll all go and look for her in a few minutes,” offered Tom, sensing Majella’s concern. “Promise!”
They all ate quickly, Nonie’s dinner kept warm for her. Afterwards Donal and Tom decided to go and check with a few of the neighbours, while Gerard drove up and down along the coast road to see if there was any sign of her, or if she had taken a lift from anyone. The rest of them searched all her favourite haunts—down on the beach, the rocky cove, the old graveyard, the ruined cottage—all aware that in a few short hours the heavy red sun would drop down behind the scraggy hills and fields and they would be in darkness. Majella Doyle was getting more frantic with every minute. “Nonie’s afraid of the dark. We’ve got to find her before it gets dark!”
A few of the neighbours who were fond of the wee girl insisted on joining in the search too. Nine-year-old Paddy was red-eyed from crying. He was the closest to Nonie in age and couldn’t believe that he hadn’t seen her run off somewhere.
“We were playing football,” Liam reminded him. “It’s not your fault.”
Guilt and shame and foreboding crawled around Esther’s insides. Why in God’s name hadn’t she played with her young sister, let her walk with her, why had she been so obsessed with getting to see Conor that she had forgotten about Nonie?
They trudged through field after field, sheep baaaing at them curiously, a startled corncrake swirling up in front of them, Liam and Paddy and Tom running on ahead searching for her.
As dusk fell the air stilled, and the tide rolled in deep below them. Their voices caught on the wind as they called “Nonie!” again and again.
“There’s Mixer!” yelled Liam, running towards the dog, Esther praying that her sister was close by.
“Nonie! Nonie!”
The black and white collie ran towards them, tail wagging, crazy with barking, winding in and out between them, his coat and paws matted and soaked with dripping wet turf. “He’s been up on the bogs!”
“We’ll search up on the bogs!” ordered Gerard.
Acres and acres of uncultivated bogland stretched out in front of them. The rich brown soil was heavy and clinging underfoot, reeds and rushes and assorted wildflowers pushing their roots down into the peaty clay, clinging to the top surface and dancing in the slight breeze. All winter long the bog lay flooded and damp, and come summer the locals excavated it, digging deep, sinking bog holes into the dark heavy turf, digging it up, turning it and leaving it to dry. Out behind McGuinness’s place alone there were about three acres of it. The panting dog led them in that direction. Esther held her breath as her brothers and a few of the neighbours spread out across it.
Sweet Jesus, she prayed, don’t let this be! “Nonie!” she shouted aloud, her voice like bog cotton, wisping away unheard.
“Christ!” Donal had stopped, transfixed; Liam and Ger and even y
oung Paddy all running to join him. Esther stood watching as her brothers began to cry, Tom and Donal plunging forwards and wading up to their waists now in the heavy rain-filled turf pool. Esther raced to join them, Ger holding on to his mother as her legs almost buckled under her.
Floating face-down, wrapped in her muddied white shroud lay Nonie, her yellow ball bobbing in the brownstained water.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” prayed Majella aloud. “Not my baby!”
“Mammy!” sobbed Esther, unbelieving, wanting to hug and comfort her mother.
“You! Don’t you dare touch me, you bloody little bitch. Get away from me!”
“Don’t mind her, Esther,” consoled Tom. “You know she doesn’t mean it, it’s just the shock and because she’s so upset.”
“She came up here after you, searching for you!”
“No! She didn’t, Mammy, I didn’t see her!” she pleaded.
“This is all your fault!” cried her mother, turning away from her.
Donal had carried Nonie home across the bogland, Gerard trying to lead Majella with the support of Maureen Murphy. Esther held Paddy’s hand, her youngest brother whimpering like a terrified puppy. Dr. Lawless and the sergeant were immediately called to the house. Her mother screaming for more than an hour when she saw Nonie laid out. The sound piercing them all.
The women of the parish did a great job. They had washed the dress, every inch, till all the dirty brown staining had been bleached out of it. Maureen Murphy had tended to the corpse, washing and fixing the little girl’s curly hair till every trace of the clinging black mud was gone and the huge, ugly, purple-coloured bruise on her forehead could scarcely be seen. ‘Twas a sorry end for the child out there in the fields on her own, she thought as she laid Nonie out.
Esther still could not believe it. Nonie gone. The house was quiet, too quiet. How could one small six-year-old have made so much noise, filled the cottage so? The boys were in bits, their eyes red-rimmed with grief. Even big bullying Gerard had bawled like a baby when they’d got home, clinging to their mother for comfort.
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