by Anne Doughty
Not waiting for a reply, he stood up stiffly and made his way out of the house and across to the barn.
Undeterred, her mother’s voice continued to hurl abuse after him, her parting shots quite predictable and equally unreasonable.
Rosie watched him go. Hungry and tired after a day’s work this was what he had to come home to. Night after night, she greeted him with hostile silence or an ill-tempered nag. The thought of what he’d suffered through all the years she’d been old enough to observe and understand came near to overwhelming her. At that moment, all she could think off was escaping herself to some safe place where her mother’s anger could not reach her, but she knew she had nowhere to go.
Suddenly she remembered what Auntie Sarah had said as they drove back from Rathdrum after Granda’s funeral. That her father had put up with things she herself would never have tolerated for five minutes. That he waited and waited, but in the end he acted.
She remembered how he’d spoken to her mother after her own ‘accident’. What he’d said she could not even imagine, but he had succeeded in altering her behaviour out of all recognition. In this latest crisis, she had to hope he would find as successful an answer.
Moving out of the corner by the dresser, where she’d been filling a jug with spring water for the supper table when her father arrived, she crossed to the stove, took a warm plate from the oven, served a generous portion of stew, covered it with another plate and carried it carefully over to the barn.
Her mother called after her, but she pretended she hadn’t heard.
‘Here you are, Da,’ she said, taking a knife and fork out of her apron pocket. ‘Don’t let it spoil your appetite.’
He managed a smile as she took the top plate away and the smell of well-cooked food rose into the air. He made no reply but began to eat slowly as if he had barely the energy to lift the fork to his mouth.
Rosie sat down in the old armchair and waited. If she didn’t go back to the house, her mother might well hand out generous second helpings to Dolly and Jack and leave no more than the scrapings of the pot for Emily and Charlie when they arrived home. It was a risk she would have to take.
Neither her father nor herself had ever had a problem sitting silently together in the barn, for they had never felt any need to talk for the sake of talking. If they did have to leave the farm, it would be the barn she’d miss far more than the house. Here in his workshop surrounded by the strange smells of oil and lubricant, acetylene and petrol, she felt at ease in a way she never felt in the house, even when her mother was out in the byre or in the fields and she had the place to herself.
‘That was very nice, dear,’ he said, clearing his plate. ‘You’re a real good cook. I’ll have to cook my own dinner for a while now, or let one of the boys do it. I’m not sure which of us would be the worst at it,’ he added with a little laugh.
‘How long, Da?’
‘Two months, maybe three. Depends on the weather.’
‘To Milford?’
He smiled his slow smile and there was a hint of laughter about his eyes.
‘Sure I know you could do it in an hour on a bicycle,’ he declared, leaning back against the workbench behind him. ‘The load is half the size of this barn. If we do half a mile in a day, it’ll be good goin’. An’ we may have to move at night. Forby, there’s a couple of bridges on the way, we may have to bypass or rebuild. There’ll be a road engineer to advise us and the police are involved as well. There’ll be a few headaches, I’m tellin’ you.’
‘Won’t you be able to leave it at night, or on Sundays? I can’t see anyone pinching it, can you?’
‘No, there’s no fear of that,’ he agreed. ‘But there’ll be two, maybe three, road engines and all their gear. There’s plenty of worthwhile stuff to tempt thieves. Besides that we’ll have to show lights at all times. There’s a caravan where we’ll cook and sleep. Two on every night and I’m responsible for the whole show.’
‘When do you start?’
‘Monday.’
‘So soon?’
‘Ach it should have been last autumn, but there was a delay at the foundry. Then the weather was bad. Now they’ve finished arguin’, it’s urgent. The mills are not in a good way since the war. If they don’t keep up to date they’ll lose what orders there are. It’s hard times for everybody, Rosie, and you and Bobby have your share to put up with,’ he added with a sigh.
He stood up, opened a drawer in the workbench, poked around among packets of differently sized nails and produced two battered envelopes.
‘When Joe died, I decided you and Bobby should have some payment for all the work you do, even if the sum is very small. But with this business over the farm, I felt it wise not to mention it,’ he explained, handing her an envelope. ‘Now that I won’t be here very often for some months, I’m givin’ you your half year’s pay now. It’ll mean you can go and visit your granny whenever you want. Or maybe there’s somethin’ you’re savin’ up for, like Emily,’ he continued, a flicker of anxiety passing over his face. ‘I’ll see Bobby before I go.’
Rosie put the envelope in her apron pocket, kissed his cheek and picked up his empty plate.
‘I’ll borrow a bicycle and come and see you. You won’t be far away for quite a while, will you? And I can bring you something to heat up in your caravan.’
‘Can ye ride mine?’
‘Yes, of course, but won’t you need it?’
He laughed silently, his face breaking into the broad grin which so delighted her.
‘I won’t be goin’ anywhere on a bicycle after Monday mornin’ goin to work. I’ll ask the boss to drop it back when he’s passin’ and you an’ Bobby can use it. Don’t let Jack out on it,’ he warned. ‘It’s too big for him.’
He turned away, glanced over his workbench to see which of the urgent jobs sitting there he might finish before he went, then turned back towards her.
‘I doubt if I’ll even get away for a few hours to go and see your Granny,’ he said sadly. ‘I’ll drop her a line. But it would do her more good to see you. Will you go as often as you can? Don’t let your ma stand in your way. The family’ll not starve for a weekend.’
She assured him she would and gathered herself for whatever she’d find when she went back over to the house.
Rosie couldn’t quite believe it when she opened the envelope and took out a carefully folded five-pound note. Unlike the envelope which was grubby and covered with oily fingerprints, the large parchment note with its silver stripe and beautiful flowing script was perfectly clean. Only rarely had she seen a five-pound note before and she’d certainly never possessed one.
She thought of Bridget O’Shea when she’d come to say goodbye the night before they’d left the hotel in Waterville. She’d told her that her granda had been very good to her. Paper money, she’d said. If there were a few more like him she’d soon have her ticket and her travel money saved.
As she refolded the large note and put it back in the envelope Rosie’s first thought was that she could now pay her debts. She’d come home from Kerry with the money her grandparents had given her for her holiday, money she’d never been able to spend because every time she went to buy something, her grandfather had bought it for her. But that money was long gone. Stamps and watercolour paper had used it up by Christmas. A few sixpences from her mother when she’d been in a good mood after Uncle Joe died had bought some new tubes of paint, but since then it was Emily who’d paid for her stamps and her drawing paper.
‘Well, I’ve some good news for you, Emily,’ she announced, as they walked up the lane together on Saturday afternoon to do the weekly shop.
‘That would make a nice change,’ Emily replied sharply.
Rosie looked at her, surprised by the tone. One of Emily’s gifts was the ability not to let their mother upset her. She could sit in the kitchen looking at the newspaper and appear not to notice what was going on around her, whoever might be getting the sharp edge of their mother’s tongue. It
was seldom Emily herself, for she had a knack of not hearing what was said, or looking completely baffled at hostile comments should they come her way.
‘Oh Emily, what’s wrong? Have you had some bad news I don’t know about?’
‘Ach no, it’s just the usual. I wish Sammy got home oftener. An’ now Da’s goin’ away …’
Her voice trailed away and Rosie recognised the familiar weakness. Emily could seldom tell you right out what was upsetting her, but it did sound as if she was feeling the sort of loneliness that’s not just an absence of people you love, but a more personal kind of desolation. By the look on her face, Rosie judged there was little she could say to comfort her.
‘Emily, I have a problem,’ she began quietly. ‘I need change of five pounds.’
‘Ye don’t!’
‘I do.’
The effect was immediate and encouraging. Emily wanted to know every minute detail of this extraordinary occurrence and by the time they’d reached the top of the lane, her low spirits had completely disappeared.
‘But how do I get change, Emily?’ she persisted. ‘I can’t take my five-pound note to Uncle Henry’s or he’ll tell all of Richhill. And if I can’t get change, I can’t pay you the ten shillings I owe you.’
‘You don’t owe me anything,’ Emily retorted. ‘Look at all the nice dinners you cook for me, forby washin’ my knickers and smoothin’ my clean blouse every week.’
‘Oh yes, I do,’ Rosie came back at her. ‘Da’s just paid me for all I do in the house. So that’s not fair. I owe you at least ten shillings.’
‘No, you don’t. I only lent you nine and sixpence.’
Rosie laughed and shook her head.
‘Well, you’re the one that can do sums, I won’t argue. But I can’t pay you till I get change of this note.’
‘That’s easy. I have four pounds ten and sixpence put away at home. If you really want to pay me, then I’ll have the five pounds for my ticket.’
Rosie stopped dead and looked at her.
‘And what about the fifty dollars you have to have before you go?’
‘I saved that first. It’s in the Post Office.’
‘So you could go anytime now?’
Emily nodded and said nothing, but the look on her face told Rosie all she needed. She was longing to escape. Now she had the money she could go. Only a weeks’ notice was required by Fruitfield. From the beginning of May there would be dozens of advertisements in the newspapers. With the ice melting in the St Lawrence, she’d have a choice of both Canadian and American destinations.
There was no doubt in Rosie’s mind. Emily would be gone before the apple blossom came and she would be left to face the future without her support and comfort.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Nothing would have given Rosie greater pleasure than spending all her weekends at Rathdrum, but she knew perfectly well her life would be made unbearable if she did. However, bearing in mind what she’d promised her father, she made it plain to her mother she was going to visit every second weekend. She would do the shopping on Friday instead of Saturday, prepare a casserole to heat up for Saturday’s meal and leave immediately after supper on Friday evening.
The thought of her weekends brought her great comfort as April turned to May and her father’s steadying presence was no longer there. Even when he was at work or busy in the barn, she’d been aware of him, but now, night after night, when there was no footstep to listen for, she missed him sadly. Sometimes she found herself wondering if this was how Granny felt now that Granda was gone. The thought that one day her father might really be lost to her and not simply tied to a job a handful of miles away, upset her so much she had to push it out of her mind.
‘Hallo, Rosie, you look tired. Come in and have some lemonade.’
She put her small suitcase down thankfully, perched on the garden wall and turned to greet Emily Hamilton, standing with her young son held in her arms.
‘Yes, I am a bit slow tonight, but if I stop I might not get going again. My goodness, isn’t he growing fast?’
She stood up to return the gaze of the bright blue eyes that followed her every movement.
‘Hallo, John,’ she said softly.
John gurgled, stuck out a small arm and reached for her hair.
‘This child has slept the entire day and now wishes to be entertained,’ his mother declared. ‘Just when I was hoping to sit down and have a conversation with my dear husband. I don’t know when we last exchanged words. The other three are asleep long ago,’ she said, shaking her head and laughing.
‘How is Uncle Alex?’
‘He’s fine. Working a bit too hard, but that’s to be expected for a while. He misses your granda. Did Granny Rose tell you the company had bought his motor and given it to Alex for the job?’
Rosie shook her head.
‘They’d been planning to let Alex have a motor for some time, then one of the directors had the idea of buying your granda’s. Alex is very pleased. He loves that motor.’
‘So he’s got something of Granda’s he can use everyday,’ Rosie said smiling. ‘And how is Granny Rose?’ she asked, taking up the name Emily’s little girls always used.
‘I don’t really know, Rosie,’ Emily said thoughtfully. ‘You could say she’s well enough. Maybe a bit stronger in body since you were over a couple of weeks ago, but she’s not herself. She’ll be glad to see you though, she always looks forward to you coming. She told me your Emily had gone. She was very concerned about you. You’ll miss your sister, won’t you?’
Rosie nodded and said nothing. Thinking about those last days getting her ready to go, then standing on the station platform with her and waving till the train disappeared round the first bend still made her cry.
‘I really must go, Emily. I told Granny which train I’d be getting, so she’ll be expecting me.’
‘Well, in another month or two you’ll be able to phone me and tell me which train you’re coming on and Alex will meet you. Did you not notice the telegraph poles?’
‘No, I didn’t. There was a huge pile of wood in Lavery’s yard as I was passing, but I thought they were building a new hayshed. I never thought of the phone,’ she said in amazement.
‘Apparently your grandfather said no when the company offered to put in the telephone a couple of years ago. The cost was tremendous at the time because of the hill and there being only two houses on it, but now they say Alex must have it. I think maybe the cost has come down as well,’ she added, as she rocked the baby gently in her arms. ‘Anyway John’s fellow directors have insisted the lines go up to Rathdrum. You’ll be able to phone Granny as well, though that will take a few months longer.’
‘Look, he’s gone to sleep. Just like that,’ said Rosie quickly.
‘Thank God for small mercies.’
She picked up her case and stepped back on to the road. ‘Give Uncle Alex my love. You might get a few words together if no one wakes up.’
‘Sorry I’m late, Granny. I hope you weren’t worried,’ she said, as she came round to the back door and found her grandmother standing on the doorstep. ‘I stopped for a bit with Emily.’
‘No, I wasn’t worried, but I heard your step on the drive. Oh, you do look tired, Rosie. Has it been a bad week?’
‘No worse than usual,’ she laughed, as she dropped her suitcase and hugged her grandmother. ‘There was a lot of shopping. Sometimes it gives me backache.’
They exchanged knowing looks and headed for the sitting room, arms round each other’s waists.
Rosie eyed a loaded tray on a low table by the fire.
‘I know you’ve had supper, but that was hours ago. I’ve made us some sandwiches. I was going to make a pot of tea, but looking at you, my dear, I’m going to give us a glass of sherry.’
She sat back in her armchair and sipped the golden liquid tentatively.
‘Oh, this is nice, Granny.’
‘You like the sherry?’
‘Oh yes, that’s lov
ely, but I meant being here, the smell of the logs and this room and all your special things. And the quiet …’
She broke off.
‘I know what you’re thinking, my love. That it might just be too quiet.’
Rosie nodded, but it eased her mind to see her grandmother was smiling.
‘The quiet doesn’t trouble me at all. What was almost unbearable when I was too ill to come home was all the noise and bustle and everyone being so kind. Keeping me company, so that I wouldn’t miss John. They did mean it so kindly, Rosie, but I should never have gone to England.’
‘Why not, Granny?’
‘Oh, nothing to do with Sarah or Hannah. Bless them. All they wanted was to try to help me. But sometimes no one can help you. I needed to be here. I needed to face the empty house while I could still hear John walking about. Hear the sound of his voice. Hear the motor in the yard or on the hill. It was never going to be easy, but I’ve realised in the last week or two that I made a bad decision. And that is good.’
She nodded to herself and encouraged Rosie to have another sandwich.
‘Why is it good?’ she asked, puzzled that what seemed so unhappy a decision could have any good about it.
Taking a large bite out of a well-filled sandwich, she realised that supper had been a long time ago and she really was very hungry.
‘Once you see you’ve made a mistake you can try to put it right, but only if you see your mistake and accept it. Until you do, there’s no way forward.’
‘But how can you put this right, Granny? The time has passed. You can’t go back to last August and do it the way you now know you needed to.’
‘You’re quite right. We can never go back, can we? But owning up is the first step. Something might come to help us, now I have.’
She paused and took a good look at her granddaughter.
‘I must say that sherry has done wonders for your complexion. You were so pale when you arrived. Wouldn’t it be lovely if we could solve all our problems so easily?’