It had rained earlier in the day so at least the dust that usually blew about the yard had settled, but it now lay as grey sludge under her boots. Mattie lifted her skirts to stop them dragging across the ground and followed Brian towards the house.
The Maguire home was set at the far end of the yard. It was a two-up two-down like the rest of the street but about five years ago, just before he died, Brian’s father had built a two-storey extension to the side. The new downstairs room was joined to the house immediately inside the front door and was a large family parlour while the upstairs room became the company office overlooking the yard and reached by an outside wooden staircase. Brian went around the back of the house and through the small garden.
‘Mam, we’re back,’ Brian called as he pushed open the back door with his foot.
Queenie, Brian’s mother, stood by the deep kitchen sink but turned from her task as soon as they entered.
Unlike most of the folk in Knockfurgus, Queenie Maguire wasn’t from the old country. Her family, the Bruntons, had lived along the river long before the Irish arrived, back in the last century. She was finely boned, with a tiny button nose that gave her face a childlike quality. In contrast, a lifetime of housework had developed her thin arms into stringy muscles and given her knotted knuckles perpetual redness. In the light from the kitchen window her fine, almost white hair showed a hint of the gold it used to be.
‘Did you get caught in the rain?’ she asked, looking anxiously over her son.
‘Just for a moment,’ Brian replied, sliding the box from his shoulder onto the kitchen table.
The furrows in Queenie’s fair brow deepened. She left her chores and went to her son’s side. ‘Are you wet?’ She placed her hand on his sleeve.
Queenie, who barely came up to Mattie’s shoulder, was positively dwarfed by her son. Mattie pondered, not for the first time, how a body so diminutive could produce a man the size of Brian.
‘No, Mam, I’m not,’ he replied, looking down at her with a patient expression on his face.
‘Are you sure? Damp will draw a chill to your bones in the wink of an eye. Won’t it Mattie?’ she asked, looking across to her.
Mattie smiled. Seeing his mother fuss over Brian as if he were eight instead of twenty-eight slightly niggled her but, as Queenie had been brought to bed six unsuccessful times before delivering her son, she couldn’t really blame her. Perhaps she would be the same if she were in Queenie’s shoes.
Brian took his mother’s hands. ‘Mam, rest your mind from its fretting. I’m fine. Now is there a brew of tea for me and Mattie?’
Queenie’s face crinkled into a smile. ‘Of course there is, son.’ She shuffled over to the range and moved the kettle to the heat.
Mattie eyed the massive iron oven sitting in what had been the fireplace. Brian had bought it for his mother last year after they got the contract to supply coal to Hoffman the baker’s two shops. Having only cooked on her mother’s fire Mattie wondered if she would ever master its two ovens and array of hot plates, but she did relish soon having hot water on tap, literally, from the reservoir beside the fire.
‘And how is our Mattie?’ asked Queenie, turning her attention to her.
‘Very well, thank you, Mrs Maguire,’ Mattie replied.
‘Tush!’ she waved a bird-like hand in the air. ‘Haven’t I told you to call me Queenie? Everyone does. And,’ she glanced at Mattie’s stomach, ‘how are things?’
Everyone in the family knew she was with child although her condition couldn’t be spoken about openly until after she and Brian were wed, but her Mam and Queenie were forever asking how ‘things’ were.
Mattie blushed. ‘As they should be.’
‘Good, good.’ Queenie gave a happy shrug.
Brian smiled at Mattie over his mother’s head. ‘I’ll go and fetch your trunk from the wagon.’
‘And I’ll take my things upstairs, if I may, Mrs . . . Queenie,’ Mattie said.
‘You do that, dear, while I sort you out a splash of tea and maybe a nice bit of fruit cake.’ She screwed up her shoulders again. ‘Just to keep your strength up.’
Mattie picked up the bundle of linen and left the kitchen. Passing along the newly papered hall she went upstairs and into the front bedroom.
The faint smell of turps still lingered from where Brian had whitewashed the ceiling and walls and put another coat of paint over the window frames. Sadly, it would need doing again in a year or two. The coal dust from the yard meant that Queenie never opened the house windows. Despite this the black flecks of coal still mananged to creep into the house somehow.
Mattie rested her bundle on the bed, untied the knot and scooped up the two sets of sheets and matching bolster cases. Folding them carefully, she placed them in the pine chest at the foot of the bed.
Closing the lid, she went and sat on the new cast iron bed with the smart brass knobs at each corner. She ran her hand over the patchwork counterpane, feeling the contrasting fabric under her fingertips. She and Brian had done most of their courting on the sofa in the parlour but in a couple of days they would have the comfort of their new bed and she would have the thrill of waking up beside him in it each morning.
‘I thought you might need these, too,’ Brian’s voice said from the doorway.
She turned and smiled at him. Brian set the box on the chair then sat on the bed beside her. A spring bonged under his weight.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘Mam’s a sound sleeper.’
Mattie slapped his upper arm and he caught her and rolled her on the bed.
Mattie looked up into his blue eyes as he gazed down into her brown ones. A fizz of excitement went through her as she felt his weight pressing on her.
‘Are things well?’ he asked, resting his hand lightly on her stomach.
‘They are very well and growing each day. I think I felt a movement yesterday.’
Brian gave her such a look that she swore she felt her bones melt. ‘Grand,’ he said softly.
She reached up and ran her finger through his hair. ‘How many do you want?
‘Three boys to work the wagons and two girls to sit on their father’s knee and adore him,’ he replied, his gaze running slowly over her face.
The image of Josie and Patrick standing together flashed into Mattie’s mind and a lump formed in her throat.
What heartbreak, she thought, as tears gathered, to be so very much in love and without any hope. She was so blessed to have found Brian.
‘I love you, Brian Maguire,’ she said, as a tear escaped and rolled down her cheek.
He pressed his mouth on hers in a long kiss. ‘And I love you too, Mattie Nolan.’
Chapter Eleven
Under the benevolent gaze of the Virgin with the Christ child in her sculptured arms, the priest gave Mattie and Brian his final blessing. They had been to the parish church of St George’s the day before for legal requirements but the nuptial mass was their real wedding ceremony.
The Virginia Street Mission had been a coffee warehouse not so long ago, but the aroma of roasted beans had now been replaced by the heady scent of incense. With its whitewashed interior, draped high altar and brightly coloured figures of the saints lining its walls, St Mary’s and St Michael’s was the main place of worship for Knockfergus’s Catholic population.
The boy operating the organ bellows jumped from his seat and heaved them up and down. Mattie and Brian turned and faced their family and friends as the organ struck up a long chord.
The choir boys filed out, and the congregation rose and followed the newly married couple down the aisle and out into the bright June sunshine. Squashed between the pews, Josie lost sight of the bride and groom in the crush to get out. Someone caught her arm and she turned to find Kate and Hannah Nolan grinning at her.
Kate’s golden locks were swept up into a loose becoming knot at the nape of her neck while Hannah’s light brown hair was plaited across the top of her head.
‘Wait for us,’ Kate said, he
r bright blue eyes dancing as she held onto the arm of her younger sister.
‘Let’s head for the side - it’s less crowded,’ Josie said, pointing over the sea of heads.
‘Good idea,’ Kate said, heading towards the chapel door.
Gathering her skirt with one hand and holding her bonnet in place with the other, Josie followed the flow of people heading out of the church. Although they were jostled as they went, the three young women laughed and joked and when Josie lost one slim-fitting pump and had to skip back for it, people happily moved aside while she found it.
Hannah smoothed down her new, dark blue gown. Although it fitted her rounded figure well, its lack of adornment or frills marked it out as a servant’s outfit. Hannah had done her best by adding a detachable collar but it still looked very like the gown Daisy had made from the fabric Josie had bought her.
‘Goodness, so many people,’ Hannah said, straightening the collar around her throat.
‘Every one wants to give Mattie and Brian a good send off,’ her sister said, ‘me included. Now she’s gone there’ll be a lot more room in the bed.’
‘You’ve still got Pat’s Annie,’ Hannah replied.
Kate laughed. ‘Aye, but she takes no more than a slither of the room and she don’t snore all night.’
Josie and Hannah giggled, then Kate took them by their arms, urging them along. ‘Come on, or the happy couple will be taking their leave of us all before we’ve even arrived.
The procession back to Walburgh Street was a merry affair. People from the surrounding streets came out to wish the young couple well, and women with shawls over their heads stood in open doorways next to working men with pipes stuck in their mouths. Some of them offered advice for a long life to the new bride and groom, while barefooted children darted back and forth, jumping and giggling.
It had rained first thing and the cobbles were still wet, but it had settled the blacks - the small flecks of soot from the local chimneys that fluttered in the air like ebony snow. The downpour had washed the worst of the refuse away too, thereby sweetening the early summer air. The warm June sunlight warmed Josie’s cheeks and she turned her face up to feel it.
Kate tugged at her arm. ‘Wasn’t it a lovely Mass?’ she said, picking up their pace.
Josie nodded. ‘That it was.’ She looked towards the front of the crowd and could just see Mattie in her pink wedding dress, the ring of waxed orange blossoms nestling on her black curls.
‘Mattie’s dress looked a wonder,’ Hannah said, looking Josie up and down. ‘You haven’t lost your skills with the needle.’
Josie smiled with satisfaction. Hannah wasn’t the only one to remark on the bride’s pretty gown.
‘No doubt you have your own dressmaker now,’ Hannah continued, with just a hint of envy in her voice.
Josie flushed with embarrassment. It had been quite difficult to settle on what to wear, for she didn’t want to overshadow her less well-off friends. Eventually she’d decided on her apple-green twilled silk day dress, which had a deep frill around the hem and a subtle, but pretty, lace trim around the neckline and cuffs. It also had a nipped-in waist, and for once she hadn’t complained about her mother’s insistence on a second lacing. She’d thought the dress unremarkable enough but it was clear that it was still grander than everyone else’s in the street.
Kate gave her younger sister a sharp look then smiled at Josie. ‘The orange blossom headdress is just perfect.’
‘I saw it and couldn’t resist it,’ Josie replied.
‘You bought it in Bond Street, you say,’ Hannah said, still studying the details of Josie’s gown.
‘No, Regent Street,’ Josie replied, giving Hannah a tight smile.
Annie dashed through the crowd. ‘There you are, Miss Josie,’ she said taking hold of her hand.
Josie felt an instant sense of pride. She had found one of Lottie’s old dresses and refashioned it to fit Annie. She’d felt tears start in her eyes when she buttoned the little girl into her gown that morning and saw the utter joy in her face.
‘Where’s Mickey?’ Josie asked.
‘He’s already at the cake table,’ Annie said, rolling her eyes and looking very like her grandmother. ‘With Uncle Gus.’
Josie laughed. ‘I bet he is. He’s spoken of nothing else since I arrived this morning.’
Annie skipped along beside Josie, and her own aunts, and all four soon reached the bottom of the street.
‘Your mam looks a picture in her new jacket and bonnet,’ Josie said, watching Sarah Nolan as she strolled along behind the bride and groom.
‘Aye, and look at Brian’s ma in her spruce new outfit,’ Kate said.
‘Well, Maguire and Son is one of the busiest coal yards in the area. Why wouldn’t Brian’s mother splash out a shilling or two for her only son’s wedding?’ Hannah replied, then knitted her fair brow into a frown as she asked ‘Who’s that with Gus?’
Kate stood on tip-toes and looked across. ‘I don’t know,’ she replied, studying the pretty young woman looking adoringly up at their brother ‘Let’s go and find out.’
Josie watched Kate and Hannah weave their way through the crowd, and then her gaze travelled on to the wedding party and fixed on Patrick. She couldn’t help it. She didn’t seem able to stop herself. Her eyes ran over him again and, with his attention elsewhere, Josie allowed herself the luxury of an unhurried study.
He stood behind his mother, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. The shoulders of the suit he wore could have done with an inch or so more room to accommodate the breadth of his upper body but, considering it was probably bought at one of the cheap clothing warehouses around Shoreditch, it fitted remarkably well. Even the slight sag at the knees of the snugly fitted trousers didn’t detract from his long, well-shaped legs.
As if he knew her eyes were on him, Patrick looked over at her and smiled. Josie’s heart turned in her chest.
Why on earth would Rosa have looked elsewhere with Patrick by her side? She wondered, yet again.
Someone spoke to him and he turned, which allowed Josie to study his face. The shape and form of his lips fascinated her as he mouthed words, as did the sweep of his dark brows. She noticed again his square hands and long fingers, with their closely clipped nails. She remembered the strength of his hands too, from the way he had gripped Harry Tugman.
Josie imagined those hands - hands that had once slid around her waist and held her - holding Rosa instead. Did she, that woman who had played him false, thrill to his touch the way Josie had all those years ago? And did she run her finger lightly over her lips after he’d kissed her in an attempt to keep the memory for as long as possible? How could any woman desire another man if Patrick was beside her?
Now, Patrick himself, smiling, was walking towards her. The breath left her body, and Josie O’Casey knew in that moment what she’d really known all along: she loved Patrick Nolan.
As he came up beside her, a long note from a fiddle cut through the air, the signal to start the dancing. People all around them surged forward and Patrick reached out his hand to Josie.
‘May I escort you into the party?’
She curled her hand around his arm and he led her forward.
Walburgh Street buzzed with activity. Sarah’s neighbours had dragged tables outside from all their houses. These were now lined up along one side of the street, and the women were bringing out bowls and plates of food. Across from them, the men milled around, talking and pouring beer from jugs.
Patrick led Josie over to greet the newlyweds. Mattie’s face lit up as she saw them approaching. She jumped up and hugged Josie.
‘I’m so happy for you and you look beautiful in that dress,’ Josie said to her friend.
Mattie glanced at her brother. ‘And you make a grand couple,’ she said in a low voice.
Josie lowered her eyes but her cheeks grew warm.
‘I have to stay with me mam for the formalities,’ Patrick said, giving her a heart-stopping smile<
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‘Of course,’ Josie replied. She let go of his arm and he stepped behind his mother again.
Someone else came forward to greet the happy couple so Josie walked away to chat with the neighbours. Colly Bonney, whom she’d met before the ceremony, came over with her colourful children and introduced her to some of the other boatmen’s wives and, after sharing some good-hearted banter, a comforting sense of belonging stole over her.
She wouldn’t wish Bobby, Lottie or the boys to live the life she’d known as a girl, with barely enough to eat and the terrible spectre of the workhouse if Mam was unemployed, but then again they wouldn’t know the comfort of knocking on any door in the street, always sure of a welcome. The people in Knockfergus didn’t worry about what next door had, because everyone had the same: nothing.
A Glimpse at Happiness Page 15
