Hannie Rising

by Jeanette Baker

  "But Bridie, I have to look at it if I'm going to wash it, and I'm telling you, there's something wrong."

  "What's wrong?"

  Mrs. Malone stepped back. "See for yourself."

  Johannah couldn't help herself. She had to look.

  "I don't see anything," said Bridget.

  "It falls over, Bridie." Sally held up the defective organ. "Look. There's no bone in it."

  Bridget's mouth dropped. "Are you serious, Sally Malone? You, with a husband and nine children?"

  "How do you mean?"

  Norah spoke up. "Jesus wouldn't take a man with a bone in his privates, Sally. 'Tis against religion. Men with bones don't go to heaven. Surely the nuns at the convent school taught you that?"

  "I wasn't much for schoolin'," Sally admitted. "My mom kept me home."

  Once again, laughter filled the room.

  Johannah decided it was time to intervene. Knocking on the door, she stepped into the room. "Pardon me," she said. "Mossie told me to come up. Do you have a minute, Mrs. Sullivan?"

  "Is that you, Mrs. Enright?"

  "It is." Johannah held up her briefcase. "There are a few forms to fill out for your entitlement. It shouldn't be too much of a bother."

  Norah wiped her hands on her apron. "No bother at all, Mrs. Enright. I'll be there in a tick." Brushing past Johannah, she leaned over the railing and called down the stairs. "Mossie Sullivan, make yourself useful and put on the kettle for a pot of tea." She smiled at Johannah. "The viewing's set for tonight. Danny was a popular man, like your Mickey, God rest his soul." She crossed herself and pulled out her glasses. "Now, love, let me sign the papers. Dead or not, a few extra quid will be a blessing around here."

  Chapter 7

  Mickey

  He watched her as she stood outside The Daily Grind, probably debating whether she should stop for a vanilla latte or go straight home. This was the second time he'd seen her in over a year and he noticed more than he had the first time.

  It was as if she was the one to come back, a different person in Hannie's body. Her nickname didn't suit her now. "Hannie" was a comfortable name, a name for a mother and grandmother, a woman a bit rounder than she'd like, who preferred ganseys, trousers without waists and sensible shoes. His Hannie had disappeared. Johannah was no longer round. She was lean like those meatless girls on the magazine covers. She'd done something to her hair as well. It was loose and longer and when she moved, it swung around her face. She'd replaced the jumpers and loose trousers with slim skirts, tights, tailored blouses and boots. She could almost be called fashionable. The new Johannah disturbed him.

  He saw her glance at her watch, start to walk away and then turn about and push open the door. Stepping up to the counter she ordered her usual. "Do you know," she said to the young Polish immigrant manning the counter, "that for the price of a daily latte, a woman can fund a comfortable retirement if she starts early enough?"

  The boy shrugged his shoulders. "You only live once and not everyone retires."

  "Very true," she replied. "My husband was one of those, who didn't live to retirement, I mean."

  "I'm sorry."

  "Hello," he interrupted their conversation. "Remember me?"

  She turned and smiled. He knew her enough to see that she was already judging the content of what she'd revealed to the young man, thought she'd said too much and was embarrassed by it. There was something about self-disclosure that was always a bit of a chance, especially if the person disclosed to isn't of the same mind.

  "Hello, yourself," she said. "Of course, I remember you. Patrick, isn't it? I didn't see you come in."

  "I was here already. It's good to see you again."

  "Yes," she agreed. "You, too."

  "Do you have time to talk while you drink?"

  "Not really."

  He continued smiling, saying nothing.

  "My son has moved home," she hurried to tell him. "He's been on his own for some time, but the economy is bad and he's decided to go back to university for a degree. I'm helping him sort things out." She flushed, the color of her cheeks turning a painful red. "Good Lord, did I really say all that? What is it about you that sets my tongue flapping?"

  "I understand," he said, smoothing past her questions. "Some other time?"

  She didn't move. "Do you come here often?"

  "I do."

  Once again she checked her watch. "I suppose a few minutes more couldn't hurt. Liam's not a child. I expect he's eaten on his own for quite some time now."

  "More than likely." He nodded toward an empty table at the back. "I'm over there."

  She sat down across from him. "You see," she said, continuing her conversation, "until now, I've been alone."

  He raised one eyebrow and watched the wrinkle between her eyebrows deepen. "My husband died last year and, since then, I've lived alone. But now the children are moving back." She shrugged and considered her drink. "I'm not happy about it, but there's nothing I can do, especially in Liam's case. I can't fix the economy. It's Kate I want to shake and slap."

  "I'm sorry," he said, editing out her remarks about the children. "Do you miss your husband?"

  "Yes," she said immediately, and then changed her mind. "No, actually, that is—not that much anymore. I did at first, terribly, but then I began to realize that there are compensations."

  "Compensations?" he asked carefully.

  "Yes. The freedom is lovely." She sipped her latte. "I suppose if someone is going die well before his time, there should be compensations. Freedom is one of them. Mickey wasn't the easiest man to live with."

  He stared at her. Could this woman be Hannie? She looked the same, with thick brown hair minus the flecks of gray he remembered and eyes as cool and green as the slate they pulled from the Valencia mines. But Hannie, his Hannie, would never have said such a thing. What did she mean anyway?

  "Is something wrong?"

  "You mentioned Kate," he said quickly.

  "My daughter, Kate, has a perfectly good husband who, apparently, she finds boring." Johannah's eyes flashed. "What man isn't after a few years?"

  His smile faltered. "Hopefully, quite a few."

  "But is that reason enough to destroy a family?" she continued as if he hadn't spoken. "I could accept her leaving for a number of other things." She ticked them off on her fingers: "infidelity, drinking, unemployment, cruelty." She shook her head. "But boredom? I don't think so. Besides, Dermot isn't boring. He's sweet and kind. Just because he's not—" she stopped. Sanity resurrected himself. She didn't know this man. He could be Ritchie O'Shea's agent for all she knew. "Do you have children?" she asked.

  "Yes," he said. "A boy and a girl."

  "I suppose they're grown and on their own."

  "They are."

  She sighed. "I don't know what I could have done differently."

  He leaned forward. "I think you're too hard on yourself. More likely than not, these things resolve themselves. Most of our worries never come to pass."

  "I've heard that, but do you think it's true?"

  "I do."

  "What is your wife like?"

  "I no longer have a wife," he said slowly. "But she was lovely. You remind me of her."

  Johannah's hand flew to her lips. "She's passed on. I'm so sorry. Here I am, blathering about my own affairs. I suppose it was terribly difficult for you. Men have a harder time than women."

  "Is that so?"

  "Yes," She nodded. "After the initial horror, I've enjoyed my respite, brief though it was." She sounded forlorn.

  "Say no."

  Johannah looked at him. "I beg your pardon?"

  "Say no to your children."

  "I've committed to Liam. How can I say yes to one and no to the other?"

  "Would you like some advice, Hannie?"

  "Please."

  "Liam has good reason. He could be a help to you, contribute his earnings, the adult, able-bodied son that he is. Kate is being self-indulgent. Give her a breather but make it te
mporary. She's a wife and mother. She has responsibilities outside of herself."

  "Liam doesn't plan to work. It's difficult to get work with the way things are in Ireland."

  "Are you trying to convince me or yourself?"

  "You sound like Mickey."

  "Is that a compliment?"

  "Yes, of course."

  "I wasn't sure."

  "He was a very worthy man," she replied, "not a saint, by anyone's measure, but a worthy man. I loved him very much." She smiled and stood. "I'll be off now. Thanks for the listen and the advice. I'll keep what you said in mind."

  Chapter 8

  Johannah

  It wasn't until she was nearly past the park and through the lane opposite the parish school did she remember something odd. He'd called her Hannie. No one called her Hannie except for family and close friends.

  Maura was sitting on the porch step when she walked up the footpath. "Since when have you taken to locking the door?" her friend asked irritably. "My bum's stone cold."

  Johannah pulled out her keys. "I thought Liam would be home. What's so important that you're waiting on my doorstep in the middle of the afternoon? Who's minding the store, and why didn't you let yourself in, you have your own key?"

  "I closed up early." Maura followed her inside, "and I forgot the key. I came to tell you that Ritchie O'Shea's back in town."

  Johannah sighed, filled the kettle with fresh water and plugged it in. "You're a day late with the news. I ran into his mother last week. You'd think she'd birthed the Messiah."

  "Does Kate know?"

  "Now she does. I told her."

  Maura sat down at the table, clutching her knock-off Gucci handbag to her chest. "Oh, Hannie, do you think that was wise?"

  "She was going on about leaving Dermot and coming home to live. I lost my head and asked her if it was because Ritchie was due home. Besides, Tralee is a small town. She would have found out soon enough."

  "What did she say?"

  Johannah shrugged, poured hot water into the pot and added two tea bags. "She didn't know."

  "Do you believe her?"

  "I do. Katie tells the truth."

  "I suppose it doesn't matter anyway," Maura rationalized. "News like that can't be kept quiet."

  "No," Johannah agreed, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice. "More likely it'll be all over the front page of the Kerry Eye."

  "Word has it he's left his wife."

  "Half of Ireland has left his wife. It doesn't change anything. He's still married. He'll always be married."

  "The church allows annulments, Hannie. This is the twenty-first century."

  "Only if your man has money and it won't cause too much of a scandal. Look at Jackie Kennedy and Ari Onassis."

  "Times have changed."

  Johannah poured tea into two mugs, opened the refrigerator, pushed aside three cartons of yogurt, a block of cheese, the remaining half of the chicken carcass she'd been nibbling on for the last two days, found the milk pitcher, set it on the table and sat down across from her friend. "What are you telling me, Maura?"

  Maura Keane poured the milk, added several spoonfuls of sugar, stirred her tea slowly, and drank down half the cup before speaking. "I want you to be prepared, that's all." Her eyes, brown and alert as a robin's, were fixed on Johannah's face. "I couldn't bear it if you suffered any more heartbreak, Hannie, but the truth is, Katie always did have a thing for Ritchie O'Shea, and the only way you'll be changing it is if you tell her what happened with the family thirty years ago. I know it goes against everything you are, but if you could just tell your daughter the truth, she'll be done with the whole lot of them. You really should, you know, before it goes too far."

  Johannah stared at her, horrified. "I can't do that."

  Maura looked up. "Why not?"

  "Because everything will change. She won't think of me the same way. Because there are some things that shouldn't be resurrected and the mistakes I've made in my past are among them. I've responsibilities, a job, a house, a mother who requires more and more care every day, interests I'd like to pursue and have little time for. I'm not the same person I was. I have no intention of baring my soul to my daughter."

  "I didn't mean it that way."

  "I know you didn't. I'm a desperate grouch and it's all because I can't stand up for myself." Johannah's eyes narrowed to thin lines of resentful green. "Do you imagine that I want these new living arrangements?" She hurried on, not allowing Maura to answer. "The truth is, I don't want Kate and Liam home, not either of them. I was beginning to enjoy my life. I don't need to know what time they come in or go to bed. It was a relief to not be their sounding board for problems I can't fix. I'm sick that my house will be taken over, my schedule interrupted and Evan's toys underfoot, but what can I do? The house has empty rooms and they both need help, Kate more so than Liam." She rubbed her forehead. "She cried, Maura. Kate never cries. She argues and pounds her fist and stamps her feet, but she doesn't cry."

  "It's your house, Hannie."

  Johannah sighed. "They're my children. You wouldn't turn your back on your own, so don't thumb your nose at me."

  Maura changed the subject. "I could use a pastry. I haven't eaten since breakfast. A glass of wine wouldn't hurt either."

  "Neither will help. As for the pastry, come back next week. With the family home, the larder will be full. I'll be porky again in no time."

  "You were never porky, Hannie, and you've never been so negative, even at the worst of times. Has something else happened?"

  Johannah rubbed her arms and leaned back in her chair. "Do you ever think that somehow you missed the boat, that you could have done better if only you'd reached a bit further?"

  "Every day."

  "Why didn't we, Maura? We had everything going for us."

  Maura shrugged. "We were in a hurry to grow up. We didn't know any better."

  "Exactly." Johannah slapped her hand on the table, hard enough to make the mugs jump. "We skipped over our potential simply to make sure the boat didn't leave without us. That's what happened to Kate. She was going places over there in the States, but all her friends had left school, taken jobs, got married and now juggle working, babies, husbands and whatever else comes their way. Katie, who should have known better, looked around and believed she had no options. Now, she's exactly like them and sorry for it."

  "Why are you so angry? How is she different from everyone else's daughter?"

  "I must have done something wrong, Maura. She was so smart, leaps above her mates at school. She should have made more of herself. That's what's wrong with us here in Ireland. We tell our children it's enough to have a job. We don't encourage them to follow their dreams."

  Maura spoke gently. "Are you talking about Katie or yourself?"

  Johannah shrugged. "Maybe I'm angry because she still has time to correct her mistakes, but if she does, it's at the expense of others." Maura changed the subject. "Who's the man you were talking to at The Grind?"

  Johannah frowned. "How did you hear about him?"

  "Carmel Roache saw you go in. She was about to follow you when she saw you sitting at a table with him. He's not from the town or Carmel would know him. She knows everyone."

  "I don't know much about him. He's a widower with two children, both grown. His name is Patrick." The color rose in her face. "Actually, we talk mostly about me. I don't know what comes over me when I walk in there. He's a good listener."

  Maura's eyes twinkled. "You need a man badly, Hannie." She swirled the tea in her cup. "Are you sure you have no wine? The day's turned cold."

  "None at all."

  "We could walk to the pub."

  Johannah shook her head. "I can't. I really should stop in and see my mother. She might need groceries."

  Maura stood and shouldered her bag. "I won't offer to go with you, not if you're stopping in at Dolly's. Say hello to her for me and to the kids." She frowned. "Where are they anyway?"

  Johannah paused in the a
ct of gathering cups. Her voice lowered. "I don't know. Liam should be home. I thought he might want dinner." She looked stricken. "Maybe he is here and we don't know it. Do you think he heard us?"

  Maura walked to the hallway entrance and raised her voice. "Liam," she called out. "Liam Enright, are you home?"

  Reassuring silence greeted her. She turned back to Johannah. "All clear. Next time we'll meet at the pub."

  Relieved, Johannah smiled.

  "Hannie?"

  "Yes."

  "When next you visit The Grind, find out more about your man."

  "Why?"

  Maura blew a quick kiss at her friend. "Just do it."

  * * *

  Johannah arrived at her mother's house to find Dolly sitting at the kitchen table, arms crossed against her chest, a mutinous expression twisting her face. She did this more often now, arranging her features in a way that looked nothing like her usual self. No one would ever call Dolly Little a pretty woman, not even when she was young and at her most attractive, but once she'd been pleasant to look at with laughing eyes and a sweet face. Her newest affectation was to push out her bottom teeth and lock her jaw. Johannah, in her private moments, called it grotesque.

  An official looking document of several pages was spread out on the table.

  "Thank God you've come," Dolly said dramatically. "I could have died with no one finding me for days."

  "I came yesterday," Johannah reminded her. "I come every day."

  "Philomena came yesterday."

  "Philomena lives in Dublin. She hasn't been here for months."

  Dolly ignored her. "Look at this." She pushed the papers in Johannah's direction. "It's from a solicitor. I'm being sued."

  "What?" Johannah reached for the document. "Why?"

  "Because of Seamus. The Costelloe twins said he attacked their mutt."

  Johannah couldn't discount the possibility. She was not an admirer of Seamus, her mother's shepherd. Not many were. "Did he?"

  "Seamus doesn't bite."

  Instinctively Johannah touched the back of her thigh where Seamus's nip had left a significant scar. "Yes, he does."