The Woman from Kerry (29 page)

‘Well, we might be in America. I suppose we’d have enough now, even when you do all Lady Anne asked ye to do, new clothes and the photograph and suchlike.’

‘Yes, we’d have more than enough,’ she said nodding. ‘If we bought our tickets in the morning, we’d still have enough to see us through the first six months or so. We’d be really well off compared to most emigrants.’

‘An’ ye still have a mind to go?’

She paused for a long moment, looking away into the distance.

‘I’m not sure, John, not as sure as I was before our ‘big day’, she said uneasily, at last. ‘I don’t know why what happened should make any difference. Especially as we lost one of our best friends. I suppose that should make it easier to go, shouldn’t it?’

‘Ach things often goes by opposites. But sure, we’ve time enough to think about it before the winter.’

‘Yes, we have,’ she agreed. Though the evening was warm and still, the thought of winter and the overheated spinning rooms made her shiver. ‘We’ll have to think before the end of the school holidays,’ she said carefully. ‘We don’t want the children to miss out on too many weeks schooling.’

‘No, yer right there, I hadn’t thought o’ that,’ he admitted. ‘Though with all yer readin’ and helpin’ them, I’m sure they’re well ahead o’ other students.’

‘Not just me, John Hamilton,’ she said, poking him in the ribs. ‘Who is it has us all up to date on fan belts and pistons and drive shafts?’

He smiled sheepishly.

‘Sure you carry me home the books all the way from Armagh,’ he said, a note of protest in his voice. ‘I want t’ see ye get yer value for your five shillin’s a year.’

As she climbed the steps of the library on The Mall, a week later, Rose smiled as she recalled John’s words. The only thing stopping her from paying her half crown for family membership was the thought that they might be half a world away by the end of September.

‘Good day, Mrs Hamilton. Is there anything special I can find for you today?’

She thanked the young man who was always so
helpful with his detailed knowledge of the entire stock of the library, and handed him a piece of paper on which John had noted two books he’d seen mentioned in the bibliography of the last one he’d read.

‘Ah, yes,’ he beamed. ‘We possess both, Mrs Hamilton, but one of them is on loan. The other I shall fetch for you while you choose your own reading.’

He turned away, greeted a gentleman who was just leaving, and climbed his ladder to the higher shelves.

Rose walked up and down the rows of books. She’d read almost all their volumes of the history and exploration of America, as well as their smaller collection of fiction. She was still standing gazing at the spines of the volumes of autobiography, her head turned sideways, when young Mr Reid came up to her.

‘Mrs Hamilton, if I might ask a rather personal question,’ he said uneasily. ‘Do you have four children?’

‘Yes, I do,’ she replied, looking at him in amazement.

‘And would I be right in thinking the boys are James and Sam, the girls are Hannah and Sarah?’

‘Yes, you are quite right,’ she nodded, wondering what to make of the look of mixed unease and satisfaction on his face. ‘Have you taken up crystal
gazing for a hobby, Mr Reid?’ she asked, laughing merrily.

‘Not at all, Mrs Hamilton,’ he said, beaming himself. ‘A gentleman whom I know well asked me to find out for him. Mr Sinton is waiting in my small office,’ he went on, lowering his voice and using a tone which implied she must have heard of him. ‘He would be most grateful if you would go and have a word with him.’

‘Mr Sinton?’

By way of answer, Mr Reid listed a number of draper’s shops in the town, including the one she’d been using for years and the one where she studied the most up to date and the most expensive fashion whenever she came into town.

Overcome with curiosity, she made no further protest, but allowed herself to be escorted to a tiny overcrowded room where a familiar figure stood waiting.

‘My dear Mrs Hamilton, I have found you at last,’ he said, bowing courteously and placing a chair for her so that she could sit down in the rather confined space. ‘James Sinton, in your debt and at your service,’ he went on, holding out his hand and shaking hers firmly.

Mr Reid scuttled away, closing the door behind him, leaving Rose face to face with the benevolent-looking gentleman she’d last seen across the width of a carriage on the ill-fated Methodist excursion.

‘My wife and I have been searching for you for some weeks now,’ he said beaming at her, as he seated himself opposite her. ‘Clearly you do not live in the city itself?’

‘No, we live about two miles away, at Salter’s Grange on the Loughgall Road. I only come in once a week to shop and change our books,’ she said easily.

‘What a happy chance that I should have glimpsed you as you walked past. I use the reading room a great deal, but seldom in the afternoons. It is indeed an answer to our prayers,’ he said smiling broadly.

Rose really could not imagine how she could be the answer to anyone’s prayers, but his delight was so obvious that she merely smiled and waited for him to go on.

‘Mrs Hamilton, I will come straight to the point. It is because of you that I am sitting in this chair, that my wife is at present visiting some of the injured, and that my three small daughters are alive and well. It is my dearest wish, and that of my wife, that we can find some means of acknowledging our great debt to you.’

Rose was totally taken aback. For a moment, she couldn’t even think what he might possibly be referring to.

‘My dear Mrs Hamilton,’ he said very quietly. ‘It was you who prevented the young railway man from locking our carriage. It was your son who
alerted us so promptly to our danger, and you who underlined the fact when we were slow to respond. Even a few more minutes and there would have been a risk of injury, but we were all out before the carriages gathered significant speed.’

Rose gasped and shook her head.

‘But I only …’

‘Saved our lives,’ he prompted.

‘If there is any question of that being the case, I think my sons must take the credit,’ she said, somewhat flustered.

‘Certainly much credit is due to those young gentlemen,’ he said agreeably, ‘but may I say that, had you not shown such confidence in your son’s judgement, we would all be in a much less happy state than we are today. You do realise, don’t you, that even in the adjoining carriage, as far from the impact as it was possible to be, there were fatalities, both adults and children.’

Rose shook her head. ‘I didn’t know that. I thought they were all from the first three coaches.’

‘No, there was not a single coach without a death or serious injury. The coach in which we were travelling was derailed. You did not know that either, I suspect.’

‘No, I didn’t,’ she said, suddenly made anxious and uneasy as images crowded back to her mind from those last minutes in which she’d got the children out.

‘Please, don’t distress yourself,’ he said, his pleasant face, suddenly grim. ‘I would not for the world remind you of that day but to make my point, in the hope that you will do me the great kindness of accepting some gift or benefit for you and your family.’

She dropped her eyes, distressed and confused. If she had indeed done something to help his family, it would be ungraceful to reject his offer. She thought of Lady Anne’s letter. ‘You would be so fierce with me.’ She couldn’t be fierce with this good-natured man. But what was she to say?

‘I have to confess that life has been very kind to me,’ he said, grasping something of her difficulty. ‘I have enough for all my needs and to spare. If without giving any offence I might suggest some assistance with the further education of your family, I could go back to my wife and know that she would be delighted and share my joy,’ he said, watching her face carefully.

‘What a kind offer,’ she said, suddenly seeing the way out of her dilemma. ‘We should indeed be happy to give our children every opportunity, but it is likely that we shall shortly be emigrating. Were we not, I should accept most gratefully for my children.’

She saw his face fall and was almost sorry she had not asked for some token, some books for James and Sam, paint boxes and paper for the girls, the
gifts she’d already decided on out of Lady Anne’s generosity.

‘That is very sad, indeed,’ he said, looking truly downcast. ‘For such a talented family to leave us. If it is not too great an intrusion, may I ask why you are going?’

She sighed and decided she had to tell him the truth. In the short time of their conversation, she’d confirmed her first opinion of him, made during the delays and discomforts that had preceded that shortest of rail journeys. He was a thoroughly likeable man. Despite his manners, his elegant clothes and his affluence, he was as open and honest in his manner as John or Thomas.

She explained about the ending of the partnership between the two men, about the job at the mill and her anxieties about John’s health. Mr Sinton listened with fierce concentration.

‘If your husband were to have his own forge, do you think he could be persuaded to stay?’

‘I think any metal-working employment, outside a mill, would probably solve the problem,’ she said, answering him as honestly as she could. ‘Though I think part of the attraction of America is the possibility of working with machines. My husband is fascinated by engines of all kinds. He’s even convinced we’ll soon have horseless carriages,’ she said easily, glad to see that his look of sadness had quite disappeared.

‘Was it your husband, Mrs Hamilton, who taught the boys about vacuum braking?’

‘Oh yes,’ she laughed, pleased by the smile on his face. ‘And power weight ratios and drive belts and pistons and steam compression. He’s read almost everything here in the library on moving vehicles. I can’t say I understand it all, but I’ve carried all the volumes home,’ she said laughing.

‘Mrs Hamilton, you have made me the happiest of all men,’ he said, unexpectedly. ‘My brother is a linen manufacturer and a very wealthy man, with a great passion for machines. For some months now, he’s been searching for either an engineer that can work metal, or a blacksmith that understands engines, to help him on his current project,’ he explained, a broad grin on his face. ‘Could I persuade you to tell your husband that I think I have the solution to your problem and mine?’

James Sinton would be as good as his word, Rose was sure, but even she was amazed at the vigour with which he forwarded the task he’d set himself. Nothing was too much trouble for him. Difficulties he resolved with the greatest of ease. Although he was never hasty or overbearing, he pursued his objectives with a devotion that seemed totally out of character for such an apparently placid and equable man.

‘Sure that’s why he is where he is today, Rose,’ said John laughing as they set out for an evening walk, leaving James in charge of his brother and sisters and Thomas still working at the forge.

‘Ye don’t come to own half a dozen shops an’ run them successfully if you haven’t got somethin’ up top. I know he says he reads a lot, an’ looks as if he were a gentleman of leisure, but when it comes to the bit, it’s he makes the big decisions about them shops, mark my words. An’ that’s what counts.’

‘Yes, I think you’re right,’ she said. ‘But you like him, don’t you?’ She went on, as they turned out of the lane and down the deserted road.

‘He’s a lovely man and she’s nice too,’ he said warmly. ‘Nothing fancy about her, except the dress. An’ sure I expect she feels she has to dress up an’ him in the business,’ he added sympathetically.

Rose laughed, remembering the short time she’d spent alone with Mary Sinton when the whole family had gone to tea the previous Sunday, so that James could meet John and the children “Could renew their acquaintance”, as he so tactfully put it.

‘My dear Mrs Hamilton,’ she’d said, almost as soon as they’d arrived, ‘I hope you will call me Mary, and I may call you by your first name. We’ve talked of you and the children so much since that dreadful day I feel we have known each other a long time already.’

‘But, of course. My name is Rose,’ she replied warmly.

‘Oh, how lovely. My dearest sister was called Rose, a pretty, lively child. We lost her when she was not quite eleven, just the age of your dear Hannah,’ she said sadly. ‘I hope our little girls will make friends.’

The children had indeed got on very well together. While the adults talked, they clustered round a table in the window of the tall, Georgian
house overlooking The Mall and enjoyed the board games James Sinton had laid out for them.

‘How do you feel about tomorrow?’ Rose asked, as they turned up Church Hill and she realised she’d been silent, lost in her own thoughts.

‘Well, it can do no harm,’ he said easily. ‘There’s no doubt if the brother’s anythin’ like James an’ he thinks I can give him a han,’ it woud be great. Woud ye mind movin’ Banbridge way?’

She laughed and took his arm.

‘John dear, if I was prepared to go to America for the sake of your health and the future of our children, I’ll hardly blink at fourteen or fifteen miles into the next county, will I?’ she said, shaking her head and making a face at him.

‘Aye, well. I suppose it’s manners to ask,’ he said, grinning himself.

They walked up the hill and paused outside the church yard.

‘Not tonight, John,’ she said gently. ‘We’ll come up again, whatever way it goes.’

So they walked on, down the hill, past the old oak that had been there in 1598, so everyone said, when the Battle of the Yellow Ford was fought over the fields and lanes between it and the river. The cart manufactory lay on their right, the windows of the workshop facing on to the road. They were still at work, father and son. John waved and gave them good evening as they strolled past.

‘Maybe we’ll not walk this hill again, Rose.’

‘Maybe not, indeed,’ she said, her mind moving from past to future. ‘What time is James collecting you?’

‘Eight o’clock.’

‘Wasn’t it lucky that this was your week’s holiday?’

‘Aye, I was just thinkin’ that. It’s as if everythin’ was just fallin’ inta place.’

When Drumcairn mill reopened after the annual holiday a week later, John gave his notice. One look at Henry Sinton’s workshop was enough for him. He could hardly wait to examine the models that stood half-built on the benches. While Sinton talked enthusiastically to him, moving from one idea to the next, his brother followed silently behind, a discreet smile on his face, knowing that he had indeed contrived a situation of benefit to everyone.

When John returned late that evening, he was so excited that their evening tea was long gone before Rose could bring herself to put forward the question which had been in her mind since he’d arrived home, a broad grin telling her the result before he’d said a word.

‘Where would we live, John? Did anyone mention that?’

He put his hand to his head and laughed.

‘Ach yes, I clean forgot. There’s a farm empty not
half a mile away. James says that if you like the place, he would make it over to you, freehold. It would be yours to do what you like with, his gift to you.’

‘And did you see the place, John?’ she asked.

‘Yes, yes, I did,’ he said, nodding vigorously. ‘But mind you, so much has happened since, I can’t be entirely sure how many rooms there are. I know there’s a parlour, for it reminded me of Annacramp. An’ there’s a kitchen with a stove and a kind of a dairy place off it with a Belfast sink an’ runnin’ water,’ he went on matter-of-factly. ‘I loss count of the bedrooms, though some of them’s wee an’ I near hit my head wi’ some o’ the doorways. But I do mind I could see the mountains from the front one,’ he said firmly. ‘I couldn’t have told you what direction we were for it’s all hills, far bigger hills than these wee ones roun’ here. But I looked out to see the garden an’ there was the mountains o’ Mourne, plain as plain, ye coud a put out yer han’ an’ touched them,’ he said, his face beaming with pleasure.

‘Did you say a garden, John?’

‘Yes, I thought that’d please you. Ach, it’s a bit neglected, an’ I think there’s plants has died wi’ that dry spell in June, but sure you’ll have it your way in no time. The flowers is at the front, an’ there’s fruit bushes an’ an orchard at the back. James says there’s a small parcel of land forby, but only about ten acres. It was gettin’ late so we didn’t walk it.’

Rose shook her head in disbelief.

‘I hope I don’t wake up in the morning and find I’m dreaming all this.’

John laughed.

‘You’re more likely to wake up an’ find James on your doorstep with some paper to sign,’ he said, yawning hugely, as he bent to unlace his boots.

His last week at the mill and the one that followed were busy ones for Rose. She wanted to keep her promise to Lady Anne and send photographs before they moved. There were clothes to buy and letters to write.

She spent a long afternoon with Peggy and left heartened by what she saw of the growing understanding between her and Billy.

‘I don’t love Billy, Rose, not like I loved Kevin, but I’m fond of him. Maybe in a year or two we might marry. I’ve no heart for any other man after Kevin and I know he’ll always love Mary, but we’ve been through so much together I know we’d always be good to each other. An’ sure that’s half livin’ to have someone cares for you. You know that.’

‘I do, Peggy. If I had to choose between this lovely new place and having John, I wouldn’t have a moment’s hesitation.’

‘Sure, I know that, but I’m delighted about the new job. You deserve your good fortune, the pair of you. You’ll write to me sometimes, won’t you?’

‘Of course I will, Peggy. I won’t have to work as
hard at the sewing. I’ll have more time to myself, unless I decide to have a cow again and a few chickens,’ she said, laughing.

For Rose, the only real sadness in leaving the house opposite the forge was the loss of Thomas. He’d always been a kindly presence, even in the days before his accident when she daren’t go over to speak to him for fear of Mary-Anne’s fury. Since then, he’d been much more forthcoming, often walking down to see them of an evening. In the days following the disaster, he’d been a regular caller, he’d gone with them to all the funerals, brought newspapers and news. Their friendship had strengthened just as they were about to part.

‘Ach now Rose, don’t take it amiss. Sure I’m that delighted for you both. An’ isn’t it a great start for the childer to have yer man Sinton concerned about their education. James’ll go far, an’ sure all of them’s bright. Isn’t it the best thing ever happen’d ye’s.’

He’d looked at her downcast face as he sat by the gable with them one thundery July evening

‘Sure wouldn’t it be worse if ye’s were goin’ to America or Australia?’ he said cheerfully. ‘Our paths may cross again,’ he added thoughtfully. ‘Sure ye may yet come to see me in one of these horseless carriages John keeps on talkin’ about. An’ ye’ll maybe write me a line or two, Rose. I’m a bad han’ with a pen, but I’ll write back to ye.’

The photograph was prepared for and duly taken in Loudan’s of English Street. Rose wore the first shop-bought dress she’d ever owned. According to John, she looked like a Queen. But Sarah protested. The Queen was fat and looked cross, but Ma looked lovely.

To Rose’s surprise the boys were perfectly amenable to the photographer’s arrangements and Hannah did as she was asked. It was Sarah who sat with furrowed brow, staring crossly at the lens and the antics of the young man under his velvet cloth.

Nothing would induce her to soften her gaze, until the young man had the brilliant idea of letting her look through the lens for herself. Having viewed her family critically, she rejoined them in a more agreeable mood and the resulting picture was pronounced a success, not only by the photographer, but later by Lady Anne herself.

The days sped by with a rapidity that left Rose feeling breathless and convinced there was something she’d forgotten. As she packed small items in newspaper and fitted them into the cardboard boxes James Sinton had retrieved for her from one of his shops, she tried to gather up her thoughts.

There was no doubt, she’d been right, a year or more ago when she’d said they should keep their plan to go to America a secret. Sam would have been so disappointed if he’d known how close
they’d come to buying their tickets, but now he’d be able to enjoy their good news unclouded by regret. Soon to become a father himself, he was happier than he’d ever been, free for the moment of the old driving need to help others.

She worked slowly and carefully, aware that every object going into this particular box was precious. Some souvenirs of Sarah, including the picture of Niagara Falls sent by her sister and Grandpa’s leaning candle-stick, as the children called it. The old brown handbag in which she still kept the rent book and some paper money. The cup and saucer from Galloway her mother had carried away from Ardtur and given to her the night before she’d left Currane Lodge to begin her married life.

She’d never actually been reduced to drinking spring water from it, but it had come very close. There’d been weeks when they couldn’t afford tea or sugar, time enough, but she’d been so busy sewing she hadn’t even had time to stop and drink. Besides, she hadn’t been perplexed then, for she’d known exactly what she had to do to keep them going.

Now, it seemed those old anxious worries would be no more. There’d be others, of course, you couldn’t have life without them, but something unbelievably good had indeed come out of the most heartbreaking experience of their lives.

A sudden movement caught her eye. Mary-Anne strode down the path on her way to Battlehill, her
Bible under her arm, looking neither to right nor left.

‘Ye’ll not shed many tears for yer neighbour Mary-Anne, I’m thinkin’, said John, as he’d watched her take cuttings from the flourishing bushes by the front door.

‘No, indeed I won’t. My tears will be for Thomas. I hope you won’t be jealous.’

‘No, sure I know yer fond of him,’ he said easily. ‘an’ he of you. Why wouldn’t he be, an’ you gave him heart to stan’ up to her.’

‘I wish it were different, John. He’s a good man and deserves better. An’ those wee ones have no life.’

‘Yer right about that. But sure, there’s always puzzles we’ll never solve. It’ll fall to others to see the why of it.’

Rose wondered if she could ever see the ‘why’ of Mary-Anne. What possible good did a woman like Mary-Anne do in this world, so bound up in her religion she’d not a moment to offer a word of kindness to the bereaved, or a helping hand to any of the families with injured to care for. Maybe she was a reminder. If you’d known a Mary-Anne and seen the hurt in the eyes of her children and the loneliness in the eyes of her man, it made you so determined to do better yourself.

As she closed the box and tied it firmly round with string she decided that would have to do for an answer, for she could think of nothing better.

Before July was properly over, the day of the move had come. The draymen arrived at noon from Sinton’s of Banbridge, ate a bite with them and loaded up their furniture and all their possessions, carrying it down the lane piece by piece, because the dray was too wide to back up.

Rose was grateful Thomas had gone into town, their goodbyes already said outside the forge, where so much news, had been shared, good and bad.

The place was empty now, well-swept, with only the ash from the cooling fire to sweep up and throw on the garden. The children were sitting under the gable of the forge watching for the chaise, ready with picnic baskets and Ganny to climb aboard and wait while the last few jobs were done.

‘Well, is that it?’ asked John gently, coming back into the kitchen and seeing her standing there looking at the hearth.

‘Yes, that’s it. All clean and tidy for whoever might come. If they come,’ she said without moving.

He waited, watching her. She smiled suddenly.

‘I wish I could take the crane you made for me. I do love it dearly,’ she said easily.

‘Ach, sure they’re almost a thing of the past,’ he said. ‘Maybe someone will come and put it in a museum. Sure you’ll have a stove and gaslight forby. Yer man has his own gas plant an’ has it laid on to the farm.’

‘You didn’t tell me that.’

‘Sure I forgot,’ he said, sheepishly.

She laughed happily as she turned towards him.

‘Do you know, John, I’ve been wondering. Do you think when we meet the neighbours in our new place, anyone will call me “the woman from Kerry.”’