Comfort Me With Apples

by Comfort Me

  Dorrie smiled fondly and Anna went on, ‘Michael was ready to move heaven and earth for a quick wedding and he succeeded. It was all lovely, like a fairy story that came true, and I’m so happy for you, so don’t talk about rushing headlong and spoil that just to make Eugene’s tardiness seem better.’

  ‘That sounds more like you,’ Dorrie said, smiling and hugging her sister. ‘I’m quite sure that Eugene loves you. Look how he was when he was here and then the letters all this time. Why else would he write? But that might be the trouble – that you have to rely on letters. They might not say what he means them to or you might read something different into them. It’s not like seeing someone every day.’

  Anna agreed. ‘Isabel has suggested that he writes formal letters when other men are about and loving ones when he is alone,’ she said.

  ‘She could be right,’ said Dorrie. ‘And then there’s his family. Michael says he doesn’t understand Eugene. He’s got strange ideas but he thinks it’s because of his family. They’re all very devious. Michael hears rumours, but he knows they can’t be true because of you, and Eugene seems truly fond of Dr and Mrs O’Brien, yet he doesn’t give a button for his immediate family.’

  ‘I wouldn’t blame him for that, from what I saw of them,’ said Anna dryly. ‘But what rumours, Dorrie?’

  ‘Army stuff, I think,’ Dorrie said vaguely. They could hear movement downstairs and Dorrie hurriedly gave Anna some powder leaves to press round her eyes, while she did the same.

  As they went downstairs Anna squeezed Dorrie’s arm. ‘This is typical of Michael’s kindness, keeping them occupied while we had a talk, Dorrie. Tell him how grateful I am, won’t you?’

  They were relieved to find that they had not been missed by their mother and aunt, who had been completely charmed by Michael.

  The weekend seemed to pass in a flash and there were no other opportunities for long confidential talks between the two girls but Anna felt much happier about Eugene.

  Mrs Furlong was proud to be joined at Mass on Sunday morning by her married daughter and handsome son-in-law but Anna was sorry that their party came face-to-face with James Hargreaves as they left the church.

  He raised his hat and wished them good morning and they all responded but Dorrie whispered to Anna, ‘Who was that?’ She was amazed when Anna told her and said she had not recognised him. ‘He’s so thin,’ she said. ‘And his face! Positively lantern-jawed. Poor man. He must have grieved more than we realised.’ Anna said nothing.

  There was the predictable scene from Mrs Furlong when Dorrie and Michael left for Ireland but five days later they were back for the second weekend before returning to London.

  This time the sisters did manage some more time alone, when Dorrie crept into Anna’s bed early one morning, but there was little new to be said about Eugene.

  Michael had admitted to Dorrie that he had a feeling his cousin was not to be trusted. ‘He doesn’t ring true. I think he’s playing a crafty game,’ he said. ‘Try to warn Anna.’

  Dorrie had been deeply upset to realise that Anna still loved Eugene so much. She had always behaved with such coolness and dignity towards him, and even when she and Anna had exchanged confidences after the bazaar, and Anna had admitted that she loved him, Dorrie had no idea that it was as deep and passionate a love as her own for Michael.

  How could I have been so blind? she mourned. So wrapped up in my own affairs. To see her proud and reserved sister weeping bitterly and admitting that the thought of Eugene was always with her, night and day, and to know that she had been suffering in silence with no one to confide in, made Dorrie feel quite frantic.

  She pestered Michael with questions about Eugene all the time they were in Ireland but realised that he had truly told her all he knew. How could she add to Anna’s fears with just ‘a feeling’ that Michael had? Yet how could she warn her as he suggested?

  It was as they lay in bed talking about Dorrie’s life in London that an idea came to her. She had just told Anna that she hated married quarters. ‘If I had my own place you could come and stay with me,’ she told her sister. ‘That’s what you need. To get away from this house for a while.’

  ‘And perhaps to see Eugene?’ Anna said with a smile.

  ‘That too,’ Dorrie said, although her idea had been that Anna might meet other men. The household was stirring so she slipped back to her own room but all day she turned the idea over in her mind.

  In the evening, Dr and Mrs O’Brien had been invited and at the first opportunity Dorrie spoke privately to Mrs O’Brien. She had absolute faith in her discretion so she told the older woman that she felt Anna needed to have a break from home and an opportunity to meet other men.

  ‘There doesn’t seem to be anyone among the few people she sees,’ Dorrie said. ‘And Michael’s worried. He thinks she might waste her life waiting for Eugene and nothing come of it in the end.’

  ‘Why does he think that?’ asked Mrs O’Brien.

  ‘He can’t tell me,’ said Dorrie. ‘He can only say it’s a feeling he had that Eugene won’t marry her. You won’t mention this to Michael, will you?’

  Mrs O’Brien patted her hand. ‘No, my dear, nor to anyone else, even Dr O’Brien, but I’ll think of something. I’ve great confidence in Michael’s judgement. There’s a lot of Bridie in him and you’re a good girl to be so concerned. I’m glad Anna has you both to look out for her but don’t worry any more.’

  Dorrie took her advice and left for London feeling that she had done all she could for her beloved sister but determined to find out more about Eugene.

  Chapter Eleven

  Anna felt happier now that she had been able to talk to Dorrie about Eugene, although admitting her love made it even stronger, she felt. She had been able to talk freely too about the situation in the family. Dorrie had been shocked when Anna said she thought her mother hated her and treated her like a cat with a mouse.

  ‘You must be mistaken, Anna!’ she had exclaimed.

  Anna insisted she was not. ‘She doesn’t want me here because she knows I see through her play-acting but she won’t let me go because she wants to torment me,’ she declared.

  ‘What about Aunt Clara?’ Dorrie had asked and Anna told her that although her aunt constantly criticised her, it was only in her usual way, quite different from her mother’s malice.

  Dorrie had been horrified and hoped that if she could arrange for Anna to be away from the family for a while matters might improve.

  Norah Deagan had told Anna that she and Frank planned an early wedding but she would keep on her shop and still sell Anna’s embroidery. Anna had little opportunity during the day to work at it, being at her mother’s beck and call, but she bought herself some candles and worked while the household was asleep.

  After talking to Dorrie she was more determined to stand up for herself and refused to be upset by the scenes she faced if she went out without permission.

  ‘I’m not a child,’ she had told her mother once. ‘I’m nearly twenty-three years old,’ but her mother had replied cuttingly, ‘While you are living under this roof you are a child, a dependent child. Living under my roof and being kept by me, so under my jurisdiction.’

  Anna had fled to her room. If only she could have run from the house, but where would she go? There were no relatives she could turn to and no other possibility. At her age, and with no training, no one would employ her, even as a servant. Strong young girls of thirteen or fourteen were taken to be trained in housework and at her age she would be expected to have years of training as a parlourmaid or housemaid.

  Even the Deagans, with all their contacts, would be unable to find a job for her, although they could have done when she was younger. Why didn’t I go then? Defy Father? Anna thought, but she knew she could not have done it.

  She had taken her troubles to a priest in the confessional but he could only advise her to accept her lot. ‘God has a plan for everyone, my child,’ he said. ‘And this is His plan for you. Don’t fi
ght against it. Trust in God and offer up your sufferings for the souls in purgatory. Take your sorrows and bitterness to Our Lady, the Mother of us all, and she will help you to bear them. Go in peace, my child. I will pray for you.’

  That was the day that James Hargreaves saw Anna weeping in church, as she realised how hard it would be for her stubborn nature to accept the priest’s advice.

  Now she made a neat parcel of some embroidered collars and cuffs and an embroidered bell pull and matching table runner, which had been a special order. Concealing it under her cape, she went downstairs. She looked into the drawing room where her mother was reading and said briefly, ‘I’m taking a message to Norah Deagan from the sacristan about the flowers. Goodbye,’ and closed the door before her mother could reply.

  She walked out of the front door with her head held high, although her legs were trembling. I’ve done it, she thought exultantly. No more slipping out of the back door for me or leaving a message with Nelly.

  She found Norah alone in the shop and delighted to receive the parcel. ‘Will you let me set the price for these, Anna?’ she asked. ‘You don’t charge half enough for your work. I know how anxious Mrs Drew is for these and how much work has gone into them and I want to see you get fair recompense.’

  ‘You’re very good, Norah, with so much else to think about,’ Anna said gratefully. ‘How are the wedding plans going?’

  ‘Very smoothly. We only want a very quiet wedding. Frank has very few relations and I only want our own close family, no second cousins once removed,’ Norah laughed. ‘Of course, Ma would like to go out into the highways and byways to bring them in but she had everyone for Winnie and Gerald’s wedding so they can’t grumble if they’re not asked to mine, coming so soon after.’

  ‘You’ve fixed a date, then?’ Anna said.

  ‘Yes, only last night we went to see Fr Kavanagh. It’s the second Saturday in January, nine o’clock Mass on the side altar. Kate will be my bridesmaid and Frank’s brother, John, his best man. I hope you’ll be there, Anna. And afterwards it’s back to our house for the wedding breakfast. We’ll go right off to York for a week after that.’

  ‘But you’re only having family,’ Anna protested.

  ‘We think of you as family, you and Dorrie,’ Norah said. ‘You stayed with us when you were little girls and your poor Mama was having such troubles, losing all those babies.’

  Anna was silent, not wanting to think of her mother but feeling a warm glow that the Deagans regarded her and Dorrie as family. ‘I nearly forgot,’ she said suddenly, ‘Brother Shaw gave me a message for you about the church flowers.’

  Norah took the slip of paper and put it on the corner of the counter, weighting it with a pebble. ‘He told me,’ she said. ‘But he always confirms everything. A real perfectionist.’

  ‘And it shows,’Anna said. ‘The altar is lovely.’

  There was a sudden influx of customers and she got up to go but first Norah took a tin from beneath the counter and took a sovereign and a florin from it. ‘Your embroidery money,’ she said.

  ‘Twenty-two shillings!’ Anna gasped. ‘It’s more than many a man’s wages, Norah.’

  ‘And hard-earned,’ Norah said. ‘I saw the candle burning in your room when I got up in the night. You’ve brought me extra trade too.’

  Anna walked home, delighted with her payment. It was the result of several weeks’ work and she knew she would be unable to live independently on what she earned but it gave her a wonderful feeling of confidence to have the coins in her pocket.

  She looked in the drawing room, where her mother still sat and said, ‘I’m home, Mama.’

  ‘And about time,’ her mother said. ‘Nelly needed help with the curtains but as usual you were not here when you were wanted.’ She sighed heavily. ‘To think of the children I lost and the one spared to me had to be you.’

  ‘What about Dorrie?’ Anna said.

  ‘Don’t mention my darling Dorrie in the same breath as yourself,’ her mother said angrily. ‘You wicked, ungrateful girl.’

  Anna withdrew before the hysterics started. Why did I have to mention Dorrie? If only I could curb my tongue, she thought. Still, I’ve taken a step forward today.

  She found Nelly and apologised for leaving her to hang the curtains without help. Nelly tossed her head. ‘The day I can’t hang a pair of curtains on my own I’ll be finished,’ she declared. She said there was nothing else Anna could help her with so she went to the kitchen where her aunt told her to wash some dishes but refused to let her help to prepare the vegetables.

  ‘Go and keep your mother company,’ she said.

  ‘But I’ve looked in the drawing room and she’s reading,’Anna protested. ‘Can’t I do something here, Aunt?’

  ‘Drawing room!’ her aunt snorted. ‘Every other house in this road has a parlour but hers has to be a drawing room. Your mother’s a fool.’

  Anna said nothing but could see there was no work for her in the kitchen. She took her writing box into the drawing room and settled down at a side table to write letters.

  Her mother ignored her for a while, then said, ‘Who are you writing to?’

  ‘To Father,’ Anna said. ‘Do you want to send a message or will you be writing yourself?’

  Her mother made no reply, only held out her hand imperiously for the letter. Anna took it to her and she read it through, then handed it back, saying, ‘I don’t want you grumbling to Father and upsetting him.’

  A dozen replies rose to Anna’s lips but she firmly repressed them and said nothing. She wrote Dorrie a brief letter, saying little except that she had enjoyed her and Michael’s visit because she knew her mother was quite likely to demand to read it. When she had finished she asked her mother for stamps.

  If she knew about the money I have hidden she’d have a fit, Anna thought, but it means I can write letters privately and buy my own stamps. As far as her mother knew she was still completely penniless and dependent on her, even for stamps or collection money.

  The next batch of letters from Captain Furlong came as much of a bombshell to Anna as to her mother.

  Mrs O’Brien had understood Dorrie’s worry and agreed with her that something must be done to help Anna. She had been thinking of possible solutions ever since and had taken Dr O’Brien into her confidence.

  ‘Anna’s in an impossible position there,’ she told him. ‘Dorrie told me more than she knew. I can see that she believed her mother’s fantasies and made the right response but Anna sees through her and can’t avoid showing it.’

  Dr O’Brien nodded. ‘So her mother’s behaving like the vicious little shrew I always knew she was,’ he said forthrightly. ‘She fools that good man but she doesn’t fool me.’

  ‘Yes, and to make it worse, Clara and Nelly don’t want Anna to help in the house. Whatever she does her mother says it’s wrong and upsetting Nelly so how can she fill her day? Her mother objects to her going out.’

  ‘There’s already a battle on with Clara fighting to keep her position there and Nelly, of course, is clinging to her job,’ said Dr O’Brien. ‘It’s not that they are against Anna personally.’

  Mrs O’Brien was amazed. ‘I’d no idea you knew so much about them,’ she said.

  He tapped his nose. ‘Not much I miss, my dear,’ he replied. ‘I promised Captain Furlong I’d keep an eye on them. I think the best thing is for me to have a word with Eugene. Marriage would be the best solution for Anna,’ he said but Mrs O’Brien was so adamantly opposed to any interference that he reluctantly abandoned the idea.

  Instead he and his wife decided that she would have a holiday in Dublin before Christmas, and ask Anna to accompany her, as the doctor would be unable to get away. ‘I’ll write to ask her father’s permission,’ the doctor said. ‘Take the wind out of her mother’s sails if she wants to say no.’

  ‘Good idea,’ said his wife approvingly. ‘And we’ll say nothing until we hear from him.’

  Consequently, when the bundle of lett
ers was delivered, Anna and her mother learnt at the same time about the proposed holiday.

  ‘You knew about this and said nothing!’ her mother accused Anna furiously. ‘You knew I wouldn’t let you go. You put them up to this.’

  ‘I knew nothing,’ Anna protested. ‘You should know. You read all my letters,’ she added bitterly but her mother had snatched Anna’s letter from her hand.

  Captain Furlong had written,

  ‘My dear Annabel, Among my letters when we put into port was one from Dr O’Brien, asking my permission for you to accompany his wife on a short holiday in Dublin, as he is unable to leave his patients at that time. This I have gladly given. I am only too happy to oblige my good friend and I know you will do all you can to assist Mrs O’Brien, Annabel. I have asked your mama to entrust a sum of money to you so that you may pay your share of the expenses, although Dr O’Brien stressed that you will be his guest and will be doing him a favour. I am writing these letters in haste, so that they may go by return as time is short, but will write longer letters next time.’

  Mrs Furlong hurled the letter to the floor. ‘I don’t believe it. I don’t believe you knew nothing about it. When are you going?’

  ‘I don’t know, Mama, honestly!’ Anna exclaimed. ‘I think I’ll go and see Mrs O’Brien.’

  She jumped to her feet but her mother said immediately, ‘You’ll do no such thing. Let them have the courtesy to come to me and ask my permission.’

  Anna sat down again. Both of them knew her mother’s permission was unnecessary now but Anna was too excited and happy to argue. She picked up her letter and went up to her room.

  Later in the afternoon, Mrs O’Brien called and was frostily received by Mrs Furlong but she appeared to notice nothing. ‘I see your letters have arrived,’ she said cheerfully. ‘We received one from Captain Furlong and we were so happy to have his permission to invite Anna to travel with me.’ She turned to Anna. ‘I do hope you are willing, Anna. I’d be so grateful for your company. The doctor and I so looked forward to a short holiday in Dublin, but he can’t get away, so he thought of asking if you could come with me.’