Maybe the china doll would still be in Dolan’s window until then.
“I’ll eat me stirabout,” she announced, “when I’ve put on me good skirt and jumper.”
“You’ll eat it now,” Noel stated, spooning it into her small dish, “before you put on your skirt and jumper, or you’ll be a lovely-looking sight going to Mass with stains all down them.”
The smell of the hot oatmeal made Noel’s stomach clench with hunger, but years of practice at going without ensured he ignored it. The Catholic Church’s rule of fasting from twelve o’clock the previous night before receiving Holy Communion was firmly ingrained in him. In just over a year’s time, the child would make her First Holy Communion, and she would also follow the age-old tradition like the rest of the family.
Tara folded her little arms, the sugar cane sticking out of her mouth, and shook her red ringlets. “D’you know, Granda? It’ll be me birthday in a few weeks. I learnt all about the months and dates in school from Miss Molloy I can even say them in the Irish, too. Miss Molloy says I’m very good at working things out in me head. She says I’m very clever.”
“You are,” Noel Flynn replied, “too clever by half.”
An hour later, Noel stood in his dark, sober suit, carefully attaching his silver watch and chain. This was a ritual he performed every Sunday morning and every Holy Day. Every time he slid the cold smooth timepiece into his little pocket, he thought of his wife, because Hannah had bought the watch for him. She had paid it off – at so much a week – in a jeweller’s shop in Tullamore. In their forty-odd years of marriage, it was the one and only gift she had been able to afford to give him. The watch had counted off all the minutes, and the weeks, and the months – of the two years since Hannah had died.
Then, just under a year after Hannah’s death, Shay’s wife went down with scarlet fever and died within a short time. Shay, who had been living with his in-laws, asked if he and Tara could come back to live at the cottage until he had got back on his feet again.
Noel’s first thoughts were not favourable. He had not been keen on the idea of having a child around the place. A year later, he could not imagine life without her, and he now realised that if it hadn’t been for the child he would have sunk into depression and lethargy. With the motherless Tara depending on him, he couldn’t allow himself that luxury.
* * *
Biddy was delighted with the orange. “I got a lovely prayer book off a neighbour,” she told Tara as they stood outside the church gates after Mass. She looked down at her hobnailed boots. “It’s too hard for me to read but it has nice pictures of Our Lady an’ the angels an’ everythin’. She says I’ve not to tell Lizzie. Lizzie says that Christmas is a load of nonsense and, apart from going to Mass, that it’s the same as any other day.”
“We’re havin’ a goose for our dinner,” Tara said proudly. “And me Uncle Mick has made a currant cake with cherries in it. He says he made it especially for Christmas.”
“Maybe we’ll have a chicken,” Biddy said hopefully. Then she added, “But I think we’re only havin’ soup.”
Suddenly, a hush descended on the groups of churchgoers, and everyone turned to look as a particularly well-clad family made their way out through the crowds.
“It’s the Fitzgeralds,” Tara informed her friend. “And they’ve got a new car. It’s up the road a bit.” She pointed now. “I saw it when me granda brought me in on the ass and cart. Will we go and look at it?”
The youngsters in the churchyard, and some of the more curious adults, followed the Fitzgeralds out of the gates and along the road. Tara and Biddy moved first at a quick trot, and then they broke into an excited run as the car engine started up with a loud roar.
Suddenly Tara felt a firm hand grab her by the arm. “Back to the cart!” her granda said sternly.
Tara tried to wriggle out of his grip. “I’ll only be a minute,” she argued. “We’re goin’ to have a look at the Fitzgerald’s new car.”
Noel swept her up into his arms, his face dark with annoyance. “You’re gawping at no new car – or anything else belonging to the Fitzgeralds,” he told her firmly. He looked down at Biddy. “You’d better go home. Lizzie Lawless was callin’ for you at the church gate – and she didn’t look one bit happy.”
Head bent, Biddy scuttled off as fast as her hobnailed boots would allow.
“Could Biddy have a bit of our goose, Granda?” Tara said, stroking her grandfather’s closely shaved chin. “She says she’s only havin’ soup for her Christmas dinner.” “Lizzie Lawless is paid to feed those girls,” Noel replied, putting the child back down on the ground. “She wouldn’t thank us for bringin’ them into the house, and anyway, we have enough mouths of our own.” He led her by the hand towards the ass and cart, where Shay and Mick, dressed in their good suits, stood chatting with a group of men. Tara fished the end of a sugar stick out of her pocket and stuck it in her mouth. She wished her granda and her Uncle Mick had a new car like the Fitzgeralds, instead of an oul’ ass and cart. She wished Biddy could have her dinner at their house, every day. She wished she could have that china doll, with the red satin dress and hat, for her birthday. And she wished – most of all – that she could have a mammy.
Chapter Two
“All the women in Tullamore,” Noel Flynn gasped, “and you have to take up with a widow with three childer!”
When they all sat down at the fire – stomachs full with roast potatoes, carrots and the goose – Shay announced the news about his forthcoming second marriage. He had sent Tara over to Mrs Kelly’s cottage to show the old woman her new book, and to get her out of earshot. “Sure it’s the best thing all round for me to get married again,” he said with a beaming smile, trying not to think of Tessie Devine’s bosom. “As far as I’m concerned, the quicker the better.”
“You’re taking on a quare handful there, with five young ones between ye,” his brother warned him. “I would weigh things up carefully, if I was in yer shoes.”
“And what,” Shay said, getting to his feet, “would an oul’ bachelor like you know about marriage and childer?”
Mick shrugged his shoulders, not a man for arguing. “True . . . true,” he muttered. He said no more, leaving his father to carry the cudgel further if he so wished.
Noel reached for his pipe and tobacco. There was an uneasy silence for a while, as he packed the pipe, and then lit it. After a few puffs to get it going, he glanced in Shay’s direction. “Your mind is set on it?”
“Me mind is fixed,” Shay replied. “She’s agreed to marry me, and it can’t be undone now.”
“Five childer,” Noel repeated, with a shake of his head. “I hope to God you know what you’re about.”
“Oh, I do. I’ve given it a good deal of thought. Make no mistake about that.”
“The mistake may be on your part,” his father told him. “And once you’re married, there’s no changing it.”
“Haven’t I been married before?” Shay’s voice took on a higher note. “And wouldn’t it be better for poor Tara and Joe if they had a mother?”
Noel felt a cold hand clutch his heart. “You’re not thinking of taking the child?”
“I would, of course,” Shay stated. “Where would I be goin’ without her? How could I look after three of Tessie’s, and neglect me own?”
“Where,” the old man said wearily, “are you going to find the means of looking after five children? You find it tight enough looking after the two you have – and that’s with meself and the aunties helping you out.”
“You won’t have to help me out much longer,” Shay said proudly. “The priest in Tullamore told Tessie that he’s going to put a word in for me in the new factory.” He raised his eyebrows. “They pay big money in the factory – far better than I’m gettin’ in the mill in Ballygrace.”
“No doubt you’ll live in Tullamore?” Mick said. “You’d find it hard cycling to the factory every morning in the winter.”
Shay nodded. “
Tessie has the house well set up. . .and with the bits of furniture the aunties have kept for me, we should be fine.”
Mick rubbed his hands. “By the sounds of everything, you’ll be on the pig’s back, so!”
“We will,” Shay agreed. “Please God we will.”
* * *
Nelly Kelly was delighted with her little visitor, and gave her a drink of milk and a piece of apple tart. A day of rest, such as Christmas Day, was not something she relished. She usually filled her long, empty days scrubbing floors, cleaning windows, washing already-gleaming delph from the dresser, and tidying her turf shed. Sunday was a long enough day to abstain from her tasks, without having this extra Holy Day as well. She was a lonely old lady since her husband had died several years ago, and her family grown up and scattered to the wind. Occasionally, she had a visit from a son or a daughter, but they never seemed to have the money or the time to travel from Dublin or England too often. Originally from Galway, Nelly had always had a notion to return there, but the opportunity had never come. Some time back, she had recognised that her roots were now in Offaly, and she might as well be content to finish her days there.
“Do you like me new book, Mrs Kelly?” Tara asked. “It’s a fairy-tale book, and it’s got lots of pictures in it. Me granda has got loads of books, but his big books are awful hard to read. This one is easier for me.”
Nelly examined the book. “Your granda’s a very educated man and you’re a clever girleen to be reading a book like this.”
“It hasn’t got many words, and they’re only for little children. Can you read, Mrs Kelly?”
The old woman drew her shawl across her shoulders – it was her best one and worn only on special occasions like today. “Very little. I can just about write me name, and a few other words. I wasn’t as lucky as you. I never went to school.”
Tara’s face was a picture. “You never went to school?” she said in a shocked voice. Then recovering quickly, she added, “I could teach you to read, if you like.”
“I think,” Nelly said, trying not to laugh, “that I’m a bit old for that now. But you could read me a bit of your new book. I’d like to hear you reading.”
Tara needed no prompting. She sat up dead straight in her chair, as if she was in school. “It’s all about fairies. . . and everything.”
Just as she opened her mouth to read the first word, a loud knock sounded on the door. Nelly clucked her tongue and rushed to answer it.
“I’m sorry for disturbing you, Mrs Kelly,” Shay said in a respectful tone, dragging his cap from his head, “but I’ve to go to Tullamore on a bit of business and Tara has to come with me.”
“Sure you’re not disturbing me,” Nelly told him in her soft Galway lilt. “I’ll get her for you now.” When she saw the disappointed look on Tara’s face, she said, “You can bring your book over tonight, if it’s not too late.”
Tara climbed down off the chair, and wiping a crumb from the corner of her mouth, said in a solemn voice, “Thanks for the apple tart, Mrs Kelly – it was lovely.”
* * *
Tara’s face dropped as Shay appeared wheeling his rickety old bicycle. “Can we not take the ass and cart?”
He gave a sigh. “Don’t start yer complainin’ already. We’re goin’ on the bike, and that’s the end of it.” He threw his leg over the bike, and reached his arms out to lift Tara up onto the crossbar.
The child’s lip quivered and she took a step back, shaking her head. “Don’t want to go on yer oul’ bike.”
Shay’s arm shot out and caught her. “You’re going on the feckin’ bike,” he told her, “whether you like it or not.”
A mile or so along the road, Shay attempted to mollify his young daughter. “The oul’ ass is in bad form,” he explained. “The last time I took her to Tullamore, she took nearly two hours. Sure we can be there in half an hour on the bike, and I have a few sweets here in my pocket for you.”
“Are we goin’ to see Joe, Daddy?” she asked, brightening up.
“We are, my girleen. We are,” he said jovially. “And then we’re going to visit a grand, nice woman and her three children.”
“What ages are they?” Tara asked curiously, her burnished hair flying in the breeze.
“All ages,” Shay replied, his mind wandering back to Tessie. “And don’t be asking me any more questions – you’ll find out when we get there.”
The old aunties were all over Tara and her father when they arrived. Their pristine little house in Tullamore had such an air of excitement that Shay immediately wondered what was going on. The house usually had an atmosphere more suited to a church, with holy pictures adorning the walls, and the rosary and prayers being said at every opportune moment.
Joe was a rather solemn, sensitive child. He was very different from Tara, both in demeanour and appearance, he being dark-haired and dark-eyed like his father, while Tara took after her reddish-haired mother. Joe was quiet and respectful towards his father, regarding him in the way that a polite stranger might. To Tara, he was patient and kind, but in the time they had been separated, he had become as remote towards her as he was to his father and the rest of the family.
Noel’s spinster sisters were like two young schoolgirls, giggling over a secret. They gave Tara a bag of sweets and a sixpence, then they told her to be a good girl and sit and listen to the music on the radio with her brother. Molly poured a large glass of whiskey for Shay, and then they ushered him into the privacy of their bedroom.
“We have great news for you, Shay,” Maggie the eldest said breathlessly, her hands joined as though in prayer. “Great news altogether! We got a letter from the seminary yesterday, and they say there’s a place for Joe after the summer.”
“Begod!” Shay said, nearly choking on his whiskey. “As soon as that? Isn’t he a bit young to be goin’ away?”
“He’ll be eleven on March the nineteenth – his patron saint’s day,” Molly reminded him. “Just the right age to start. If you leave him any longer, he could lose his vocation. His mind is dead set on being a priest, and has been since his poor mother died.” She took a deep breath. “We spoke to Father Higgins at Midnight Mass, and he said he would call round to talk to us in the New Year.”
Shay’s mind rattled along, trying to make sense of this new development. He had geared himself up to explain about his forthcoming marriage to his son. He had been going to suggest that Joe might like to come and live with him and Tessie after the wedding. Exactly where he might fit in the two-bedroomed cottage, Shay had not yet worked out.
This business about Joe going away to a seminary was a bolt out of the blue. He knew Molly and Maggie had been going on about him being a priest this long time, but he hadn’t given it much attention, thinking it was wishful thinking on their parts.
No doubt about it, this news had taken the wind out of his sails. Really, it would have suited everyone fine for Joe to stay with his great-aunties. The boy was not a good mixer and inclined to be on the timid side. Maybe, Shay thought, the seminary was the answer to everybody’s prayers. It would solve the problem of trying to mix the two families together in little or no space. At eleven, it would be harder for Joe than it would be for Tara. She was only an infant yet, and could come to look upon Tessie as her mother.
On the other hand, Tara could be a spoiled little brat at times.
Hopefully, she wouldn’t kick up any trouble about the wedding. She had been going on about that feckin’ china doll since first thing this morning. Maybe he could find the money for it by her birthday and when she was all delighted and in great humour, he could tell her about the wedding, and about moving to Tullamore. Shay drained his glass, suddenly thinking that things might be working out for him, at long last.
“So,” Maggie said, interrupting her nephew’s thoughts, “we’ll see what the priest has to say about Joe, when he comes round in the New Year.”
“We’ll be guided by the priest’s advice,” Shay said carefully. “If the boy h
as a vocation, then it wouldn’t be for me to stand between himself and God.”
“Indeed not!” Maggie agreed. “And we’ll all help him out in any way we can, with the bits of things he needs for the seminary. Sure, wouldn’t it be a privilege?” She sighed with delight and patted Shay on the back. “He’ll be first priest in the Flynn family. Isn’t that something for a father to be proud of?”
After a cup of tea and a slice of fruit cake, followed by another celebratory glass of whiskey, Shay and Tara set off for Tessie’s little terraced house in the middle of the town. He decided against introducing Joe to them at this stage. What was the point now? Sure, he might not be involved in the set-up at all, if he was going to the seminary.
* * *
Tessie had the kettle boiling and the delph on the table, waiting for her visitors. She opened the door to them smiling and blushing at the same time. “Welcome to ye both,” she said, ushering them into the neat little house
Tara, initially shy and clinging to her father, soon changed her tune, when she saw the colouring book and crayons that were waiting for her on the table, and the other little hands all too willing to help her to colour in the pictures. Sean, Mary and Assumpta were five, four and three respectively – the youngest born the month after her father died. Tara was unaware of the scrimping and scraping Tessie Devine had gone through to provide the few bits extra for Christmas for her own crowd, without having to stretch it to buy for Shay’s daughter, too. The young widow looked on it as an investment, for if things worked out, they would be a lot better off in the near future. Hopefully, she would soon be married – and to a man with a good job in the new spinning factory in Tullamore.
Tara Flynn Page 2