by Anne Doughty
By the time Sam and Scottie had started work on the mare, Sarah had brewed tea, sat George down by the fire and asked him what had happened.
He looked so distressed that for a moment she thought he might cry, though John had once told her that their father had always said that only women cried and they were men. Indeed, John, soft-hearted himself and easily moved, had never cried in her presence.
‘So what has happened, George?’ she asked gently.
‘Ach well, it’s easy told. I went to Lisnagarvey market, and indeed you know the very spot I went to. An’ I met yer man Wilson who’s the factor for a couple of finishers and dyers. I’ve been dealin’ with him for years now an’ he knows me well. He just tol’ me straight that there’s no demand any more, that where he’d once sold cloth t’be dyed and finished, they were now gettin’ it in from elsewhere already dyed an’ finished an’ at a lower price.’ He nodded at her and drank his tea. ‘Not as good quality, he tol’ me and not whit I’d produce, but that diden appear t’ matter t’ these new people. They want cloth at a price an’ they’d foun’ it elsewhere an’ that’s the end of the story. Shure he was lukin’ around hisself fer whit he could turn his hand to.’
‘So what are you going to do, George?’
‘Well, apart from plantin’ potatoes in the wee bit a land I have, I’m lukin for harvest work wi’ any o’ the big farmers. I may have t’go to Scotland like many a one before me. I’d emigrate as quick as a wink if I had the money, but shure there’s no use talkin’ when I’ve not what wou’d pay to shoe the mare.’
‘What about Alice? What does she think?’ she asked quietly, wondering what it would be like to have to cope with three children as well as the sudden loss of their income.
‘Ach, she’s doin’ her best, workin’ away at the sewin’. There’s still call for napkins for the big houses here and over the water. There’s a man collects thim an’ leaves her more ta get on with. Pays poor, but it keeps us in flour and oats. She says she dreads the winter wi’ no light to see by and likely no paraffin for the lamp. She’d be for off if we had the money.’
Sarah remembered talking about the cost to the families whom Ben had joined when they’d emigrated at the end of May. She paused for a moment only, and then said calmly: ‘George, I know what John would have done if you’d come to him. I think perhaps I could help you get away.’
CHAPTER NINE
The day of George Hamilton’s visit was another of the humid days that everyone disliked, one where Sarah looked forward to the cool of the evening, only to find it was no better. She went to bed late that evening, but even then, her eyes closing with fatigue after hours of sewing, she could not sleep.
She felt she’d been hasty in making her offer of help to George. Here she was, trying to see how they could get through the winter with a much reduced income from the forge and she had just committed herself to financing him and his family with a sum of passage money she simply couldn’t afford.
Even at the best of times, even if John had still been alive, it was a large sum and needed to be considered carefully. That and the repair of the trap – now, according to Sam Keenan, almost ready to be delivered – would take the bank account to a level considerably lower than it had been two years earlier after John had bought some bed linen for their room and a new suit for their wedding.
She tossed and turned; the bedclothes were suddenly too heavy and too warm, so she got up and went downstairs for a glass of water. She stood drinking it on the stone doorstep at the back of the house and looked up at the sky. Not a star in sight, not even the moon was visible through the thick cloud that had cut out the sunlight all day.
In the darkness a dog barked far away, the sound muffled as everything seemed to be at night. Oh for rain, or wind, or sun, she thought to herself, standing barefoot, the empty glass in her hand. Anything to sweep away this pall of cloud enveloping the land. Enveloping also it seemed her thoughts, which now appeared as clouded and oppressive as the weather.
To take Arms against a Sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them
She smiled to herself, surprised and amused at the sudden thought which had come to her. Where had that come from? She remembered immediately that it was Shakespeare. Hamlet. Of course. She smiled more broadly as she peered out into the grey, misty darkness, memories coming back to her. In her childhood, her grandmother had quoted the Bible and Shakespeare so freely and so frequently that she sometimes got mixed up as to which one the old lady was referring. At one time, long ago, she had even imagined that Shakespeare had a hand in writing the Bible. Her grandmother had sat her down and explained patiently.
‘No, Sarah dear. Shakespeare was a clever man and he said wise things through his characters, but he was not in the right place at the right time to know about the wonderful things that happened in the Bible, especially in the New Testament when God’s son came down to help us all understand things better.’
Her grandmother was so full of life. Even when she was bedridden in her last year, there was a light in her eyes as if she had a source of strength within her that never failed. She had died in her sleep, so peacefully that Sarah, who had moved her own mattress into the small room to be near her, only woke with the sound of rain on the roof to find the old lady lying completely still, looking as if she had just had a pleasant dream.
She took a deep breath, though there was no freshness in the moist air, and made up her mind. She had spoken to George from the heart; she had done what she knew was right. Fairly, it might not seem ‘sensible’ to someone else, but that was not the point. There was no one else involved. Her job was to travel hopefully and use all her gifts to try to do what she thought best. Helping George and Alice and their children to get away was just as important as trying to keep the forge going for Sam and Ben and Scottie.
Tomorrow, she would go to the Ulster Bank and withdraw the money for the repair of the trap and the family ticket to Canada which George would now need to confirm his provisional booking. Beyond that she could not see. But sooner or later this mist must lift and she must be ready to play whatever part she was called upon to play in events she could not guess at, any more than anyone else.
She shut the door, tramped quietly back upstairs, lay down on the crumpled bed and promptly fell asleep.
Sometime in the night it did rain and, although it was still grey and overcast, Sarah noticed it was cooler when Scottie arrived for his breakfast. As the morning went on, the cloud cleared and by the time she was being driven in to Armagh by Billy Halligan with Jamsey and a small shopping list for Mary-Anne, the sun had begun to gleam through thinning cloud and the first blue sky was appearing.
Armagh was busy, it being a Thursday and a market day, but Sarah’s jobs were easily enough done. The manager himself greeted her in the Ulster Bank and made a little joke about her ‘going shopping’ when he sent one of the young men to count out five-pound notes for her.
Sarah smiled but was quite straightforward in explaining why she was making such a large withdrawal.
‘I may well have to sell the trap, Mr Cummings, but without the repairs that have been done it wouldn’t be worth anything at all. It was in a very bad way when it was brought back to the forge. I’ve no idea what it’s worth now, but I shall be asking my brother-in-law and my neighbours what they think.’
He nodded easily. ‘If I recall correctly your good husband came in to arrange the purchase of the trap some four or even five years ago. I remember he was quite delighted with how well it looked. Has it gone back to the maker?’
‘Yes,’ she said, nodding firmly, ‘A nice man called McCann at the cart manufactory on the Cabragh Road. He actually came to see me after John died and made me an offer for repairing it. He said he knew John,’ she explained slowly, the mention of John having been difficult. ‘Apparently John and Sam Keenan had helped him and his partner out with hooping cartwheels,’ she added more easily.
‘That’s something we still seem to
do in these parts,’ he said, nodding and looking rather sad. ‘There are those who find us “backward”, but I think perhaps they misjudge what we think important. I would celebrate what we call “neighbourliness”. It’s not something you can value in money. It’s more important than that, wouldn’t you agree?’
It was several days later when Paddy McCann and George Hamilton arrived on the same afternoon and drank the tea and cake she offered together at the kitchen table. George was unambiguous in his comments. He said the trap looked like new.
‘Sure lookin’ at that trap of John’s sittin’ out there beside mine there’s no comparison. If I were buyin’ and not sellin’, I know which one I’d want – if I could afford it, that is,’ he said with a wry laugh. ‘It’s a credit to you, Paddy, it looks really well.’
Sarah suddenly found she couldn’t look at the trap without being forced to remember exactly what had happened, but she gathered herself and said firmly that she agreed completely. Polished, varnished and repainted as needed, it shone in the sunlight and she certainly couldn’t tell which side had been damaged by whatever vehicle had pushed them off the road on the stone bridge over the little stream where in summer the children went to catch ‘sprickleybags’.
As soon as they’d drunk their tea, George took himself off to the forge for ‘a word with Sam Keenan’, while Sarah got out the old handbag and counted out the money to meet Paddy’s hastily scribbled bill.
‘Are you sure you haven’t undercharged me, Paddy?’ she asked cautiously, as she put the folded fivers in an envelope.
To her great surprise, Paddy laughed.
‘D’ye know, missus dear, I don’t think I’ve iver been asked that afore. More likely it’s someone lookin’ a good luck penny or tryin’ to beat me down.’
‘Well I’ll not do that, Paddy,’ she said firmly, ‘I won’t accept a luck penny after all you’ve done. I’m very grateful to you and I’ll put in a word if ever I can for your work. In fact, I’m just wondering if perhaps you could help George sell his trap. If you spent some time on the woodwork, it might fetch a better price. They’re planning to go to Canada next month and he needs all the money he can make.’
‘That’s a fair point,’ he said, nodding vigorously, ‘I’ll go an’ have a wee word with him afore I go. Now be sure ye let me know if I can iver help ye out again. It wou’d always be a pleasure,’ he said, looking her straight in the eye, as he put the envelope into his jacket pocket without even glancing at the notes within.
George was embarrassed at taking the money she’d already set aside for him. He insisted he’d repay it just as soon as he could, but she reassured him that she had enough to be going on with. He could send her dollars if he landed on his feet, as some did, but as far as she was concerned the money was a gift from his brother, John. She also reminded him about the fact the he, like John, had a burial fund. She hoped neither Alice nor his children would need it for many a long year, but she wondered if it was possible to pay it up and take whatever small sum it might release.
‘I’m afraid I’ve only just thought of that or I’d have asked Mr Cummings about it this morning,’ she said apologetically, as she walked out of the house with him towards the trap where his horse was munching devotedly from the nosebag Scottie had provided.
‘Wumman dear, an’ you with enough to cope with, thinkin’ about me an’ mine and that wee book. Sure haven’t you saved all our skins already? I’ll be back over t’ see you as soon as we get our date.’
If Sarah took comfort from George’s appreciation and Paddy’s loving work on the trap, her pleasure did not last long. Before she had cleared away the empty mugs and thrown out the few crumbs left for the birds, young Billy arrived breathless from the foot of the hill.
‘Ma says to tell you me granny’s jus’ died. She jus’ fell outa the chair an’ hit her head on the floor. She says: “woud ye go down to her this evenin’ an’ give her a bit of a han’”?’
‘Oh Billy, I am sorry. That’s a shock for you all, even though she was very poorly,’ she said, looking at his screwed up face and his uneasy movements. ‘Would you tell her I’ll be down right away, but I must just see Scottie about his supper? He’s well able to make his own if he knows I have to be out, but I must just tell him,’ she explained, knowing young Billy never had to think about such things.
‘Aye surely. She’ll be glad to see ye,’ he said, relief in his voice, as he took off at speed to run back home.
Sarah damped down the fire and brought out a clean mug and plate for Scottie. She laid them in his usual place and left the teapot ready on the hearth. He hadn’t often had to make his own supper, but he knew where everything was. Whenever he was in the house he watched her every move and often he asked if he could help, so he was familiar with the small, cold pantry beside the back door where he’d find bread and butter. She remembered the strawberry jam Mary-Anne had made, put a helping in a small glass dish, took it to the table and put a bowl over it in case of flies.
She was just about to leave, most of the morning’s baking and three quarters of the cake from the tin now in her basket, when Scottie himself rushed in without even pausing at the front door.
‘Missus dear, luk, jus’ luk. All the good potatoes Ben and I put in afore he went. They were lookin’ grate this mornin’ when I dug you a bucketful for the dinner, an’ now luk at them …’
Near to tears, he held out his hand: a limp, blackened and slimy piece of once-green top growth clinging to his fingers.
‘There now, Scottie, don’t upset yourself,’ she said, putting her arms round him for the first time since John died. She felt him cling to her as if he’d never let go. ‘We’ll manage one way or another,’ she went on, trying to reassure him. ‘Now don’t be upset. Have you told Sam yet?’
‘No, I luked in the forge but there was a man waitin’ I diden know, so I come on in t’ you.’
‘You did the right thing, Scottie,’ she said, stepping back gently and then patting his shoulder. ‘Now go and wash your hands at the sink and see if Sam is on his own now. Come back and tell me. Then we’ll see what we need to do,’ she said as steadily as she could.
She hadn’t the remotest idea what was to be done but she was grateful that Scottie seemed easier. At least she knew she could leave him now to make his evening meal while she went down to Mary-Anne to help with the rituals of mourning.
Sarah arrived at the Halligan’s farm at the same time as the woman who was known locally for her competence in ‘laying out’. Until the undertaker arrived the old lady would lie on her bed, which had been brought downstairs some weeks ago with a clean bedspread covering her body. When Sarah and Mary-Anne finally managed to have a word she found that the old lady had no shroud, so one had been ordered along with her coffin which should arrive shortly.
What Mary-Anne had said via young Billy’s message did not explain to Sarah the number of men in working clothes who were finishing mugs of tea at the kitchen table. Though Sarah knew some of them by sight, she felt sure from their dress and manner that the men were not mourners. She asked Mary-Anne what was happening.
Mary-Anne shook her head, indicated the back door and they slipped out together.
‘Ach sure Granny goin’ is bad enough,’ she said quietly, ‘but there’s a far worse loss the day, though I maybe shou’den say that. Billy is goin’ mad over the tatties. He came in a while before she fell outa the chair an’ says all the tops is black an’ our only hope is to dig them and see what we can save before the rot goes down the stem and inta the tatties themselves. Sure I can’t take it in at all. He worked so hard … all three of them did, an’ he was waitin’ for a contract from the workhouse for so many tons a week. An’ now we’ll maybe not even have enough for ourselves.’
Jamsey had gone to visit the nearest neighbours. They’d checked on their own potato patches, but knowing the size of Billy’s planting they’d come or sent a son to help lift the whole crop though they knew the potatoes would be small
.
Behind them they heard the chairs scrape on the stone floor as the men got up and went out to join Billy and his sons who were already at work in one of the fields directly in front of the house on the other side of the road. Back in the empty house together, Mary-Anne tended the fire while Sarah cleared the table and gathered up the dirty mugs and plates to be washed.
‘An’ that’s not all of it either,’ said Mary-Anne, straightening up from sweeping the hearth. ‘There was a white envelope came this morning and you know what that is, don’t ye? Did ye not get one?’ she went on quickly, seeing the puzzled look on Sarah’s face. ‘Shure April and September is the valuation and the half-yearly ground rent. If it didn’t come today, then ye can be shure it’ll be with you tomorrow.’
Despite the fact that Billy’s mother did not live locally and had few relatives or friends left living at all, visitors came and went all evening. Many stayed only briefly and declined refreshment, which was fortunate as Mary-Anne soon had no cake left and only Sarah’s to fall back on.
Sarah listened to the now familiar phrases and wondered what she really thought about them. ‘I’m sorry for your trouble,’ was kind enough and probably a good summing-up of the well-disposed nature of the speaker to the one who presently had both the loss and the practicalities of a death to deal with.
‘Shure she’s in a better place,’ was more problematic. How did anyone know where the dead now resided? She certainly couldn’t see John playing a harp. She wondered where he really was: a speck of dust in the universe; a presence in the places he loved; a cobweb in the forge; a voice inside her head saying helpful things, telling her to ‘be of good cheer’, to ‘wait upon the Lord’ when she couldn’t make up her mind and wished he was here with her by the fire, ready to struggle with a problem she hadn’t met before.