Patricia Falvey

by The Yellow House (v5)

  “I can take an early tram home in the morning and still be in time for school.”

  P.J. took a long draw on his pipe. “Well, I’ll have quare explaining to do to the missus, but you can stay if your big sister agrees.”

  I nodded. “Of course. It’ll be lovely to have a fine young man protecting me.”

  When P.J. and Terrence had gone, I took Paddy upstairs to Aoife’s room. Aoife was awake again and delighted to see him. I let them play. At almost thirteen, Paddy still loved to play with Aoife and make her laugh. After a while, I took Aoife into my bed and Paddy fitted himself uncomfortably into her small bed. Later, I climbed in beside Aoife, who was already asleep. Joy and love mingled with fear in my mind as I fell again into a deep sleep.

  20

  I was with Owen again, pulling him so tight around me that not a thread of light could weave its way between our bodies. I locked him inside me and held him there, my fingers clawing his flesh. I cried his name aloud, urging him to fill up every empty chamber within me. Sweet, wet sweat cooled my skin, and I cried out loud. Somewhere, thunder clamored, waves of urgent sound matching the rhythm of our bodies. The images faded into mist, but the sound remained, louder now, insistent. A thumping on my shoulder brought me awake.

  “Mammy, Mammy, bogeyman!”

  Aoife was shaking me. I sat up. The thundering stopped.

  “Bogeyman,” Aoife whispered. “He has no head.” The child’s wide eyes glinted in the darkness. I cursed Tommy McParland for frightening the life out of the child with his ghost stories about bogeymen and headless horsemen and the like.

  “Ssh,” I whispered. “It was only a dream.”

  “No, Mammy,” she cried, shaking her head from side to side.

  “All right,” I said. “Just stay here.”

  Then a thought occurred to her, and she smiled. “Da,” she crowed, clapping her hands.

  I thought to myself I would rather it be a headless horseman than James at this moment. I got out of bed and pulled on my dressing gown. Slowly I crept downstairs and opened the front door and looked out. Frank’s face stared back at me. I flinched at the sight of him.

  “Did you not hear me?” he hissed. “I banged loud enough to wake the dead.”

  “I was asleep,” I murmured. “I must have been tired out.”

  “Aye, from your gallivanting last night. Where were you, at all?”

  “Out.”

  “Sure I know that. Wasn’t I here banging on the door like an eejit, and all the lights out in the house. And you weren’t at Theresa’s, either.” Accusation filled his voice. “Are you letting me in or am I to stand on your doorstep like a stranger?”

  I wanted to say that he was indeed a stranger, but I opened the door and let him into the parlor. He looked around.

  “It’s not a palace, is it,” he said.

  I ignored him. “Come into the kitchen. I’ll make tea.”

  As I busied myself with the kettle, he sat in an armchair beside the fireplace and stretched out his legs, boots up on the fender. He did not take off his cap. Aoife and Paddy had crept down the stairs. They stood in the kitchen, Paddy holding Aoife by the hand, and stared at Frank. Frank looked from one to the other.

  “Is this the child?” he said gruffly, pointing at Aoife.

  “Sure who else would she be?” I snapped.

  Aoife piped up. “Who are you?” she said.

  Frank snorted. “Cheeky as her mother, I see.”

  I placed the kettle on the hob and pulled down cups and saucers from the cupboard.

  “He’s your uncle Frank, pet,” I said, “come to visit his poor relations.”

  Paddy let go of Aoife’s hand. He stared steadily at Frank. Frank shifted in his chair.

  “And who’s this other nosy fellow?” he said.

  “That’s your brother, Paddy,” I said.

  Frank’s mouth dropped open. He stared at Paddy. “It can’t be,” he said at last, “sure Paddy’s just a young fellow—a baby.”

  I swung around. “Time doesn’t stand still, Frank. Our Paddy is almost a young man now, and a fine one at that, no thanks to all the thought you ever gave to him.”

  Frank did not take his eyes off Paddy. “He’s the image of Lizzie,” he whispered.

  I wanted to tell Frank the news about Lizzie, but something made me hesitate. Instead I said, “And what brings you here away from your fine farm?”

  Frank swung around to look at me. “It’s glad you should be I put myself out to come here and warn you!”

  “Warn me about what?”

  He took his time with the tea I had handed to him, spilling it into the saucer and blowing on it to cool it. He slurped it up from the saucer and sat back in the chair. “Good and strong, at least,” he said, “the way Ma used to make it.”

  I thought as I watched him that he might have plenty of money but he had no manners.

  “Well?” I said.

  He looked over at the children. “Maybe they shouldn’t hear this,” he said.

  I would not humor him. “They’ll stay where they are,” I snapped.

  “Suit yourself.” He cleared his throat and stood up. His bulky presence filled the kitchen as he paced back and forth like the country squire.

  “You’ve been seen with that Sheridan fellow.”

  I shrugged. “That’s old news,” I said, sweat prickling the back of my neck.

  Frank’s face turned red. “So you admit it! How the feck do you think it looks for a sister of mine to be seen gallivanting about with the likes of Sheridan? Is it informing you are?”

  I jumped from my chair. “Informing? And what is it to you what I’m doing? Sure you don’t give a feck about the Cause. From what I hear, you’re too busy feathering your own nest!”

  Frank came over to me. His face was inches from mine. “You’re right, I don’t give a feck about the Cause, but I do give a feck about staying on the right side of your husband’s friends.” He backed away slightly. “We have certain agreements between us, and I can’t have my sister carousing with the British Army. It casts suspicion on all of us. Now, I don’t know what you’re up to, my girl, but you’d better stop it right now. I forbid you to go near him again.”

  I was too flabbergasted to speak. Forbid me? What in God’s name gave him the right to forbid me to do anything?

  “I’ll live my life as I please,” I shouted at last. My whole body trembled.

  Frank raised his hand and slapped me hard across the face. Aoife screamed. The pain of the slap brought tears to my eyes. I was too shocked to speak.

  “Leave her alone! Leave her alone!” Suddenly Paddy was behind Frank, tugging on him, his fists locked around his arms. The boy’s devil had returned.

  Frank swung around, his hand raised to slap Paddy, when it seemed to freeze in the air. He let his hand drop and instead took him by the shoulders and pushed him away. He stared at him.

  “Jesus, he’s the image of Lizzie,” he said again.

  Something softened my heart. I reached over to Frank.

  “Come and sit down,” I whispered, “I have something very important to tell you.”

  Frank allowed me to lead him back to the chair by the fire. He sat down and looked into my face. In that moment, I caught a glimpse of the wounded young boy who rode off in the cart from the Yellow House years ago.

  I knelt in front of him and took his hands in mine. “Frankie,” I whispered, “Lizzie is alive. She never died after all. She was adopted out of the Fever Hospital by a couple in Belfast. We’re going to find her, Frankie. We’re going to bring her home.”

  Tears softened Frank’s eyes, and he wiped them away quickly. “Are you sure?” he said.

  “Would I lie about something like this? I only found out myself last night. I still haven’t swallowed the news yet.”

  Frank sat frozen in the chair for a long time. Emotions that only he could identify crossed his face. He looked around my house and at Aoife and Paddy. Then he stood up.


  “I’m sorry I slapped you,” he said. And then the old Frank was back. “But mark my words, Eileen, there’ll be trouble if you keep being seen with that fellow. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  And then he was gone. The roar of his motorcar filled the street and then died away to a low whine. I steered Paddy and Aoife to bed and went back downstairs to clean up the kitchen. Slowly, I washed dishes and stoked the fire. I would have to be up early to take Paddy down to the tram. Paddy! I shuddered at the anger I had witnessed seething out of the boy. It had stopped Frank in his tracks as well. I had hoped that he might have outgrown it by now; he was almost thirteen. Da would have said he was a true O’Neill—another young warrior. But somehow the thought brought me more distress than pride. I switched my thoughts to Frank. What would be going through his head just now? Would news of Lizzie change him? Would coming face-to-face with his lost family soften him, or would it make his sense of loss even greater? Lizzie had been the only one who could make our Frankie smile. I prayed that we could bring her home.

  ON MONDAY MORNING, I stood at my spinning frame whipping the trestle back and forth like a demented woman. Shields came past a few times and paused to watch me.

  “The place isn’t on fire, you know,” he said. “You can slow it down a bit before you break the machine altogether.”

  “Never known you to worry about a body working too fast,” I snapped.

  He shrugged and went away about his business. Theresa eyed me from the other end of the room but said nothing. I was caught in the chaos of my own thoughts. I had slept poorly after Frank left. Aoife had fretted as if she knew something was wrong. She’d sweated and tossed and whimpered in her sleep. By dawn, all sleep driven from me, I’d gone down and made tea and waited until it was time to take Paddy to the tram. I realized that the news about Lizzie had been buried under the commotion of the last two days. It was hard to think about her without thinking about Owen, and I did not want to think about him at all. I didn’t even dare look over my shoulder in case he was in Shields’s office. What in the name of God would I say to him? How could I look at him without the whole world knowing what had gone on? I had to take hold of myself, I realized, or I would go stone mad.

  At lunchtime, I went to sit on the wall outside the mill. It was freezing, and I sat there shivering, but I had to get some air. He must have been waiting for me. He approached wearing a greatcoat over his uniform. At least he’s not freezing his arse off, I thought. He sat beside me.

  “Hello, Eileen,” he said.

  I nodded.

  “Are you all right?”

  “And why wouldn’t I be?” I said sharply. I could feel the flush warming my cheeks despite the cold.

  “I miss you,” he said simply.

  I sat up straight. “Look,” I blurted out, “the other night was a mistake! I wasn’t in my right mind, what with Lizzie and all. So don’t think I’ll be making a habit of it. I’m a respectable woman, and I’ll not be… be seduced again by your sweet talk or anybody else’s. So just leave me alone before people start to talk more than they already are!” My words punctured the frigid air. Small wisps of cloud from my hot breath floated in front of his face.

  He watched me in silence for a moment. “It wasn’t a mistake,” he said.

  “It was!” I shouted.

  “I don’t believe you, Eileen,” he said. “How can you say this? How can you say that what we had was not real, and passionate—and loving? You don’t believe it was wrong any more than I do.”

  I looked around to see if anyone was listening. My whole body trembled.

  “Did someone threaten you?” Owen’s voice cut in sharply.

  I swung back to face him. “No,” I cried again.

  He looked at me. His eyes were clear and gentle, and I saw an understanding and a pity in them that angered me.

  “And I’m not needing your pity, either,” I snapped. I took a deep breath. “Please,” I said softly, “give me what’s left of my pride.”

  He nodded. “I love you, Eileen,” he said, “but I don’t want to make things hard for you. I have heard some of the rumors. The mill workers are judging you harshly, I’ve heard, but no harsher than my own family and friends are judging me. If it was up to me, I would have us both ignore them, but I realize it is not that easy.” He paused and let out a long sigh. “Do you love me, Eileen?”

  His eyes riveted mine. I began to sweat. How could I answer him? Of course I loved him. But how could I tell him that and then ask him to leave me alone? I took a deep breath.

  “No, Owen. It was a mistake, as I said. I was just in need of some comfort.”

  I could hardly stand the look of pain that passed over his face. I wanted to take him in my arms and tell him that I was lying and that I loved him more than life itself. But how could I? I was a married woman and a Catholic. And he was a Quaker and the son of the mill owner. I could not encourage this anymore. And so I said nothing.

  “Forgive me, then. I misunderstood. ”

  He stood up. His voice and manner became more formal. He was the polite but distant soldier once again.

  “I would still like to do what I can to help locate Lizzie.”

  “Thank you. But it’s best if I do it myself.”

  “I understand. Good-bye now.”

  He left. I knew I had hurt him. But sure hadn’t I hurt myself more? As I watched him go, tears stung at my eyes. I rubbed them with my sleeve. Bloody love! All it ever caused was heartbreak. I was as well off without it, even if I had to cut it out of my heart the way a butcher cuts meat.

  THAT EVENING, TERRENCE came to the house. Billy was already there, playing with Aoife. I was glad of the distraction. For a while, I could ignore the pain in my heart that had been there all day since I saw Owen. I tried to focus on the good things.

  “Isn’t it wonderful news about Lizzie?” I said.

  The excitement I had wanted to feel began to build inside me. I was giddy.

  Terrence nodded slowly. “Aye, Eileen. God works in unexpected ways.”

  “We’ll find her, won’t we? You must have connections in Belfast?”

  “I do. We’ll leave no stone unturned. Trust me! I want it as much as you do. I want your mother to see her in the flesh.”

  I wondered again about the other evening when Ma had been all dressed up and waiting for Terrence. But this did not seem the right time to ask.

  I leaned back and sighed. “Isn’t it grand, Terrence? I always knew one day we could all be back together. Now wouldn’t that be the real miracle?” I knew I sounded like a silly sod, but I couldn’t help myself. “Now if only we could get the Yellow House back, we could bring Ma and Paddy, and me and Lizzie, and maybe even Frank…”

  The words trailed off.

  “So you still have the same old dream,” Terrence said gently. “It’s a lovely idea, but not very practical now, is it?”

  “Not everything has to be practical,” I said. “And you of all people should be a believer in miracles. After all, you’re still hoping Ma will get better.”

  Terrence rubbed his hands together. They were square and brown, not at all like Owen’s. God forgive me, I thought. I have to get that man out of my mind.

  “I told you I will be delighted to search for Lizzie,” Terrence said. “She may not remember much about you, but she’s your sister, and she should know your family.”

  “Aye,” I said, “such as it is.”

  For the first time, I had a pang of doubt. Would Lizzie really want to know our family? What was she like, anyway? She’d be almost twenty by now. What if she was reared in style by well-to-do people? Would she want to know that our da was a dreamer who almost forced us into poverty? Would she want to know that her ma was astray in the head, and her sister was an adulteress, and her brother Frank… well, God only knew what was in Frank’s heart. Holy Mother of God, would I be opening a hornet’s nest best left untouched? I think Terrence was reading my mind.

  “Don’t worry, Eilee
n. I am sure she will want to know the truth anyway. And then if she wants to meet you, it will be her decision.”

  “But, the Yellow House… ,” I began.

  “That’s your dream, Eileen, not hers,” Terrence said quietly.

  FOR THE NEXT WEEKS, I kept my head down. I said little to anybody. My production at the mill broke all records.

  Theresa came over to me. “I don’t know what’s got into you, Eileen,” she said, “but the devil himself must be driving you. You’ll slow down if you know what’s good for you. The workers are starting to talk. You’re making them look bad.”

  “I don’t give a feck about them,” I snapped. “It’s a sad day for them if they can’t keep up with me!”

  “Watch yourself,” she said. “They haven’t forgotten the other business.”

  She was right. Ever since Fagan and his cronies had tried to stop us from coming in for our shifts that morning, they had gone out of their way to aggravate me. Little things, like cracks in the spindle or damp, tangled flax on my bobbin in the mornings. I knew it was them. But what was I to do? I ignored them and went on about my business. Eventually, they eased off, but I smelled their resentment every time I walked past. The truth was that I was not on a tear to make money or show anybody up. Cranking up my machine to the breaking point was the only way I could make it through the day. My nerves were shattered, and I could not relax enough to look sideways.

  There had been little sign of Owen. A couple of times he nodded from the other end of the floor, but I showed him no encouragement, and he went about his business. My heart broke at the sight of him. I told myself he didn’t matter—he was a mistake born of my weakness. But on the long, lonely nights when I lay in bed, sweating and tossing, images of his sweet face calling to me, I realized the truth that I was in love with the man. An odd thing, love. No one ever teaches you how to recognize it. I supposed I must have been in love with James. After all, I liked him well enough to marry him. It must be love, surely. It was no different from the way the mill girls prattled on about their boyfriends. No different from how Theresa felt about Tommy McParland. It was a matter of choosing someone—the best of the available men—and marrying them before you were written off altogether as an old maid. Is that how it was with James? I liked to think there was something more than taking myself off the shelf before it was too late. I found a kindred spirit in James, restless, yearning. It matched my own feelings. Surely, then, this must be love? But Owen. Owen was not restless. Instead he was a lovely, safe harbor into which I could sail and pull anchor, a harbor where I could find shelter from the storms that battered my life. And more than that, a man who knew me to my core, no matter that we had exchanged few words. When I came to Owen, I knew instinctively I had come home—a home more secure than even the Yellow House. A home that was eternal.