Comfort Me With Apples

by Comfort Me

  ‘I’d be glad to,’ Anna said eagerly. ‘When is it?’

  ‘From the seventh to the fourteenth of December. It will be lovely in Dublin then and we’ll be back in good time for Christmas. I know it’s November now but all you have to do is pack your clothes. All the arrangements have been made.’

  ‘Have they indeed? So you were quite sure of getting your own way?’ Mrs Furlong said angrily.

  Mrs O’Brien replied coolly, ‘The arrangements that were made for my husband are simply being transferred to Anna.’

  Mrs Furlong couldn’t resist saying, ‘You should have consulted me. In my husband’s absence I am in charge of this household and I make the decisions.’

  ‘On household matters but this is different, surely. It never occurred to my husband to do anything but apply to the head of the family and Captain Furlong appeared to think he was correct,’ said Mrs O’Brien.

  ‘But to say nothing to me. So deceitful!’ cried Mrs Furlong.

  ‘I’m sorry you see it like that. We thought it would be quite wrong to mention it until we had Captain Furlong’s permission,’ said Mrs O’Brien.

  Frustrated and angry, Mrs Furlong said viciously, ‘I wish you joy of your travelling companion. You’ll find her very different to my darling Dorrie. Moody and selfish, totally different to Dorrie. Oh, how I miss her, but it’s always the way. The best are taken from you.’ She began to weep.

  ‘Dorrie’s not dead,’ Mrs O’Brien said crisply, ‘simply very happily married. The doctor and I are delighted about it and I’m surprised you’re not. After all, that’s what every mother wants for her children, surely.’

  ‘Yes, but if only she had married and settled near me, where I could see her every day, or it had been…’ Even she was unable to complete the sentence, with Mrs O’Brien and Anna looking at her, but they all knew the next word would have been ‘Anna’.

  Mrs O’Brien stood up. ‘I’m sure there are things you want to ask me about the holiday, Anna. Our door is always open. Take plenty of warm clothes. We have a stateroom for the crossing so you won’t have to worry about the journey.’ She said goodbye and left, reflecting that if someone murdered Mrs Furlong she would not be in the least surprised.

  Realising that she had been outwitted, Mrs Furlong declared that she washed her hands of the whole affair and took no interest in the holiday. She only gave Anna the two guineas her father had stipulated at the last possible moment before the holiday and offered no help with the expense of the preparations.

  It could have been difficult for Anna but Winnie Deagan, nee Parsons, lent Anna a suitcase and various small travelling necessities and Anna was able to supplement her wardrobe from her own nest egg, unknown to her mother. Isabel knitted a warm jacket for her and Mrs Jenson crocheted a pretty warm shawl. The little boys offered her all their treasures, from a double-bladed penknife to a thrush’s egg.

  All the Deagans did something to help. Jim gave her a book on Dublin’s architecture and Luke a set of maps of the city. Maggie knitted her some bedsocks for the journey and Norah gave her a nightdress.

  ‘But isn’t this from your own trousseau?’ Anna protested but Norah laughed and said it would never fit her.

  ‘I had some lawn left so I just guessed your measurements or rather our Kate did,’ she said.

  They were all in the Deagans’ kitchen and Kate said, ‘I didn’t guess, Anna. I had your measurements from your bridesmaid’s dress.’ She produced a parcel. ‘When this order was uncollected I grabbed it because I knew the measurements were so nearly yours.’ She opened the large box and from swathes of tissue paper took out a beautiful dark blue evening gown, cut on classical lines.

  ‘My gift, Anna, and if there’s any alteration needed I’ll do it.’

  ‘But no, no. I couldn’t,’Anna stammered, then, as there was a chorus of protest, she burst into tears. ‘You’re all too good,’ she sobbed. ‘I can’t – I can’t.’

  Mrs Deagan, sitting near Anna at the kitchen table, tut-tutted loudly. ‘It looks as if my present is going to come in handy,’ she said, opening the drawer in the table and taking out a large flat bottle of brandy, wrapped in tissue paper, and a small leather flask.

  ‘The flask is full of brandy,’ she said. ‘And it’s small enough to go in your pocket so you can take a nip when you need it. You can fill it up from the bottle.’

  Laughing and crying at the same time, Anna tried to wipe her eyes and compose herself.

  ‘Here, try the flask,’ Norah said. ‘That was a good idea of Ma’s.’ She held the flask to Anna’s lips.

  Anna took a sip then, as the spirit seemed to explode inside her, her eyes widened. ‘That’s powerful,’ she gasped and everyone laughed.

  Anna was easily persuaded to accept the dress from Kate, who told her that the staff were allowed to buy uncollected orders at a discount. Mrs O’Brien had told her that they would be going to several evening parties, as she intended to look up old friends, and now Anna felt she could be suitably dressed.

  When she went to say goodbye to Isabel and her mother the day before she left Anna found another ship’s captain and his wife there. ‘They have come to tell us they’ve seen Papa,’ Isabel said excitedly as she admitted Anna. ‘They passed at sea. Isn’t that wonderful?’

  Captain Olafson and his wife greeted Anna and told their tale more fully. ‘The sky and the sea were so blue and so calm and sunny,’ Mrs Olafson said. ‘A beautiful day.’

  ‘We wouldn’t have thought so if we had still been under sail,’ her husband said with a rumbling laugh. ‘We would both have been lying becalmed but steam is different. We drew near Captain Jenson’s ship when we were off Kinsale. He was outward bound and we were homeward but we managed to get close. So close that as we passed we saw him on his bridge.’

  ‘Did he look well?’ Mrs Jenson asked eagerly.

  ‘Yes, and in good voice,’ said Captain Olafson. ‘He shouted as we passed, “Give my love to my wife and children. Tell my boys to look after Mama and Isabel and little Wilma.” There was something else but we were too far past.’

  ‘And you thought he seemed well?’ Mrs Jenson said, her thoughts obviously on the message from her husband.

  ‘Wonderfully well. So solid as he stood there, with the sunlight making his beard and his hair look like gold,’ said Mrs Olafson.

  Her husband made an impatient movement. ‘The last time I met him he told me he was doing well with these runs. That’s the sort of gold we should be interested in,’ Captain Olafson said.

  ‘Yes. It’s a good shipping line. Willie will be fifteen when his father comes home again and he will arrange for him to be apprenticed with them.’

  ‘So, you’ll be going for your ticket,’ the captain said to Willie. ‘Means a lot of book learning, now. You’ll have to work hard.’

  ‘I will, sir,’ said Willie. ‘It’s what I’ve always wanted.’

  ‘And his father wants him in apprentice quarters, rather than the fo’castle,’ Mrs Jenson said.

  Isabel and Anna slipped away to say goodbye to the little boys but before they went back downstairs Isabel said seriously, ‘You’ll meet a lot of new people in Dublin, Anna. Remember you’re still free. Not bound to Eugene.’

  ‘Not legally,’ Anna said with a wry smile. ‘But in other ways…’ She shrugged.

  ‘But think,’ Isabel urged. ‘Do you want to go on with your life as it is now? I know you have your dreams of Eugene to sustain you, but is it enough? Hope deferred maketh the heart sick, they say.’ She slipped her arm round Anna’s waist. ‘I don’t want to interfere but I care about you, Anna. I’d hate you to lose this chance of meeting someone who could make you happy.’

  ‘I don’t think I could be happy with anyone but Eugene,’ Anna admitted.

  ‘But how do you know?’ Isabel persisted. ‘I can’t betray a confidence but someone I’ve known as happily married for many years told me that she carried a torch for someone else for years. Another man wanted to marry her but sh
e wouldn’t even consider it. Felt she would be unfaithful to the first man, although he never declared himself. Then one day she was very unhappy and she decided if she couldn’t have what she wanted she’d settle for what was possible.’

  ‘I could never do that,’ Anna said decidedly.

  ‘She said she was ashamed of thinking that now. She said the first man hurt her very much. She liked and respected the second man, although she didn’t love him, so she married him. She said over the years her love for him grew and she couldn’t imagine being married to anyone else, particularly the first man, who turned out a real bad hat.’

  Anna squeezed her waist. ‘You’re a good friend, Isabel, and I know you’re right. I promise I’ll encourage anyone who shows any interest, even if they don’t look at all like Eugene,’ and they went back to the parlour smiling, for Anna to say her final goodbyes before she went to Ireland.

  Mrs O’Brien had kept in touch with many friends in Dublin from her nursing days and she had many relatives there so invitations poured in. Every minute of the day was occupied and it was difficult to find time for the carriage drive through Dublin that Mrs O’Brien had promised but they managed it.

  ‘I’m determined you’ll see my Dublin and forget that horrible drive with Mrs D’Arcy,’ she told Anna, but unfortunately wherever they went Anna could only think that this was Eugene’s home city and he might have walked these streets.

  They were staying with a nursing friend of Mrs O’Brien’s, whom she had known as Deirdre Quinn, but was now Mrs Duffy, the wife of a Dublin surgeon. Only two of their large family were still at home, Eileen, who was a few years younger than Anna, and Dominic, a doctor a few years older. The three young people became friends instantly and Eileen accused her brother of neglecting his patients to be so constantly at Anna’s side.

  Before an evening party, when Anna wore her new dress for the first time, Eileen had exclaimed in delight at it and offered to dress her hair. She combed it out from its usual severe style and drew it up on Anna’s head, producing gold-coloured narrow ribbon to bind it in the style of a Greek goddess, with soft curls framing her face. Mrs O’Brien and the family were amazed at the transformation and told Anna she should always wear her hair like that and Dominic told her ardently that she was more beautiful than a Greek goddess and he was sure there were fires burning under her cool appearance.

  At all the lunches and dinners, and particularly at the evening parties, Anna was introduced to charming young Irishmen and was an instant success. There was no jealousy from the girls and Anna and Mrs O’Brien were charmed by the warm welcome they received from everyone they met.

  Anna was thoroughly enjoying the attentions of the young men and she told herself that she was truly trying to keep an open mind. If I met someone I thought I could love as much as Eugene I would encourage him, she told herself. They are so nice and charming and handsome but none of them have made my heart turn over the way he does. I wish they did. It would solve everything and I’m sure Mrs O’Brien would be pleased.

  More and more, as the week went on, she suspected that Mrs O’Brien was deliberately introducing her to eligible young men. I thought she was as anxious as Dr O’Brien for us to marry but it seems she has doubts about Eugene too. Just because he doesn’t want to rush into matrimony now they seem to think he never will.

  She put these thoughts out of her mind and determined to enjoy the holiday to the full. It was not hard. She especially enjoyed the lunches with Mrs O’Brien’s friends from her youth.

  ‘Ah God, we were all half in love with Paddy O’Brien,’ one matron sighed. ‘Then Maureen here married him and carried him off over the sea where we couldn’t get at him.’

  ‘I like that. It was him!’ Mrs O’Brien protested. ‘I never wanted to leave Dublin.’

  ‘What a card he was,’ said another. ‘Do you remember the night he said he knew the colour of the bloomers of half the nurses in Dublin? Then before he was lynched he said it was from giving them a leg up to go head first through the pantry window at three o’clock in the morning.’

  ‘The chances we took! Those wild parties and being locked out of the nurse’s home. We must have been mad,’ said Mrs O’Brien. ‘Very often we were on the wards for five-thirty and working for twelve hours. How did we do it?’

  ‘We were young,’ said another woman. ‘And it was the first taste of freedom, if you could call it that with the dragons we had for sisters.’ They all laughed.

  ‘It was still better than living in the country with every move watched,’ said another. ‘The young ones now, they don’t know they’re born, or the meaning of hard work.’

  Dominic, who had accompanied his mother to the lunch, winked at Anna. ‘Do you think we’ll say this when we’re old?’ he asked. Anna shrugged and smiled and he whispered, ‘I hope I’m with you to find out. I’m quite sure about those hidden fires.’

  Before they left Dublin Anna promised to correspond with him and two other men. ‘Just as friends,’ she stipulated, and they agreed, but smiled as they did. All three were dark-haired, and unlike Eugene, and she liked them all, as friends. She even admitted to herself that if she had met Dominic before Eugene she could have fallen in love with him.

  ‘I’m so grateful,’ she told Mrs O’Brien on the boat. ‘I’ve enjoyed every minute. I’ve never met so many nice people in such a short time and they were all so kind. I’ll never be able to thank you and Dr O’Brien enough.’

  ‘If you’ve enjoyed it, Anna, that’s thanks enough for us,’ Mrs O’Brien said. ‘We know you must be sad, missing Dorrie and the way things are at home. Perhaps the little break will make you better able to bear them.’

  ‘It will,’ Anna said eagerly. ‘I have so many happy memories now.’

  ‘And some nice young men to write to,’ Mrs O’Brien teased her. ‘My friend Deirdre says her son and daughter will be corresponding with you too. Dominic is a grand young man and a good doctor. He’s very good to his mother and, as they say Anna, a good son makes a good husband.’

  Anna smiled. ‘I liked him very much,’ she admitted, ‘and I think Eileen is a lovely girl. I’ll enjoy corresponding with her. I’ll have plenty of letters to write. I feel it is the start of happier times for me.’

  In these hopes Anna was cruelly deceived but her increased confidence as a result of her popularity in Dublin helped her to deal with her mother and all went well over Christmas and for the January wedding of Norah and Frank.

  In the February of 1905 two tragedies occurred in quick succession. On a Monday morning the breadman was delivering to Jimmy O’Dowd and as they stood at the door Olive suddenly appeared with some carrots clutched in her hand. Before either man could stop her she had rushed past them and thrust one of the carrots at the breadman’s pony.

  An empty coal cart was approaching from the opposite direction, returning to the depot with only empty coal sacks on the flat wagon.

  The wagoner was sitting with his legs dangling, smoking his pipe, the reins slack in his hands, when Olive suddenly rushed across the road towards the horse, waving the carrots and shouting unintelligibly.

  The horse reared and its front hoof caught Olive on the head, knocking her to the ground.

  Suddenly Margaret Street seemed full of people. Some rushed to steady the horses’ heads and others to stand round Jimmy as he knelt beside Olive. Blood was running from her head and trickling from the corner of her mouth but she looked quite peaceful. An off-duty nurse from Mill Road Hospital pushed through the crowd and held Olive’s wrist. She stood up.

  ‘Take her into her house,’ she said, and she put her hand on Jimmy’s shoulder. ‘Not you. Let these lads.’

  She and Jimmy led the way to the bedroom and as they went she said quietly, ‘There’s no pulse, Jimmy.’ He looked at her blankly and turned back the bedclothes for Olive to be laid in the bed.

  Even when the doctor arrived and pronounced Olive dead Jimmy seemed unable to accept it and sat silently in the chair beside the
bed, oblivious to everyone around him. It was only when Peggy and her father arrived that he was persuaded to move.

  ‘Come downstairs, Jimmy,’ Peggy said gently. ‘There are people you must see.’ She took his arm and old Mr Parsons said quietly, ‘I’ll stay with her, Jimmy.’ Jimmy stood up and Mr Parsons took his place, sitting placidly beside Olive in death as he had sat so often in life.

  Downstairs the local policeman waited with the breadman and the coalman who had left others in charge of their horses. ‘Sorry for your loss, sir,’ the policeman said to Jimmy. ‘Seems this man was not fully in control of his horse.’

  ‘I was,’ the coalman protested. ‘She just come out of nowhere and frightened him.’

  ‘No one was to blame,’ Jimmy said. ‘Except me. I never let her go out of the gate on her own.’

  There was a chorus of dissent. ‘You couldn’t of stopped her, Jimmy, no more than what I could,’ the breadman said. ‘One minute we was just standing there with the bread and the next she knocked both of us flying and dashed out.’

  The policeman and the nurse said kindly, ‘You can’t blame yourself,’ and the nurse added, ‘I’ve had patients like Olive. They have unnatural strength. You’ve done wonders, Jimmy.’

  Jimmy was still gripping Peggy’s hand as he sat by her and she said quietly, ‘We only got back when it was all over. We didn’t see what happened.’

  The breadman explained, ‘She pushed me and Jimmy to one side and run out with some carrots. She nearly threw one at my Dulcie then she seen this chap’s horse coming and run across the road to it. She’d have been all right if she’d stopped to give the carrot to Dulcie proper. Nothing upsets Dulcie though. She just picked the carrot off of the floor and ate it.’

  ‘Never mind all that,’ the policeman said. ‘You’d better get off on your round before your bread gets stale. No talking about this, mind, and come to the station after work. My sergeant will want to see you.’ He turned to the coalman. ‘I’m not satisfied there was no negligence on your part. I’m taking statements from witnesses but for now you can go.’