by Anne Doughty
‘Out in the workshop. There wouldn’t have been room in here. They’d a’ filled the place.’
‘I’ll go and look,’ Rosie offered, desperate to get away from her black looks.
There were indeed a dozen or more cardboard cartons neatly lined up along her grandfather’s workbench, their lids turned back ready for use. She examined them carefully. Whiskey, port, sherry, as she had expected. But alongside the familiar names like Bushmills and Powers was a whole range of soft drinks.
She sighed with relief. She could go and tell Mrs Love that only some of the boxes contained the demon drink. But as she moved out into the sunlight again it occurred to her that Mrs Love and ‘drink’ was the equivalent of Uncle Joe and the Fenians. It wouldn’t matter what facts you gave her, she’d made up her mind and nothing would change it.
She paused as a second vehicle from the hotel drove slowly into the yard and stopped short of the motors already parked by the sweet pea. To her great relief, she saw Elizabeth Stewart coming towards her accompanied by two grey-haired women and an uneasy-looking younger woman.
‘Hello Rosie, come and meet two old friends of Granny. This is Selina Scott from Salter’s Grange and Peggy Wylie from Annacramp and this is Ellen Scott, Selina’s daughter-in-law. Ellen and Robert are at the forge house now, beside the one where your father lived as a little boy,’ she added helpfully, as Rosie shook hands. ‘Do you think we could slip in by the back door to save walking round to the front? Not proper at all to bring visitors in by the back but we’re all so tired with standing.’
For a moment Rosie thought of asking Elizabeth to speak to Mrs Love, but when she saw how wearily Selina Scott was leaning on her stick, she made up her mind.
‘Of course you can. It might be a bit of a squash with the two girls making tea, but it’s much shorter.’
She led the way and found the kitchen was now empty, another group of women were coming down the hall from the front door, the sitting room was beginning to fill up and Mrs Love nowhere in sight.
Sometimes things did come to help you, she thought, as she breathed a sigh of relief.
What surprised Rosie most about the afternoon was the laughter. Richard P. had not mentioned that. Nor had he told her how those who have suffered loss renew their ties with those who have also suffered, not by grieving, but by telling stories, weaving between them a web of memories that comfort and sustain.
Now in her eighties, Selina told Rosie about how John Hamilton had worked with her husband, Thomas, in the forge at Salter’s Grange. How they’d stuck to their principles when the two of them were threatened and intimidated by Orangemen protesting over Home Rule, making no difference between their Catholic and Protestant customers, and how they’d suffered for it financially.
‘But you know, Rosie dear, the amazing thing was, if your grandfather hadn’t been forced out of the forge and into the mill to keep bread on the table for his four wee ones, he might not have ended up a director of Bann Valley Mills. He’d have been a good country blacksmith like my Thomas, with enough to bring up a family and leave a little by, but he’d not have made such a go of it as your granda did. Though having said that I’m not sure if Granda could have done so well if it hadn’t been for Granny there behind him,’ she added, looking across the room to where Rose sat, listening to Alex and Sam, among the first to arrive back from the graveyard at Seapatrick.
Selina fell silent and Rosie was just about to ask her if she would like another cup of tea, when she turned towards her, her pale eyes bright, a sober look on her face.
‘Rose once told me that her mother used to say that some good may come from even the most heartbreaking events,’ she began. ‘But that’s only if you have the courage to accept what has happened. I think Hannah McGinley was right, and your grandmother has always done the same. You have to face things, Rosie, not pretend they haven’t happened. Life is never all bad, or all good. You’ll miss your Granda, but other things will come and you’ll always have the memories.’
Rosie nodded, though she was not sure she fully understood.
‘But what about Granny, Mrs Scott? I know I have all sorts of experiences ahead of me, good and bad, like you said, but don’t you think she’ll be terribly lonely by herself?’
Selina smiled and wondered what to say to a girl so thoughtful, yet so inexperienced.
‘I talked to my Thomas for years after he went,’ she began. ‘I knew him so well I could guess what he’d say. There were times I could just imagine him laughing at me for getting in a state about something. And there were other things came to help me too. People I’d lost touch with. My friend Peggy and her family, for instance.’
‘Rose has her son and daughters and all you grandchildren,’ she continued reassuringly. ‘No, it’s not the same, but it is something. That’s what helped me when the house seemed so empty. That and a kitten a neighbour gave me,’ she added, beginning to laugh. ‘You might not believe me, but that wee scrap of divilment was the first thing that made me laugh again.’
She paused, looked across the room at Rose, then back at Rosie.
‘Now away dear, and talk to some of your young cousins,’ she said smiling and patting Rosie’s shoulder. ‘You’re good company, but I’m happy here to sit and watch the comings and goings till I get a word with your grandmother before I go.’
Rosie moved out into the hall, simply because a space opened in that direction. As she came through the sitting-room door her cousin, Hugh Sinton, arrived with Billy and Charlie and Richard P. Moments later another motor stopped. This time it was Frances Harrington, Sammy and Bobby and Dr Stewart. Together the eight men filled up the narrow space, some greeting her warmly, others squeezing their way into the kitchen where Willy stood, with a tray of glasses at the ready.
As soon as there was movement, she reached the stairs and ran up quickly, hardly able to believe the house could accommodate so many people. But then, everyone gathered below wanted to support her grandmother. They’d make light of any difficulties and be as helpful as they could in whatever way was needed.
Talk and laughter rose in waves from the downstairs rooms. From her window she could see some people had moved out into the yard, others were now walking in the garden. For a moment, she felt totally alone.
How could one be alone when there were more known people downstairs than she’d ever experienced before all gathered together in one place? Not only Granny and her own family, but her aunts and cousins whom she’d never met till now, like Frances, or met so long ago that they might as well be a different person.
Beyond her open door, she heard a footstep on the landing. She paid no attention, but went on staring out of the window wondering when she’d stand here again. She caught her breath. Till that moment, she’d never thought losing Granda might mean losing Rathdrum.
The knock on her door was gentle but firm enough to reach her over the waves of sound echoing from downstairs.
She turned round and saw Richard P. entering the room.
‘Have you had some tea?’
It was the only thing she could think of to say.
‘Not yet,’ he replied, coming to stand beside her at the window. ‘You looked very thoughtful,’ he went on. ‘Sad?’
‘Yes,’ she said honestly, ‘but not like I was in church. I was wondering when, or if, I would ever stand here again.’
‘That’s a very philosophical question.’
‘Is it?’
‘Well, you know the saying that you can’t step in the same river twice …’
She shook her head, wondering what was in his mind.
‘You can’t step in the same river twice, because it has moved on. Whatever happens, some things will have changed. You in particular.’
‘And what about you?’
‘Oh yes, me too.’
He paused as if he wanted to be sure of his words for what he had to say next.
‘Perhaps what I mean is that I’ve changed a great deal since I was sixteen.
Going to medical school. Coming back and going into practice with Father. I might not change as much in the next few years as you will.’
‘But not everything changes, does it?’ she asked, puzzled by his train of thought and an expression she couldn’t read. ‘You’ll still be Richard P. and I’ll be Rosie. There are some things I can’t ever imagine changing.’
‘Yes, I think you have a point. We’ll have to compare notes …’
He broke off as he saw two figures moving purposively across the yard below.
‘Actually I came up to say “Cheerio”. Auntie Rose has persuaded Helen to go back tonight. She was in the middle of producing scenery for a play that has its first night next week. It seems she just put down her paint pot and came. I said I’d take her to the boat.’
‘And you won’t come back later?’
‘No, I’ll go straight home from Belfast. Mother and Father will want to stay this evening, so I need to be on call.’
For a single moment she felt overcome with disappointment. She’d just assumed she’d see him one more evening before she herself went home.
‘It’s going to be a lovely evening for the drive,’ she said quickly.
She watched as Aunt Sarah and Helen put a small suitcase and a couple of parcels in Richard’s motor. Helen threw her arms round her mother, hugged her, and climbed into the front seat, her dark hair caught back with a bright red scarf.
Richard followed her gaze down into the yard below.
‘Take care, Rosie. I’m sure I’ll get all your news from Auntie.’
For a moment, she saw him hesitate. Then he took her hand, kissed her cheek and strode off without a backward glance.
She stayed by the window, watched him as he emerged from the house, crossed to his motor, climbed up into the driving seat and reversed away from the sweet pea hedge. As they manoeuvred Helen turned to him and said something which made them both laugh. The motor set off down the drive and disappeared.
Rosie thought her cousin Helen was quite the loveliest and liveliest person she’d ever met. She was sure Richard thought so too.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
When Rosie went to say goodbye to her grandmother the next morning she found her weary and not quite her usual self, though Rose hugged her warmly and said she was to come and see her as soon as she could manage it. Aunt Hannah was still trying to persuade her to go back to England with them, if only for a short rest. In direct contrast, when she went to the kitchen, she found Mrs Love completely restored to her normal good spirits, tackling two weeks’ washing on a morning with exactly the kind of fresh breeze she liked to give her the best of drying.
Rosie left Rathdrum in her grandfather’s motor with Aunt Sarah at the wheel. On her way to Armagh to visit her former brother-in-law, James Sinton, who’d been too ill to come to the funeral, Sarah said how glad she was to have her company. As they set off down the hill they agreed how grateful they were, to be driving briskly under a wide, cloud-strewn sky after the confinement of the last days, the first pink and gold leaves of the chestnut trees suggesting a touch of autumn even this early in August.
‘So what now, Rosie?’ Sarah asked as they headed for Banbridge. ‘We’ve not had much chance to talk, but Ma told me in a letter you were keen to do a year’s training for textile design.’
‘Yes, I was. It was something we talked about in Kerry, but I don’t think it’ll happen now.’
‘Why not?’
Rosie sighed, not sure where to begin. The more she thought about it the more complicated it all seemed.
‘Well, to begin with, Da can’t afford the fees himself. Or rather, even if he could, he’d not be happy about it, because he wasn’t able to help the boys to do apprenticeships. He thinks it might not be fair if he were to say yes and let Granny and Granda help me.’
‘That sounds so like my dear brother Sam,’ she said sharply. ‘Did he ask the boys if they wanted to be apprenticed?’
‘I don’t know. I’m not sure any of them did. Except perhaps Sammy. But he’s doing so well now I don’t think it matters any more. He likes his boss and he’s had two pay rises so far, so he’s earning far more than an apprentice. He’s saving up for a motorbike,’ she added smiling.
‘And he’s planning to ride in the T. T. races in the Isle of Man whenever he’s got enough experience, isn’t he? I had a few minutes with him yesterday and I heard all about it,’ Sarah replied. ‘I like your Sammy,’ she went on thoughtfully. ‘How do you feel about staying at home?’
‘I don’t really know. I was dreading it when I came back from Kerry, but it wasn’t as bad as I expected. Ma had been very down on me before …’
‘You had your accident with the door that jumped up and hit you. Ma told me all about that as well.’
Rosie took a quick look at Sarah, her eyes focused on the road ahead, her motoring hat pulled down firmly over her ears.
‘When I came back she was different,’ she explained. ‘Mostly, she ignores me, but quite often she sends me out. Messages and so on. She even suggests I go and visit people. Lizzie or Miss Wilson, or some of the other girls I went to school with. I can’t think why she’s suddenly changed, but it does make things easier. Especially if I can’t go to Belfast.’
‘What do you think might have made the change?’
‘I really wish I knew. Lizzie said she thought Da said something to her while I was away. He was very upset when—’
‘Shrewd guess of Lizzie, I’d say,’ Sarah interrupted, glancing at her briefly. ‘The thing about your da is that he seems to do nothing, and do nothing, and then, quite suddenly, he acts. I used to get so cross with him when I was your age, the way he put up with things I’d never have stood for for five minutes. I suppose now I’ve achieved the incredible age of forty either I’ve learnt patience or I’ve finally accepted that other people work differently from the way I do,’ she said, laughing. ‘Sam bides his time. And I must say, though I never became a Quaker, even when I was married to one, I do respect their principles. Not always, but mostly. Your dear father always tries to be fair, even if he gives himself a bad time in the process. Had you noticed?’
‘Emily says Da is a good man, but he thinks too much,’ Rosie replied, laughing herself.
‘Yes, that’s perfectly true,’ Sarah agreed. ‘But rather that than these people who never think at all. What is the state of play on your going to train? Don’t the courses start in September?’
Rosie nodded.
‘Yes, I think they do. I might be too late already to sign up. When we came back from Kerry three weeks ago Granny spoke to Da. He told her, he didn’t think he could give to one of his children what he hadn’t been able to give to all of them. But he did promise her he’d take counsel and consult his conscience.’
‘But wasn’t it Granny and Granda who were going to put up the money?’ said Sarah frowning.
‘Oh yes, it was their offer, but only if Da said yes.’
Sarah nodded and concentrated on overtaking a long trailer carrying a huge metal object like a giant flowerpot being pulled at a snail’s pace by a road engine.
‘Perhaps Granny will be short of money now Granda has died,’ said Rosie anxiously, the thought having just occurred to her.
‘No, don’t worry, she’ll be fine,’ Sarah reassured her. ‘But there are always tedious things about money when anyone dies. Probate, for example. She may not be able to get at what is actually hers until the solicitors produce the papers. More to the point, Rosie, is that even when she’s got access to her money, your father may not be able to let you go.’
‘What do you mean, Auntie Sarah?’
‘Much as I love Sam, I have to admit he’s not exactly made a happy marriage. He works hard, he does his best for his family, but there’s not a lot of joy in his life. If you go, he’s got even less. He could never admit that you’re probably the best thing in his life. But that’s why he may not be able to let you go, especially just now when we’ve lost Da.’
&
nbsp; Suddenly and unexpectedly, Rosie saw her father standing on the empty platform at Portadown when they’d waved from the Dublin train. He’d looked so solitary, so alone, she’d been overcome by a dreadful feeling she might never see him again.
‘So you think I should stay at home?’
‘No, by no means. You must do what is right for you. When I remarried, I had to leave Ma and Pa after being close by for ten years. I knew it would be hard on them, losing me and Helen and Hugh as well, but they’d have been even more distressed if I hadn’t gone. Ma always said a woman must move on. She must leave her father or mother when the time comes, otherwise she never grows up to become the person she has it in her to be.’
Rosie took a deep breath. Sometimes things suddenly became clear. Aunt Sarah had known him all her life and what she said about him waiting, and waiting, and then acting, made perfect sense. She was sure now he had indeed spoken to her mother and found a way of ensuring she no longer treated her so badly.
But as for leaving him, that was a different matter. She felt so confused. Her aunt had said he might not be able to let her go, yet she’d also said a woman must leave her father or mother when the time comes otherwise she never grows up properly. How did you reconcile the two?
She wondered if going to Belfast was still a possibility or if her grandfather’s death had in fact taken it away for the moment.
‘You’re looking very thoughtful, Rosie,’ Sarah said, as she drove slowly through Richhill. ‘I hope I haven’t said anything to upset you. I still have the Quaker habit of speaking when the spirit moves me. Or perhaps I just use them as an excuse,’ she added, her eyes sparkling as she laughed at herself.
‘No, you haven’t upset me,’ Rosie said, shaking her head. ‘You’ve helped, just like Granny does. I wish I had someone to tell me the things I need to know. Miss Wilson was very good. I miss her.’
‘Couldn’t you go and visit her? She might miss you too.’
‘I never thought of that,’ she admitted. ‘She told Da she’d like to see me when he went to explain about my not being able to come for the last week at school, but I haven’t managed it yet.’