by Iris Gower
‘You did right to come to me, colleen.’ He spoke softly. ‘My own farm is doing so well, I can afford to put some capital into yours, help it along until times are better.’
‘No, that’s not what I want at all,’ Catherine said quickly. ‘I want advice. I thought I might sell the bull, that seems the best way of raising capital quickly, but on the other hand, he fetches a lot of money at stud.’
Liam glanced down at her again, as though to reassure himself she was actually sitting there, at his side. ‘I don’t see why you can’t accept some financial help from me, we could make it a business venture, I would willingly act as your partner.’
‘No,’ Catherine shook her head. ‘I would feel beholden to you, but I appreciate your offer.’ She drew a ragged breath, Liam was offering an easy way out of her dilemma but what would the implications be?
‘Well, if you won’t let me help, then I suppose you must sell the bull. The big creature is your most disposable asset, sure enough.’
He swung closer to her as the cart swayed and, for a moment, Catherine was tempted to rest her head on his shoulder. He was so big, so reassuring, such a handsome man.
‘Who’s caring for the beasts while you are over here in Ireland, Catherine?’
‘Cliff, my neighbour, and his sons. They will see to the hens and the cows but I can’t be away long.’ She looked down at her hands, thinking of the beaten land, the ruined crop, the empty barns and she felt a sense of despair.
‘Your mother’s looking forward to your visit.’ Liam’s voice was light, he was changing the subject deliberately. ‘She’s happy at the convent, she seems to have found peace there with the sisters.’ He looked out into the distance. ‘Folks don’t believe in dying of a broken heart but I think your mam was until she came here.’
‘Dying?’ Catherine was alarmed, all the problems of the farm faded into insignificance at the prospect of losing her mother.
Liam put his hand over hers for a moment. ‘Don’t take on, she’s looking fine. I would not lie to you, now would I?’
Catherine’s mouth was dry, she had been so wrapped up in her own problems that she had not thought about her mother very much in the past weeks. She looked up at Liam and, sensing her look, he smiled.
‘Sure, there’s no need to worry, your mam knew you’d come over when you could spare the time. I can take you to her first thing in the morning if you like.’ He smiled reassuringly. ‘Don’t fret so, Catherine, everything is going to be all right, your mam has family here, we’ll make sure she’s happy, so we will.’
‘You are wonderful, Liam.’ Catherine slipped her arm through his, leaning against his shoulder for comfort, feeling warmth and gratitude flood through her.
‘Aye, so I’ve been told,’ he laughed easily. ‘Maeve has killed the fatted calf, well, a few chickens anyway, I hope you have a fine good appetite, my grandmother gets offended if her food isn’t appreciated.’
‘I couldn’t eat a thing,’ Catherine protested and she felt Liam’s breath against her hair as he turned to look down at her.
‘You’ll eat once you get a smell of Maeve’s cooking.’
The small village of Kinsale came into sight, the sea curling against the shore, the sky clear of clouds. The sun was shining and, in spite of the cold breeze blowing in from the sea, it was a fine day.
The farm was situated on the outskirts of the village, the lands spread as far as the eye could see. The fields nearest the lane were cut, the stooks of corn plump and rich and Catherine wondered at the vagaries of the weather that destroyed one crop, yet brought another to ripe fruition.
‘Do you get much rain here, Liam?’ she asked, forcing her mind back to her problems.
‘Aye, rain enough but this has been a good month for farmers, plenty of time to take up the corn and dry it out.’ He looked up at the sky. ‘It will not last, though, soon my men will bring the corn indoors to finish off the drying.’
She looked at him with fresh interest. Back in Wales, Liam had seemed a little lost, out of place somehow; here in his own country, on his own land, he had somehow grown in stature. She thought, not for the first time, what a pity it was she had not met him sooner, before she had fallen so hopelessly in love with Boyo Hopkins.
Inside the parlour of the farmhouse, the family were waiting to greet her. A cheerful fire burned in the grate and the table was spread with a spotless cloth ready for tea.
Maeve Cullen regarded Catherine with a gaze that was more than a little curious, she was a shrewd woman with bright, intelligent eyes and a crinkle of humour about her mouth.
Brad Cullen came forward warmly and hugged her close. Catherine could smell the heather and grass scent on him, the tang of the open air. She was reminded of her father and she felt tears spring to her eyes. They were so warm, so generous, these Irish kinsmen of hers, they were treating her like a member of their family and yet she was little more than a stranger to them.
‘Sit down, Catherine, warm yourself by the fire and have a bit of supper with us. Sure an’ you are so pinched and pale I’m of a mind to think you need feeding up.’ Brad led her to a chair and Catherine sat down, still dressed in her outdoor clothes.
Maeve Cullen tutted. ‘Sure an’ can’t you let the girl get her coat off before you start running her life?’ She spoke briskly and Brad, grown man as he was, looked suitably chastened.
Laughing, Liam moved forward and took the coat which Catherine had slipped hastily from her shoulders. ‘Don’t take too much notice of Gran, she’s an old witch but with a heart of gold beneath all that sternness.’
Catherine wasn’t so sure about the heart of gold, the rest was an apt description of the old lady.
A girl entered the room, her hair pinned up in a severe style which did nothing to enhance her rather plain looks. She nodded distantly to Catherine and then took up the pot, warmed it and made the tea.
‘This is my sister,’ Liam explained. ‘Patricia keeps all our noses to the grindstone, don’t you, love?’ He planted a kiss on her cheek and the girl flipped him away impatiently.
‘Behave yourself, Liam, you’re like a naughty child sometimes.’
He made a wry face and sat in one of the high-backed upholstered chairs pretending to be subdued. ‘I don’t know what the world is coming to,’ he complained, ‘once a woman had respect for her menfolk.’
‘When was that?’ Patricia said without looking at him. ‘It surely wasn’t in my lifetime or I’d have noticed.’
‘Sourpuss,’ Liam said without rancour.
Catherine felt an outsider, as though she was looking in on a charmed circle. It was one she could belong to if she were to accept Liam as her husband. That he would still want her, there was no doubt in her mind, his every look, his every gesture, told her more than words could how much he cared for her. She found the thought comforting.
She found to her surprise that she was hungry. The chicken in a rich gravy was tender, the vegetables cooked to perfection. She even managed to eat some of the fine fruit cake and thinly sliced bread and butter that was set out before her. She saw Maeve nod in approval.
‘Got the appetite of a good farm girl anyways,’ she said and Catherine felt the words were some sort of compliment. No wonder her mother had felt at home in Ireland among these people who were kin only by marriage.
‘I was up at the convent visiting your mam yesterday,’ Maeve said in her dry voice and Catherine glanced at her in surprise, wondering how she had picked up on her train of thought.
‘How was she?’ Her mouth was dry as she waited for an answer.
‘I don’t think she could be called a well woman but then she is a widow grieving for her husband, what can you expect? At least she looks at peace with herself and no-one can ask more of the good Lord.’
‘We’ll go up there at first light, don’t you fret.’ Liam touched Catherine’s hand as he looked towards his grandmother.
‘Will you excuse us if we leave the table, Gran, Catherine and me;
we have some talking to do?’
The old woman inclined her head, it was for all the world as if she were royalty.
Liam led the way into the small, snug parlour. Here everything was lovingly polished so that the firelight threw a glow that was reflected on the surface of the small table and the wood of the tall dresser that stood against the wall.
‘Did you bring any figures with you, Catherine?’ Liam asked. ‘I could see just how much money you need to make to put the farm on its feet again.’
Catherine shook her head feeling foolish and inadequate. Suddenly she was weeping and Liam took her in his arms, holding her close, letting her cry.
‘There, there, colleen, sure you are not alone, I’ll come over to Wales with you, help you out for a few weeks at least. Now don’t say no, I won’t have it.’
Catherine drew away from him and rubbed at her face with her handkerchief. Liam made her feel protected and it was a good feeling.
They talked then, about the farm, about Fon’s life at the convent and soon Catherine found she was feeling better, more confident and relaxed than she had been for some time. A knock on the door disturbed them.
‘I’m off to my bed, son.’ It was Brad’s voice. ‘Don’t stay up too late now, that little girl needs her rest.’
Catherine rose to her feet hurriedly. What must the family think of her, shutting herself away with Liam for so long?
‘I’d better go to bed, too,’ she said softly, ‘and you will need some sleep if you are taking me to the convent first thing in the morning.’
He took her arm and led her upstairs to her room. ‘I hope you’ll be comfortable, colleen.’
She saw a cosy room with the curtains drawn against the night and a cheerful fire burning in the small hearth. The bed was turned down and looked so inviting that Catherine wanted to crawl in between the blankets and sleep for ever. ‘Good night, Liam, and thank you, I can’t tell you how grateful I am.’
He kissed the tip of her nose lightly. ‘No need for thanks, you are part of the family and don’t you forget it.’
When she was alone, Catherine closed her eyes, leaning against the warmth of the door. She had forgotten what it was like to be with people, she had become used to the solitude of the farm and yet now, she realized just how much she had missed the sound of a human voice, a touch, a warm look. Well, for a couple of days at least, she could relax, be taken care of, it was a wonderful feeling.
The morning was bright and sunny but with a chill of autumn in the air. Catherine, wrapped in a thick shawl, was seated in the trap beside Liam, heading away from the farm and out into the open country.
‘Is it far, the convent I mean?’ She was aware of the anxiety in her voice and Liam must have noticed it too because he held her hand and squeezed it before taking the reins again.
‘Only a few miles, we will be at the convent in a little over an hour.’
She sat beside him in silence, half-eager, half-fearful of the coming meeting. What did she expect to see? Her mother in tears, perhaps pale and thin, but then Fon had looked that way when she had left Honey’s Farm.
It was going to be difficult not to beg Fon to come home, to help her through this difficult time, just to be there in the silent, empty farmhouse. She knew, even as the thoughts formed in her mind, that she could never show her mother how lonely and afraid she was, could never disturb the feelings of peace that Fon was experiencing at the convent. She squared her shoulders, she would pretend that everything was going well, that she was managing the farm without difficulty and that the harvest had been good. But it would take all her courage to put a brave face on things and she knew it.
‘Well, I don’t think she’s good enough for our Liam.’ Patricia Cullen was standing with her hands on her slim hips, her face was flushed and her eyes gleamed in the light from the lamps.
‘’Tis not for you to say, girl.’ Brad shifted uneasily in his seat. ‘Liam is a man, he has his own opinions, neither you nor I can shape him into what we think he should be.’
‘But she has been living with a married man!’ Patricia said indignantly. ‘How do we know she has not conceived a child by him and looks on our Liam as a substitute father, a man who can make her appear respectable?’
‘Keep calm, don’t let your imagination run away with you. All we know at the moment is that she wishes to visit her mother,’ Brad said flatly.
‘That is not all we know,’ Patricia said hotly. ‘We know she has come to Ireland with some kind of problem which she wants my brother to sort out for her. It sounds suspicious to me and I think she should be sent packing as soon as possible.’
Brad frowned. ‘It is none of your business, Pat,’ he said sharply. ‘Now can’t a man have a bit of peace at his own fireside?’
Maeve Cullen spoke for the first time. ‘It is our business, Brad, Liam is a very rich man and handsome with it. Still, I like the girl, she’s got spirit, but then again …’
‘Enough!’ Brad rose to his feet. ‘I will have quiet in my own house.’ He looked at his daughter. ‘You look to your own future, my girl, you will end up an old maid if you don’t find yourself a husband soon.’
‘Dad!’ Patricia looked at him in astonishment. ‘Does that mean I am not welcome here in the house where I was born?’
‘You will not be welcome for long if you don’t keep that tongue still in your head.’ Brad moved to the door. ‘I’m going down to the village, I can’t stand you nagging women a moment longer.’
The door slammed and Patricia eyed her grandmother. ‘Well, Gran, it looks as if this Catherine O’Conner is causing trouble in our family after only one night under our roof. I think it’s up to you and me to do something about it.’
The grey walls of the convent came into view, the ancient stone rising high against the darkening sky. The only sign of habitation was a single light shining from one of the windows. It appeared a forbidding place and Catherine shivered.
The nun who opened the gate to admit them was small, covered entirely in black from her head to her black-booted feet. She looked into Catherine’s face smiling a welcome. ‘I’m Sister Teresa and sure I can see you are a fine Irish girl by the red in your hair.’
‘We’ve come to see Mrs O’Conner,’ Liam explained; ‘this is her daughter, Catherine.’
Was it Catherine’s imagination or did the smile fade a little?
‘Well, come inside, the good lady will be happy to see you, I’m sure.’
She seemed to wobble her way along the drive with a rolling gait that indicated a problem with her legs or feet. She was very old, were all the nuns so old? If so, life must be very dull for her mother, Catherine thought unhappily.
Inside the convent were the familiar artefacts of the Catholic faith. A giant effigy of Christ on the cross dominated the hallway and along the walls were pictures depicting the stations of the cross.
‘Wait here awhile.’ Sister Teresa made her way, unsteadily, across the hall and disappeared through a doorway. Catherine looked up at Liam.
‘I’m worried about Mam,’ she said, ‘it’s so bleak here, so cold.’
He put his arm around her shoulders and hugged her to him, dropping a kiss on the top of her head.
‘I know, colleen, but it’s what your mammy wants, remember that. And another thing, you must remember, your problems are my problems, you are not alone.’
But she was alone. When she returned home she must sort out the finances of the farm, do her best to make a go of the business her father had built up over the years. She could not let Honey’s Farm die.
A woman with a serene face and a bearing that spoke of authority entered the hallway and Catherine guessed she was the Mother Superior.
‘Miss O’Conner, would you like to come with me?’ Her glance swept over Liam. ‘I am afraid I will have to ask you to wait here.’ She smiled briefly. ‘We do not often allow any man within the cloisters you understand?’
Catherine found herself being led along a dark co
rridor, she shivered, the building was unheated, it felt damp and chill and she wondered how her mother could bear to live in such an environment.
‘In here, child.’ The woman made a gesture towards a cell-like room with a bed standing in the corner and with only a small shaft of light from a narrow window piercing the gloom.
Fon O’Conner was seated on the edge of the neatly made bed, she was dressed in a long skirt and a crisp white blouse over which she wore a thick woollen shawl. She looked up and her eyes were bright with unshed tears as they rested on her daughter.
‘Mam?’ Catherine moved uncertainly forward, then they were in each other’s arms and Catherine was hugging her mother as if she would never let her go.
‘Are you keeping well, Mam?’ She held her mother at arm’s length and studied her carefully. Fon was still pale and wan, a little too thin but Maeve was right, it was as though her mother had found an inner peace.
The Mother Superior touched Catherine’s arm. ‘Stay for a little while, child, but remember your mother is used to peace and the silence of the convent, don’t tire her.’
When they were alone, Catherine hugged her mother once more and, kissing her cheek, wanting to rekindle the closeness they had always shared, but now something was missing.
‘I’ll never get over losing your dad, love,’ Fon said softly, ‘but I am content here. I know things must be difficult for you at home, the farm is a lot of responsibility for you but you have to make your own way now, I can’t help you any more, you are a woman now.’
‘I know, Mam, and everything is fine, I can take care of myself, you know I can. The work on the farm is second nature to me, I could do it with my eyes shut.’
‘Are the labourers good men?’ Fon asked. ‘You need good men about you when it’s harvest time.’
Catherine swallowed hard. ‘Yes, Mam, don’t worry, everything is fine.’
They talked quietly for some time and, though the love was still there between them, it was as if they had grown apart from each other. The thought saddened Catherine.
The door opened and a young nun stood casting a shadow into the cell-like room. She made a gesture towards the door, ‘Time for prayer, Sister Fon.’