Erin’s Child

by Erin's Child (retail) (epub)

  ‘But Dickie’s death seemed to put a sort of barrier between them. If they knew he was still alive they could both stop blaming themselves and be as close as they once were.’

  She shook her head. ‘They might, but I don’t think you should risk it. Oh, I wish you hadn’t seen that will! It isn’t fair that you should be the only one to bear the burden. This is just like your brother!’

  Sonny agreed despairingly. ‘But it’s done now – and I can’t say I’m not happy he’s alive. Anyway, I’m not bearing it alone, am I? I’ve got you.’ He patted her hand cheerfully, then set his pen at the paper, so beginning a course of secret correspondence that was to last for another ten years.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Eighteen eighty-nine would be remembered as a very significant year by everyone. For Thomasin it was the year of the great business coup in which she succeeded in purchasing the property that backed onto hers and had its entrance in Pavement, knocking the whole lot into one and creating a large walk-through store with two entrances. The building which she had selected for her biscuit factory now bore little resemblance to the crumbling warehouse of three years ago. Directly after purchase both the interior and exterior had been renovated and given a new coat of paint, ovens and work tables moved in and ten people set to work. Now there were fifty working full-time. The bakery which had formerly been at the back of the store was now amalgamated with the factory and turned out not only biscuits, bread and pastries but a wider selection of goods. Each day Thomasin’s delivery vans would bring fresh supplies to her store. The new products were also added to the mobile grocery vans that delivered to folk’s doors. Not only this, but Thomasin had started supplying other retailers, as had Sonny, whose materials and wallpapers were providing a splendid turnover.

  The profits rocketed. Thomasin had the good sense to recognise that Nick had played no small part in these improvements. The lad had considerable flair – though he still had much to learn about customer relationships. Perhaps by the time he was of age he would be reliable enough to be made a partner.

  Thomasin found herself more and more in demand at social functions. Patrick, no socialite, persuaded Francis that he would be doing the Irishman a favour if he would partner her. Many nights he found himself alone in their bed with nothing to do but think. At the age of sixty-nine, when one usually settled down into a comfortable rut with one’s partner, the reverse was true for Pat. He and Thomasin seemed to have grown even further apart. He saw more of his grand-daughter than his wife. This might once have been some comfort but now even Rosie seemed distanced and aloof. Maybe it was just her age – she was after all a young woman. The times when he could take her on his knee and cuddle her were long past. No more ringlets and ribbons, but nipped-in waists and coiffeured topknots. Of course they had all changed physically. Patrick himself looked like the old man he was, and though he held onto his hair it was not as thick as it used to be, the colour silver-grey. The years of manual work had helped on the one hand to keep his body supple but, conversely, had left a legacy of clicking joints and muscular spasms when there was rain to come. Nonetheless, he was a sprightly sixty-nine-year-old, with barely a stoop to his shoulders… even if he did get the impression he was shrinking every time he stood beside his strapping grandson.

  Sonny and Josie had bred four children – all female. It was doubtful whether there would be any more as Josie was no longer a girl. Neither was Erin. At almost forty-two her slim figure had given way to a not-unattractive roundness. With Belle away at school her days had seemed a little empty and so, when Thomasin had offered her a supervisory post at the factory, she had been pleased to accept. All these things Sonny included in his letters to his brother… yet there were things he couldn’t write, things that were going on about which he knew nothing.

  To Rosanna, the year eighteen eighty-nine would bring many things, but as yet, barely into its second month, it had not fulfilled the urgent plea she had made when pulling the Christmas wishbone – to give her Tim. Oh, he had pledged himself to her and she saw him every single day except Sundays – how she hated Sundays – but never alone, at least not for more than five minutes, those precious minutes when Grandfather was away up the other end of the cabbage field and Tim would sneak in to share a brief but enthusiastic embrace. But it couldn’t go on like this. She ached for him, literally ached. When he had gone she would press her hands to her belly in an effort to massage away the cramp-like response to his overtures.

  Tim felt the same way. She did things to him. He had never met anyone as intense as Rosanna. Truth to tell he had never known any girl before Rosie. When it happened it would be the first time for both of them… and it would happen. He could tell by the way she pressed her whole body against his, the way she didn’t push his hand away when it clutched her breast, that Rosanna would make it happen. Rosie was that kind of girl – she got what she wanted… and she wanted him. It made him feel great.

  The thing that had prevented it happening so far was her grandfather. Not only because he hardly let Rosie out of his sight, but because he was the master, and if Mr Feeney knew the way his labourer felt about his granddaughter he would boot him out with no hesitation. So their love-making remained imprisoned in their minds.

  It was this which was the main theme of Rosanna’s thoughts as she leaned on her elbows, palms propping up her chin, staring at the wall. Instead of having to sit in the cold barn she now had her own little office with a stove for added comfort, both thanks to her doting grandfather. On the table before her was a pile of paperwork waiting for attention but she just could not concentrate. She wondered if Tim had found the envelope that she had tucked into the bush at the place he always visited to relieve himself. Rather an unromantic place for a Valentine she knew, but it was the only way she could think of to get it to him. How very disappointing it had been to arrive this morning and not find his own, anticipated Valentine on her desk. Last night, before falling asleep, she had lain imagining what his card would be like. He would send her one, she was positive. To find he hadn’t was shattering both for heart and ego. She had looked between all the sheets of invoices to see if he had hidden it. He hadn’t. She had cried bitterly.

  With a heartfelt sigh she now began to make a start on her work. If hope had any sway in the matter he would bring her one later in the day. He didn’t. In fact, she saw neither hide nor hair of him all day. Horrible thoughts began to go through her mind – what if I’ve offended him by sending the Valentine? Perhaps – God forbid – someone else had found it first and had teased him about it.

  The working day was growing to a close and still he had not been. Rosie hated this time of year – the darkness came early which meant work finished early too; so she had less time with Tim. Dejectedly she tidied up her pile of papers, put on her hat and coat, then flopped back on the stool to wait for Patrick. She held out her gloved hands to the stove. Why, why hadn’t he been?

  Shortly, Patrick entered. ‘Gosh, ’tis all right for the likes o’ some!’ He too held his hands to the warmth, dancing from one foot to the other. ‘The ground’s like concrete. ’S going to be a hard night.’ He noticed her despondency. ‘Whyfor the look of despair, colleen? Is the cold getting to ye?’

  ‘No, no. I’m quite warm enough in here, thank you.’ Her eyes were still vacant.

  ‘I should think you are, an’ all. Come on then, we’d best not linger.’ Pat banked up the stove. ‘Wrap your muffler under your sneck,’ and made to go. He had just stepped outside the office when he lifted his foot and looked down. ‘What the devil’s this I’m stepping on?’

  Rosanna bent swiftly, her face radiating quiet joy as she gathered up the scattering of wilted snowdrops. Oh, Tim! She caught her grandfather looking at her strangely as she pressed the simple, exquisite blooms to her face. ‘Oh!’ She blushed. ‘I picked them earlier and put them aside so I could open the door of the office, you know how stiff it is to do with one hand, anyway I must’ve left them there by mistake. Ho
w silly. They’ve been there all day.’ The sad little stems drooped between her fingers but to Rosanna they were the most beautiful flowers in the world.

  ‘An’ where did ye find them?’ asked Patrick, hoisting his collar.

  ‘I went for a stroll down the lane. They were just by the hedgerow.’

  ‘Aye, well, just don’t wander too far off, colleen,’ he warned. ‘Ye don’t know who ye might bump into.’ Chance would be a fine thing, thought Rosie, and gazed wistfully at the sight of her would-be lover far away across the field as the carriage transported her even further from his side.

  * * *

  He was unable to visit her the following morning either; the master seemed to be forever at his side. When at last he did come close enough to talk to her he was with another man and might as well have been a hundred miles away for the good his closeness did her.

  Rosanna left open the door of her office just so, by hearing the sound of his voice, she could feel closer to him. How she loved the sound of that soft lilt.

  ‘Have you given any thought to the matter we were discussing?’ she heard him ask his workmate, Joseph, as they stacked their load.

  ‘About me joining the Brotherhood?’ grunted Joseph, humping another crate onto his shoulder.

  Timothy threw down the one he was holding. ‘For Christ’s sake, Joseph, are ye bloody puddled? Ye could get me locked up.’

  ‘Sure, there’s nobody listening,’ replied Joseph nonchalantly.

  ‘Isn’t there?’ Rosanna caught Tim’s inference and was deeply hurt at his lack of trust. She had no idea what they were discussing but if Tim had secrets they were safe with her. ‘Ah, forget I ever asked. I’m thinking you’d be more of a liability than an asset. Besides,’ he carried on working, ‘you’re not much of a patriot, are you?’

  ‘I’m as much a patriot as you are,’ objected the other. ‘Don’t I go to Mass every Sunday?’

  Tim scoffed. ‘What the hell has that got to do with it? Listen, we need men we can trust, men who aren’t afraid to put their country before their lives.’

  ‘Ah, well now.’ Joseph scratched his head. ‘I don’t know that I want to get involved in nuthin’ dangerous. I’ve a wife an’ seven children relying on me.’ He had forgotten about the latest addition.

  ‘There’s plenty that could hide behind their woman’s skirts,’ said Tim softly but making his point felt. ‘Lucky for Ireland they’re not all like you. Look, Joseph, we’ve got to rid ourselves o’ these chains once an’ for all, put down our English masters.’

  ‘But the master’s not English.’

  ‘Mother o’ God! I’m not talkin’ literally. I’m on about politics, man.’

  ‘Oh Jaze, I don’t have no truck with any o’ that bunch.’ Joseph shook bis head. ‘Can’t understand a word of it.’

  ‘I’m not askin’ you to put yourself up for election,’ said Tim exasperatedly. ‘I’m just asking you if you’d be willing to support us. Don’t worry, I shouldn’t think ye’d be asked to do anything of strategic importance.’ He saw Joseph’s indecision and drove his point deeper. ‘I mean, look at the place you live in, Joe…’

  ‘What’s up with it? ’S all right to me.’

  ‘All right? An Englishman wouldn’t keep a bloody pig in it. ’Tis time y’ opened your eyes, man. Look at all the injustices that’re going on around you an’ in Ireland. They rule us here an’ they rule us there – but not for long. That’s why we need men like you, Joseph.’

  ‘An’ what specifically would ye be needing Joseph for?’ The two men spun at Patrick’s question. He came further into the storehouse and, as the two rapidly resumed their task, said, ‘Ye wouldn’t be trying to indoctrinate Joseph with your Fenian rubbish would ye, Timothy?’

  ‘No, sir.’ Tim continued to work.

  ‘No, sir. Then what was all that about the bloody English this an’ the bloody English that I heard when I came in? Look at me, Rabb!’ Timothy was forced to put down the crate and face his employer. ‘Haven’t I warned you about bringing this political nonsense to work? Didn’t I tell ye the last time that if it happened again I’d dismiss ye?’

  Rosanna caught her breath as Tim answered, ‘You did, sir.’

  ‘Then ye know what’s coming, don’t ye, son?’

  No, no, whispered Rosanna to herself.

  ‘Am I to go right away then?’ asked Tim, facing Pat squarely now, no cowedness in his stance.

  ‘I see no reason why not. With the weather bad I’ve no need of ye. But,’ Patrick added charitably, ‘I’d not bring extra hardship on your family. Your mother has a hard enough time as it is trying to keep an eejit like you in tow. Ye can finish what you’re doing then go, an’ take a month’s wages with ye. I’ll not have ye on my land a moment longer than is necessary. You’re a dangerous influence. An’ ye’d do well to heed my views when ye set about finding another job. Now get on about your work.’ He saw them both out of the barn and was about to follow when a white-faced Rosanna waylaid him. ‘Ah, hello, muirneen.’ A smile. ‘Sorry if we disturbed your concentration. Had a bit o’ trouble with one o’ the lads.’

  ‘I heard.’ She clasped her hands. ‘Please, Grandfather, don’t dismiss him.’

  ‘Ah, I’m sorry to offend your soft heart but ’tis all sorted. The man’s been warned before.’

  ‘But, Gramps, I don’t understand. What has he done wrong? Aren’t you always singing and telling tales about Ireland? You’ve always encouraged us to take a pride in our heritage. That’s what Tim is doing.’

  ‘Rosanna, dear,’ he said, rather condescendingly she thought, as if speaking to a child, ‘ye’ve no idea what the man’s about. This isn’t about heritage. That boy has been trying to enlist my men in his dangerous activities for months now. He’s been warned about it more than once. God knows patience is not one o’ my virtues so he can consider himself lucky the axe didn’t fall till now.’

  ‘But, Grandfather, he can’t afford to leave his job. He has no father and his poor mother is ill.’

  Patrick laid his head to one side. ‘How come you know so much about him, Rosanna?’

  She sought for an excuse. ‘Oh… I just heard the men talking amongst themselves.’

  ‘Ye wouldn’t be trying to cod me now?’

  ‘Why should I do that?’ she asked unconvincingly. ‘I’m simply concerned that this poor boy is about to lose his job. He’s a good worker, Gramps, it’d be a shame to lose him. You mightn’t get anyone else so industrious.’

  ‘He’s a good worker, aye,’ concurred Patrick. ‘But so are the others, an’ I’d like them to stay that way. Timothy Rabb is of the stuff that makes a mutineer. I’m sorry, Rosie, but he goes.’ With that blunt riposte he left her.

  Rosanna broke down in tears.

  * * *

  When the realisation that he would soon be lost to her crept through her heartbreak she damned herself for wasting time blubbering and went to seek him out, but by then he had already departed. Feeling sick, Rosanna went back inside for her coat, then wandered aimlessly along the path – please make it all a dream, she begged. I’ll wake up in a moment and everything will have righted itself. What optimism.

  On reaching the thicket where yesterday she had left the Valentine she stopped to lean her head against a lichen-covered tree trunk. Between the snarled roots of the tree grew a single snowdrop. Stooping, she picked it and cupped it in her hands. It served to make her more aware of her loss.

  ‘Rosanna, over here!’

  She looked up, immediately alert at the sound of Tim’s hiss, saw him beckoning from the cover of a tangle of elderberry branches and ran to him. ‘Oh, Tim, Tim! I thought I’d never see you again.’ Their bodies clashed in a passionate kiss.

  He held her triumphantly. ‘I’ve been waiting ages, I thought you might come,’ then delivered another abrasive kiss.

  She thought she was going to burst. ‘Did you get my Valentine?’ she managed to ask breathlessly between contact.

  He nodded smilingl
y and pulled the crumpled card from his inside pocket. ‘I kept it next to my heart.’

  ‘Tim, how romantic you are.’

  ‘Will ye tell me what it says?’

  Surprised, she stared at his eager face, then suddenly understood why she hadn’t received the expected Valentine. ‘Oh… you can’t read?’

  ‘Only my name,’ he answered awkwardly. ‘I could read what was on the envelope but not what was inside.’

  She felt embarrassed at reading her thoughts aloud, but nevertheless did so. ‘It says: I love you, Tim, never leave me.’ Her face lost its sheen. ‘And now you’re going to.’

  ‘No,’ he told her confidently. ‘We’ll find a way.’ She asked him how. After some thought he replied with a question. ‘Is there any time you’re alone? An hour when you could get away to meet me without anyone missing ye?’

  ‘Oh, Lord… I don’t know.’ She searched her numbed brain frantically. ‘Er, yes, yes, wait a minute. If we don’t go to visit Father and Mother on Sunday I always go for a walk down the garden after lunch. We’re at home this week.’

  ‘Won’t they think it’s funny, you taking a walk in this weather?’

  ‘No, they’re used to me wandering off for an hour or so,’ replied Rosanna, remembering. ‘It’s her tinker blood,’ Great-grandma would say – she understood now. ‘There’s an old shed right at the bottom of the garden where the tools are kept. No one goes there on a Sunday. If you could climb over the wall…’

  ‘Rosanna, I don’t even know where you live,’ he interrupted. ‘Besides, if someone should see me climbing over the wall they’d think I’m up to stealin’ something.’

  ‘Oh, I hadn’t thought about that.’ She nibbled a fingernail.

  ‘Look, d’ye think you could climb over the wall yourself and make your way out here? There’ll be no one around on Sunday.’

  ‘But the storehouse will be locked.’