The Blacksmith's Wife

by Anne Doughty

  ‘I’ll wait, thank you,’ she said, sitting down gratefully.

  It was somewhat cooler here by the window but, as she relaxed a little, a small party of well-dressed men just beside her burst out laughing and proceeded to address each other as if across a large field rather than a modest table for six. As well as the amount of noise they were making, they were so close by she couldn’t avoid hearing every word they said.

  ‘Well, to my mind Sir Norman’s right. He says these relief works are a waste of money. Over by Blackwater, they’re shaving the tops of hills and filling up valleys, so he says, and he’s been to look. What use is that? Why not put the money into drainage? We’ve enough wet land that needs it and there’d be something to show for the labour and the money we’re having to shell out, but try telling that to your man Trevelyan at Dublin Castle. You might as well spit into the wind.’

  ‘Yes, Henry, but they don’t want hard-working landlords to benefit. Landlords are wicked and exploitive. Surely you know we’re all a bad lot, even if we do live here and are not sporting ourselves in Bath or London. Did you see the cartoon in the Illustrated?’

  There was raucous laughter as one of the gentlemen suggested that an older member of their group wouldn’t know what to do with a wench like the one portrayed.

  The noise now distressed her more than the heat had done and she wondered if the best thing to do was go and wait outside. She was sure Jonathan would come, or would send her a message, but she knew she was growing more exhausted by the minute.

  Suddenly, there was silence. She could hardly believe it, until a discreet glance revealed steaming plates of roast beef and vegetables being placed carefully by the waiter in front of each of the well-nourished gentlemen.

  A few moments later, Jonathan appeared, clearly distressed by the delay.

  ‘Sarah, my dear, forgive me. It was the last thing I expected. I promise I’ll tell all, but please let us order our lunch and perhaps if you can spare the time we could go and walk on The Mall. After my adventure this morning, I have need of both your company and your good advice.’

  Lunch was pleasant and became even more pleasant when the noisy party at the next table decided to have coffee in the smoking room.

  ‘Have you heard, Jonathan, about levelling hills and filling valleys?’ Sarah asked, when the last member of the group disappeared.

  ‘Who’s been saying that?’ he replied, raising his eyebrows.

  She told him what she’d overheard and he nodded sadly. ‘I’m afraid there’s an argument going on about so-called productive and unproductive relief works. The intention is that landlords should not benefit if they are not contributing, but that doesn’t apply in every case. Outside Ulster, there are many absentee landlords, but that is not the case here in the north. There are landlords here who have sold land on their English estates to fund help for their tenants here. Some have set up schemes for assisted emigration, but the detractors then say it is for their own benefit.’

  ‘And is it?’ asked Sarah, aware that she had not heard this criticism and was not informed at all in this area.

  ‘There are always those who are self-interested,’ he began, ‘but most of the landlords I talk to are simply trying anything that might help. They know the land is overpopulated, it simply cannot support the number of people it does from agriculture. An industrialised country might support eight million, but Ireland is a long, long way from being industrialised. Besides, as you know from Ballymacarrett and Tartaraghan, even industry is subject to change. Industrial workers can lose their livelihood just as randomly as those depending on potatoes if there is blight.’

  ‘Tartaraghan, Jonathan? I know where that is, but I don’t know anything about it,’ she replied apologetically.

  ‘Oh sorry,’ he said, looking puzzled. ‘I thought maybe it was you that told me about Tartaraghan. I know it’s not very far from you at Drumilly. Sometimes I speak to so many people and read so many papers and journals, I don’t know who told me what,’ he went on, looking so dejected that Sarah laughed and asked him if he wanted apple pie.

  ‘You know, Jonathan,’ she said, as the waiter removed their dinner plates, ‘I get upset too when I hear some of the things that are happening. The situation is bad in places here in the north, but so much worse in Cork and Limerick and down the west coast. I have to keep telling myself that allowing the bad news to disable me means I can’t even do the tiny little bit I can do.’

  ‘Yes, my friend, you are right. “Do what you can, do it in love and be sure it will be more than you ever imagined.” Did your grandmother say that to you, or did you say it to me? I think it’s true by the way. You’ve done more than you know and I don’t just mean setting up your sewing project to let women earn money. Have you ever heard of the Choctaw Indians?’

  ‘Yes, I have actually,’ she said, totally surprised by the question. ‘My dear friend Helen in Charleston told me about them. Apparently, they’ve collected money for people with no food in Ireland because they’ve suffered famine themselves, but they didn’t know how to get the money to Ireland. Helen’s husband sits on a committee that has also raised money from all sorts of people, not just Irish emigrants and they had the same problem. Helen wondered if I could help, so I told her to contact the Quakers. I reckoned you’d have links with the Quaker community in America and they could organise something.’

  He smiled gleefully and tapped the table.

  ‘Well, you’ll be glad to hear that the Dublin Yearly Meeting has just received donations from both the Charlestown Committee and the Choctaw, both very generous amounts even before dollars are converted to pounds.’

  ‘Oh Jonathan, doesn’t it give you heart when you see the kindness of strangers?’ she said suddenly, as he told her the amounts.

  ‘Yes, it does. It really does. I’m afraid I do lose heart at times. I’d be much worse if it weren’t for you,’ he added, as they got up together and moved towards the door.

  He paused to drop a coin on the waiter’s plate by the door.

  ‘You’ll make sure my bill is ready by six, won’t you?’ he said, when the waiter thanked him.

  ‘I’m booked on the early evening coach for the crossing at high tide,’ he explained, turning to her as they stepped out into the sunshine. ‘I’ll not be back till December and there seems so much to say,’ he added sadly. ‘Sarah, dear, do say you can stay with me and we can go and walk together this afternoon.’

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The streets were less crowded now but they were still grateful when they reached the foot of College Street and turned across the broad roadway opposite the courthouse to walk under the shade of the trees. They sat down on the first available seat and breathed more deeply in the cooler air.

  ‘It was a lovely lunch, Jonathan. Thank you,’ she said quietly, ‘but I’m rather glad to be away from everyone. I can think better down here,’ she said, laughing briefly. ‘Perhaps I’m a country girl at heart,’ she went on, glad to see him relax a little, though it was clear to her that something was on his mind.

  ‘Do you want to tell me what happened before you arrived at the Charlemont Arms?’ she asked cautiously. ‘You did say you would,’ she added encouragingly.

  ‘No, I don’t want to tell you at all,’ he said, with a wry smile, ‘but I must. Honesty is required for my dear friend.’

  He paused as if he were not sure how to put it, then suddenly making up his mind, he began. ‘I’d had the idea that I might buy you a little gift, some flowers, or a plant in a pot that you could take care of. I’m sure you’d have green fingers if you had a little garden. So I went up to the market, but I was disappointed. There was nothing that looked right. As I was walking back down again, in plenty of time to meet you, I found a group of men just ahead of me. They were very rough-looking and had sticks and cudgels in their hands; they were pushing their way into a bakery through the people just coming out.’

  He stopped, looked her straight in the eyes and went on
: ‘I nearly passed by on the other side. They did look so fierce: unshaven, wild-eyed, ragged. I knew I had to do something, but what was I to do? I really hadn’t the slightest idea. But I found myself following them into the shop. There were a couple of women inside who’d obviously been waiting to be served and when I looked at them I could see they were really frightened. There was a young assistant behind the counter and he wasn’t much better.’

  ‘So what did you do, Jonathan?’

  ‘How do you know I did anything except turn tail and disappear?’

  ‘Because I do know a bit about you. Not as much as I could know, but enough to know you’d have done something. Do tell me, please.’

  ‘I turned and spoke to them. I couldn’t believe I was doing it. I said something like, “What’s the matter my friends, can you not ask for what you need? Ask and it shall be given.” And one of them put down his stick and said, “Sir, we need bread, our wives and children are starving.”

  ‘It was then that the baker appeared from the back of the shop, at least I assumed he was, certainly he was dusting flour from his hands. “Can you provide these good people with bread?” I said. “Have you enough for all of them and the two ladies over there?” “I have, sir,” he said, counting the heads. “You’ll be wanting large loaves then, sir.” So I agreed that I would, though I didn’t know how much money I had in my purse.

  ‘Well,’ he said, taking a deep breath, ‘I took it out and found I had two sovereigns, so I gave them to him and he handed me one of them back. “You might need that if you’re travelling in these parts,” he said, and turned away from us and went away into the bakery. He came back loaded up with the largest loaves I have ever seen. He gave one to each man and one to each of the two women.

  ‘Sarah, I don’t think I shall ever forget what happened next. The thought of it makes me weep,’ he said apologetically. He paused, took a deep breath and went on. ‘One of the women handed hers back. “Baker, please share this out. I still have food at home,” she said, and the men stood back to let her pass. And the other one did the same and followed her. So the baker carved the two loaves into big pieces and they shared them between them, giving the biggest pieces to the one with the most children. Then they wished the baker and me good day and one of them said “God bless you, sir” and I was really hard-pressed not to weep tears of relief and joy.’

  Sarah looked at him gently and took his hand. ‘Well done, Jonathan. Now you know the courage you have, you must treasure it. That’s what my wise grandmother would say, so I’m saying it for her.’

  He nodded gently, clasped his other hand over hers and said: ‘I need even more courage now for what I have to tell you. I hope you’ll not be angry with me, but I won’t see you again till almost Christmas and it seems such a long time to hold this pain in my heart.’

  ‘What pain, Jonathan dear? What’s troubling you? Tell me what I can do to help.’

  ‘Sarah, my dear, when I met my wife, she was very young and beautiful and full of a gaiety I had never known in all my life. I was not so young, but I was enchanted by her. I was welcomed by her family because they knew I could provide well for her and it seemed as if our marriage would bring such happiness to everyone. The liveliness and gaiety, the “disinhibition” as the doctors now call it, was an early sign of her mental illness. Within a year of our marriage, she had to have professional care. Now she doesn’t know who I am. Sometimes she is angry when I visit, throws my gifts on the floor or tramples on them. I cannot recognise even the shadow of the young woman I thought I loved. But she is my wife and so I cannot therefore confess the love of a mature man for the woman I truly love. And the pain of concealment is truly hard to bear. What am I to do, Sarah? There is no one else I can ask but you.’

  ‘But you had your answer earlier today, Jonathan. Have you forgotten what you said to the men in the baker’s shop? You said, “Ask and it shall be given.” You must ask this woman whom you love to tell you what to do,’ she said gently, as she drew her hands back from his.

  ‘You are the woman I love, Sarah. I shall never love anyone else while you live, but I cannot ask you to marry me, even if I knew you loved me too.’

  Sarah had but little doubt that she was the woman he was referring to, for Jonathan’s face was always so revealing. He could not be deceitful even if he tried. But what was she to say to him? She had loved John so dearly, would have gone on loving him, but now he was beyond her love and this man was dear to her, she had no doubts at all about that.

  ‘What would you like me to say? What would comfort you? You know I care for you. You are my dearest friend and yes, I have love for you. Were you not married, I could indeed give you my promise.’

  ‘To marry me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But that, my dearest, is all I need to give me courage. If you find someone you want to marry, I must release you and wish every blessing upon you, but if you do not, then all I have is yours to deal with as you wish, whether I am able to marry you or not.’

  They walked all afternoon, moving from one sitting place to another on the tree-lined walk that circled the green of the racecourse lying at the centre of the small city of Armagh. They walked side by side as if they had always walked together, not touching or holding hands, merely being as close as it was possible to be, looking at the same falling leaves, at the nursemaids pushing prams outside the handsome new houses in Hartland Place, at the detachment of cavalry who went jingling past in the direction of their barracks.

  They talked about all manner of things, sharing details of their very different lives in a way that letters could seldom convey; easy with each other, a great burden lifted from Jonathan, and for Sarah, the pleasure of seeing the distress fall from his face. Their only sadness was that time was passing so quickly. It was hard to believe they must go back to the hotel so soon and say their goodbye in the stable yard where Daisy would be waiting and Jonathan’s luggage stood ready for the evening coach.

  ‘Will you write to me tomorrow, Sarah dear, so that I have something of you to come and comfort me in my empty house soon after I get back? Please.’

  ‘Indeed, I would willingly, if I had your address,’ she came back at him, laughing, reminding him of the omission that had caused him such anxiety only a very short time ago.

  He had to dash into the hotel, beg a sheet of paper and write down the address for her while Daisy was being brought out of her stall. They clasped hands just for a moment in the busy stable yard and then he handed her up into the trap, passing her the reins when she settled herself.

  ‘I will write tonight, on the ship, but you will probably not get it for a day or two. But you do know I’ll be thinking about you.’

  She nodded vigorously as Daisy fidgeted.

  ‘Be of good cheer. It’s been a wonderful afternoon,’ she said, trying to smile and not quite managing it, knowing how sad he was they’d had to part so soon.

  ‘See you at Christmas,’ she said, as easily as she could manage. ‘I hope you have a good crossing.’

  ‘My luggage is heavier, full of papers and problems, but my heart is much, much lighter,’ he said, looking up at her and raising a hand as the trap clattered slowly over the cobbles.

  Sam Keenan was watching for her as she came between the large stone pillars. Only when she saw him did she remember she’d said she would be back early. A good thing Scottie was nowhere in sight. He’d become more confident in her driving but she knew he would never forget what had happened to John on that lovely spring day. It was often clear that he still feared he might lose her as well.

  ‘You should be away home, Sam. I’m sorry, I got delayed,’ she said, as he helped her down. ‘Have you seen Scottie?’

  ‘Aye, the old lady’s gone but he’s left you a note. I think there’s somethin’ else wrong but I thought I’d not ask him whit it was till he tole you first.’

  ‘Sam, go on home,’ she insisted. ‘Whatever’s in the note will keep till Monday. Your good wife w
ill be wondering what’s kept you. I don’t want her worrying.’

  ‘Aye, well. Women do be worryin’ but sure amn’t I the lucky one that she pays that much attenshun. Some men’s wives don’t even notice them.’

  ‘Yes, you have a point there,’ she said, as she watched him unharness Daisy ready to be led out to her field. ‘Now away on, as they say. I’ll see you Monday, all being well.’

  The house was warm but the fire was out. It was a very long time since the fire had been out, for Scottie had always watched over it, whatever else was happening, since she’d been going to Castle Dillon. It reminded her of stories John had told her about hearths that had never cooled in fifty years or more, someone always taking over, until finally some old person died with all his family in America and there was no one left to carry on.

  She was reluctant to set it going again while wearing one of her work dresses. But then she caught sight of the envelope on the table. Scottie’s note, addressed in his swirling hand. ‘Mrs Sarah Hamilton. By hand.’

  She sighed as she picked it up. Another death, but an old lady sadly failing for many years. A merciful release, some would say, but Sam seemed to think there was something else as well as the old lady’s death. She tore the envelope open, scanned the carefully written sentences quickly and took a deep breath. Another problem, another person in need. This time it was her dear Scottie. It would take more than a fresh fire and a mug of tea to work out what to do about this one.

  She changed her dress and lit the fire. After a good lunch she wasn’t hungry, but the thought of a mug of tea was very appealing. As the tiny flames moved from dry sticks to small pieces of turf, and then on to carefully placed pieces of coal, she finally put the kettle down and brought the teapot and caddy to the table.