Erin’s Child

by Erin's Child (retail) (epub)

‘But why can’t ye share this with Dad?’ pleaded Erin. ‘He wouldn’t feel so bad if he understood why you’re doing it. He thinks you blame him for Dickie’s death.’

  ‘He said that?’ Thomasin was cynical.

  ‘No,’ admitted Erin. ‘But sometimes he sits there deep in himself an’ I get the feeling that in these silences he’s his own prosecuting counsel.’

  ‘Perhaps he is to blame. Perhaps we both are.’

  ‘Now ye know that’s utter nonsense. Dickie was a womaniser, a cheat an’ a liar.’

  ‘You’re not to speak so of the dead! Especially your brother.’

  ‘Mam, I didn’t mean to be cruel, I just want ye to see that everything that happened to him was of his own making. You’re not to blame.’

  ‘We brought him up, didn’t we?’

  ‘Ye brought me up, too. D’ye hold yourself responsible for Belle’s misfortune?’

  ‘No, but you do, don’t you, love? That’s what’s really behind your sadness.’

  ‘We weren’t talking about me. Don’t change the subject. Please, Mam, talk to Father. I hate to see a good marriage being spoilt by misunderstanding.’

  Thomasin chuckled. ‘’S funny, I remember saying exactly the same thing to you last year.’ She sighed. ‘Your father understands more than you think, Erin. He and I know each other very well. He’s a wise man, he understands that I need to lose myself in my work. He’s allowing me to do this because he knows that I’ll get over it in the end.’

  ‘Isn’t there a danger that ye’ll come to depend on your work permanently? Mightn’t it push ye both farther apart? Hurt’s better if it’s shared. Me an’ Sam know that if anyone does.’

  ‘Listen.’ Thomasin ended the subject firmly. ‘You’ve got your own problems to worry about. Don’t be taking ours on your shoulders as well. Your father and me’ll be all right.’

  Just then the door opened and a tousled Sam stood yawning in the doorway, a candle in his hand to light his path down the staircase. His bleary eyes followed Thomasin’s passage to the sideboard with the half-empty decanter and glasses. ‘When the Temperance Committee has finished holding its general meeting d’you think it would be possible for one of its Right Honourable members to see to the human bellows upstairs? I think she’s tryin’ to tell us summat.’ Now that the door was open the sound of Belle’s angry howls floated into the room.

  Erin pressed one hand to the damp patch that had sprung from her tingling breast at the baby’s cry, the other to her mouth. ‘I’m sorry, love, I clean lost track of time. I’ll come right away. I hope she’s not woken everyone else.’

  ‘The whole house,’ yawned Sam, running his fingers through the corn-coloured thatch. ‘Come see for yourself.’

  When Erin and Thomasin went to the crib, it was empty. Sam crooked a finger over his shoulder from the doorway and summoned them to the master bedroom.

  In the centre of the room were three ghostly figures, their candlelit shadows gyrating around the walls. Patrick, clad only in his underwear and clutching a shrieking Belle to his chest, danced round in a circle with Rosanna and Nick, chanting an Irish ditty. Catching sight of the others he broke away from the circle, ‘God be praised, the absconder’s been nabbed!’ and panting, he thrust the crimson-faced child at Erin. ‘Woman, do your duty before we’re all rendered deaf. Faith, we’re definitely going to have to hire another nurse for these brats.’ This job had previously been given to Judith, one of their former maids, but she had found Rosanna’s spirited behaviour too much of a trial and had given notice.

  ‘Is anyone allowed to ask just what’s going on here?’ requested Thomasin amazedly. ‘It is three o’clock in the morning, you know, rather early for a ceilidh – even for the mad Irish.’

  ‘Sure, will ye tell that to her ladyship?’ asked Patrick, pointing at the cavern-mouthed baby before Erin spirited her away. ‘An’ where were all you womenfolk while the men were getting their ears blasted?’ A grinning Sam provided the answer. ‘Oh, suppin’, was it? Isn’t that a fine thing for a mother to be doin’ while the poor fellas are left to tend the livestock!’

  ‘Did you really have to get Nick and Rosie up, too?’ chastised Thomasin, frowning at the two bright-eyed children swinging on the ends of Patrick’s arms. ‘We’ll not get them back to bed now.’

  ‘I didn’t get them up,’ retorted Patrick. ‘Ye can direct your tongue at Clamorous Clara. She must’ve been laughing up her little lace cuff at us lot, going on about, “Aw, the poor little bairn, ain’t it a shame!” ’Tis us who’re going to need the pity. I tell ye, that child is going to rule the roost.’

  ‘Aye, well she’s certainly got you where she wants you,’ said Thomasin, advancing on the trio. ‘Like two more I could mention. Come on, you little articles, let’s be having you back in the pit.’

  Rosanna and her brother tried the charm that had worked on Patrick, with little hope of success. Grandmother was not so easy to manipulate.

  ‘I’ll give you five seconds to get back to those beds and then it’s the wooden spoon for both of you,’ warned Thomasin and began counting. ‘Yan, tan, tethera…’ Before she had reached methera Patrick had whisked the children into his arms and hurriedly spirited them off to bed.

  Thomasin shook her head at Sam as he made his exit too. ‘To listen to him sometimes you’d think he was the master at the workhouse. But just let those bairns get their hands on him – especially Rosie – and he’s like a big daft lump o’ putty. Your lass’ll be just the same when she’s old enough to get his measure. He’ll spoil her rotten like the other two. Still,’ she smiled before closing the door on Sam, ‘I daresay a bit of spoiling won’t go amiss in Belle’s case. Goodnight, Sam.’

  ‘’Night, Mam,’ returned her son-in-law and went to join his wife with the thought that it was just as well they did not live here permanently. Belle was not going to be spoilt just because she was crippled. He wouldn’t have them all feeling sorry for her. No, as he had told Thomasin on the night Belle was born, she would be brought up like any other child – Sam would see to that. It would be hard going, granted, and he would have to protect her from the harsher elements. But spoil her? Swaddle her in cottonwool? No, if Sam spoilt Belle it would be purely because she was his little girl and not out of pity for her deformity. Belle was going to have as normal a life as her father could make it.

  * * *

  It was arranged that the baptism should take place on the Sunday before Erin and Sam returned to their own home. Belle, exactly a fortnight old, was dressed in the long christening robe that had been hastily purchased when Patrick had brought Rosanna into the house three years ago. No family heirlooms for this child; Patrick and Thomasin had been too poor to afford such luxuries for their own offspring. But this tiny creation of lace and silk would ensure that subsequent generations would never go to their baptism in pauper rags. Father Kelly would be officiating as he had at every one of the Feeney baptisms, an old and respected friend as well as confessor. It was his patient constancy that had drawn Patrick back to the faith he had denied during the Great Hunger, and Feeney had a great love for his fellow Irishman.

  The ageing priest shambled down the aisle to meet them as they entered. He seemed to have shrunk with the years. His skin didn’t fit him any more but hung on his brittle bones like an oversized jacket and fell into deep pleats over his smiling face. Like an understuffed sausage, Liam would remark when looking down upon his naked self. But the eyes that had marked him from that first meeting as a strong and compassionate man were as vividly green as ever.

  ‘Faith, will ye ever look at her,’ exclaimed Liam when the parents, grandparents and sponsors gathered round the font and Erin gingerly placed the babe in the old priest’s arms. ‘The spitting image of her mother. To be hoped she doesn’t harbour the same devious habits and perform in the disrespectful manner her mother did at her own baptism.’

  Erin held her face at a puzzled angle.

  ‘Ye piddled on me,’ supplied Liam with dancing
eyes.

  ‘I never did!’ Erin laughed blushingly, and elbowed Sonny for his loud appreciation.

  ‘As true as there’s no snakes in Ireland,’ confirmed the priest. ‘Piddled all the way through to me unmentionables, didn’t she, Pat?’

  A smiling Patrick confirmed this, then was momentarily distracted by a black-clad figure drifting up and down before the altar. On encountering Patrick’s interest he turned his back and pretended to busy himself.

  Liam followed his friend’s gaze. ‘Ah, we’ve got the spies in again, I see. Father Gilchrist and his little black book.’

  Patrick asked what the man was doing.

  ‘He’s registering all my sins,’ replied the priest lightly, pulling the shawl away from the sleeping baby’s face.

  ‘Sure, he’d need a ledger for that,’ joked Patrick.

  ‘I do not cod. I can tell ye the exact words he’s writing at the moment: “Sunday – caught Father Kelly in the blasphemous act of laughing in church.” By next week I should say he’ll have tallied enough evidence to have me either excommunicated or committed to an asylum. Whichever way he’ll not be bothered as long as I’m off the stage.’ Patrick’s bemused face prompted Liam into fuller explanation. ‘Ye see, some of our more devout parishioners have been complaining about my sermons. My bluntness, apparently, isn’t to their taste. So, Bishop French has sent his lackeys to see if I’m still up to the job. They take it in shifts, Father Gilchrist an’ his accomplice, vying to see who can fill his little book first. Presumably the winner gets my job.’

  Patrick enquired how long this had been going on. He had heard no mention of it before.

  ‘About a fortnight,’ replied Liam. ‘Did ye not notice all the “help” I’ve been getting at Mass lately?’

  Patrick shook his head. ‘I noticed the new faces o’ course but never put any significance on them. Ye didn’t think to introduce us?’

  ‘If ye knew the man ye’d not be wondering why I kept ye apart.’ Liam glanced over his shoulder. ‘I think we’d best proceed else Father Gilchrist will have something else to write in his black book: “Father Kelly appeared to forget the words of the ceremony of baptism.” Dear God, ye’d think they could allow a poor old fella to retire gracefully without hounding him to it. I’m almost eighty-five. Ye’d never’ve guessed that, would ye? Another year an’ I’ll probably pop me clogs voluntarily without their help. Ah, she’s a good wee bairn an’ no mistake.’ He cradled Belle in his arms, feeling the bony deformity, about which his old friend had informed him on his last visit to Mass. It was a great tragedy at any time, but particularly when it was Erin’s first child. Still, it was Liam’s opinion that God was not indiscriminate in His placing of such children. They were delivered to the families who could be relied upon to provide the extra love the babes would need. Erin and Sam, he knew, would give of their best.

  Hobbling closer to the font he asked who were to act as sponsors and the chosen came forward. ‘As ungodly a bunch as ever I’ve seen,’ commented Liam. ‘If the Devil cast his net… tut, tut, tut.’

  The family, knowing Liam so well, shared a smile. Josie, the Feeneys’ ex-housekeeper and the girl whom Sonny planned to marry, was a little unsure how to take the priest’s observation. He was a strange one and no mistake. Her religious upbringing had been much more staid and respectful. This priest seemed to treat everything as a joke. However, she had been very honoured when Miss – oh, would she ever be able to rid herself of that habit? Calling them all Master and Mistress – when Erin had asked her to be godmother, even if, she presumed, it was only done out of politeness because soon she would be a member of the family.

  There Josie was wrong. Her inclusion at today’s ceremony was not simply because she was Sonny’s future wife, but that Erin’s instincts told her Josie would care for Belle as one of her own should anything befall the child’s parents. If further commendation were necessary it was illustrated by Sonny’s children who had made it plain they would accept Josie as their mother when the time came. If looks were any indication of worth then poor Josie would have little going for her, being plain of feature and wide of girth. But the ex-housekeeper had more lasting qualities. Josie was the sort who wore her colours on her face, who would never commit an unkind act nor mutter dark intent behind a person’s back. And it was obvious to all that she doted on Erin’s brother – it wasn’t simply the church’s coolness that had her pressed to his side.

  In that fact Erin pitied her, for she knew – as did Josie at heart – that for Sonny, love the second time around was not a thing of passion. There was only one great love in his life. That he had decided to spend the remainder of the year in the arms of that love by the River Seine was a source of lament to Josie, but she knew the separation must be endured – it was far too soon after the death of his first wife to marry again. Besides, it was not as if he were going to another woman; no female could capture Sonny as did his painting. All this said, they were both well aware that in Josie he had what he needed – a mother for his children, a wife to come home to and, above all, a friend. When he felt able to return Josie would be waiting. She watched the priest trickle holy water over the tiny head and felt her stomach tighten with joy and anticipation at the child’s wail. How long before her own child’s cry echoed round these walls? Please God, not too long. She gripped Sonny’s hand and he smiled down at her. She adored Rosie and Nick, yes, but that didn’t stop her wanting a child of her own.

  ‘Wait for it, ’tis coming,’ muttered Liam after a string of Latin. Then almost triumphant, ‘There! Didn’t I tell ye? They’re all alike; as soon as they feel the water on their heads they can’t wait to match it at the other end. That’s another batch of laundry for Mrs Lucas.’

  Erin laughingly apologised as she took the damp infant from the priest. ‘Will ye come back to the house, Father, an’ take a bite with us as way of making amends?’

  ‘I will,’ said Liam immediately, then glanced at the furtive shadow by the sacristy. ‘Er, on second thoughts perhaps Father Gilchrist has enough on me for one day without me dashing off to a party. Ye can save me a piece o’ the cake – an’ will ye please all take the smiles off your faces? Don’t ye know you’re not supposed to be happy in church?’

  ‘Aw, come on, Liam,’ urged Patrick, clamping a large hand to his friend’s shoulder. ‘Surely he can’t take exception to an old friend coming to wet the baby’s head.’

  ‘We-ell, maybe for a wee…’

  ‘Father Kelly!’ Liam groaned as the voice rang out and the sound of footsteps resounded through the otherwise quiet church. ‘Father Kelly, if you’ve conducted the baptism I wonder if I might have a word with you about this evening’s sermon?’ Father Gilchrist was a young man, in his late twenties perhaps. His face was narrow – narrow face, narrow mind, thought Liam distastefully as the man came alongside. This lack of breadth meant that the eyes were perforce closely-set; green – not the sparkling green of the older priest, but pale, the irises like two pinpoints of emptiness; the eyes of a fanatic. The lips were but a sanguine gash in the austere face. The nose, in keeping with the rest of his features, was pinched, its nostrils mere slits.

  ‘Ah, Father Gilchrist.’ Liam forced himself to be cheerful. ‘Allow me to introduce you to more of our faithful parishioners. Patrick Feeney, friend of long standing,’ the young priest inclined his head with a half-smile, ‘his wife, Thomasin, their son…’ Liam went through the entourage.

  ‘Delighted to make your acquaintance, Father,’ lied Patrick who had taken an instant and virulent dislike to the man. Which was wrong of him, he told himself. One shouldn’t judge by appearances. I still don’t bloody like him, said his other self.

  ‘Likewise, Mr Feeney.’ The young priest turned off his obsequious smile as swiftly as he had manufactured it and made it plain he was not interested in prolonging the conversation. ‘Father Kelly, if you are all done…?’

  ‘I’d be obliged if ye’d allow me to take proper leave of my friends, Father,’
reproved the senior man.

  ‘Of course, please excuse me, Father,’ said Father Gilchrist contritely. ‘But you will remember we have other duties to perform?’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure if it did slip my mind you’d be the first to remind me, Father,’ replied Liam, ushering the Feeneys to the exit.

  ‘Goodbye, Father Gilchrist,’ said Patrick over his shoulder. ‘If ever you’re passing Peasholme Green…’ Don’t come in, came the private addition.

  The young priest pricked up his ears. ‘But I understood Father Kelly to say you were parishioners, Mr Feeney. Surely your residence would come within the boundary of St George’s parish?’

  ‘Oh, God,’ mouthed Liam through a fixed smile. ‘As soon as I close the door it’ll be out with the boundary maps an’ the ruler.’

  Patrick quietly apologised for his unintended slip, then paused to respond to Father Gilchrist. ‘Ye may be right, Father,’ the answer was delivered lightly but its content showed his dislike of the way this young upstart was treating Liam. ‘But ye see, Father McNaughlty and I didn’t see things eye to eye. In fact he was the one who excommunicated me twenty years ago.’

  ‘Oh, Patrick, Patrick,’ sighed Liam as the younger priest spun on his heel, ‘what did I ever do to you?’

  ‘We-ell, the jumped-up snoteen, speaking to you like that,’ returned Patrick in a dismissive tone of voice as they slipped into the open air.

  ‘Indeed, he is,’ agreed Liam. ‘But if ever there was a comment destined to fit Father G.’s intent it was the one about excommunication. Will ye look at him now, earning himself writer’s cramp.’ The young priest retreated down the aisle, hunched assiduously over his chronicle, pencil eating up the blank pages. ‘Ah well, I suppose I’d best go face the music.’

  ‘There’d be sweeter balm for the savage breast at the Feeney residence,’ pressed his friend. ‘Erin’s promised to give us a few rounds on the harp and Tommy’s had the piano specially tuned. It’ll be a grand do.’