The Hawthorns Bloom in May

by Anne Doughty

  ‘Oh dear, the things that come into one’s mind. I had a sudden memory of you standing at that door, looking like a well-dressed tramp, great dark circles under your eyes, your hair grey with ash. Do you remember you were so exhausted I had to wash your face for you?’

  Sarah smiled herself and then laughed wryly.

  ‘And wasn’t Martha Loney sitting by the fire and Sam not able to take his eyes off her?’

  They were both silent for a few moments.

  ‘An awful lot has happened in eleven years, Sarah dear,’ said Rose slowly. ‘I often wonder where another decade will take us. If we’re here to see it, that is.’

  ‘Of course you will, Ma,’ Sarah protested. ‘In 1922, you’ll only be sixty-nine.’

  Rose smiled and shook her head.

  ‘There’s no decade of my life, Sarah, where I could have guessed what was going to happen, good or bad. When we were put out of Ardtur, did we ever think of Kerry, or Annacramp, or Salter’s Grange, or Ballydown? Did I ever think I’d marry a man from the north and have two fine sons and two beautiful daughters?’

  ‘And lose one son to pride and the other to a self-centred woman?’ Sarah retorted.

  ‘No, I never imagined that,’ Rose said steadily. ‘Perhaps it’s as well we don’t know what lies ahead of us. Often we can find courage, when things jump up and hit us, like you did this morning, but sometimes if we think too much about what might happen, it undermines our good spirits and disables us. I think it’s better to travel hopefully even if one is upset or disappointed, rather than always looking over your shoulder.’

  ‘Yes. In principle, I agree, but there are times I just can’t manage it,’ Sarah admitted. ‘I worry about the children, about the world we live in, about the poor, the hungry and the exploited,’ she went on sadly, a look of real dejection taking the light from her eyes and the animation from her face.

  Rose stood up, came over and kissed her.

  ‘So do I, love,’ she said reassuringly. ‘We wouldn’t be much good to each other if we didn’t, now would we?’

  Beyond asking if Sarah had called, John said little that evening when he came in, late and tired and Rose did not press him. In the days that followed, however, she became increasingly anxious about him. He seemed abstracted, almost unaware of her gentle enquiries and certainly more tired than usual, whether the day had been spent in the workshop or the boardroom.

  ‘What about the big order, love? Did it go out on time all right?’ she asked one humid, July evening some three weeks after the stoppage.

  ‘Aye, it did,’ he said, nodding.

  She watched as he took off the jacket of his suit, hung it over the back of a chair and came to the table for his supper. She served up their meal and waited, hoping he might volunteer some comment about the day, but he didn’t. He just began to eat slowly and automatically.

  Her mother-in-law, Sarah, had once said that all the Hamiltons had good appetites and indeed there was a time when both Sam and John had never failed to look hopefully for a second helping. But not tonight. She knew even before she offered that John would just shake his head and say, ‘That was very nice.’

  She tried changing the subject, passing on scraps of local news brought by Emily Jackson, the lively young niece of their closest neighbours who worked the farm at the foot of the hill, but there was no response beyond a nod or a raise of the eyebrows.

  ‘Are you very tired, love?’ she asked as they sat down by the fireside after their meal.

  ‘Ach no, no.’

  He seemed about to say something, but no word emerged. Preoccupied with the way he looked, his face grey and immobile, she handed him a mug of tea instead of setting it on the edge of the stove as she usually did. He put out a hand to grasp it, but it slipped from his fingers and smashed on the stone floor. As he bent towards the broken pieces, she saw a look of pain cross his face.

  ‘Dear, dear,’ he said breathlessly, as he bent to pick up the fragments, but the pain caught him again and he had to lean back in his chair.

  ‘John love, what’s wrong?’ she asked, as calmly as she could manage.

  ‘Ach it’s nothing. Ah must have done something awkward in the workshop. It gives me this pain across m’ chest.’

  ‘And when did it start?’

  ‘A while back.’

  ‘And you didn’t tell me?’ she said softly.

  ‘Sure we all get pains and aches, Rose, at our age. It goes away in a while,’ he said, sitting back awkwardly in his chair.

  ‘Are you telling me the half of it, John Hamilton?’ she said, managing a smile.

  ‘Ach, maybe I’m not, but sure I didn’t mean to keep anythin’ from ye,’ he said sheepishly. ‘You have your worries too. I know yer not happy about Sam and Martha and those wee childer, and sure Sarah’s not her old self at all.’

  ‘And are you going to add to my worries or will you go over and see Richard tomorrow?’

  ‘D’ you think I should?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Well …’

  ‘Good, then that’s settled,’ said Rose briskly. ‘Now take off that shirt and I’ll rub your shoulders with Elizabeth’s oil. Then I’ll make another pot of tea and you can tell me what’s been happening that has you holding one shoulder higher than the other.’

  Rose knew she could rely on Richard to be honest with them and he was. He took them into his surgery, settled Rose in a comfortable armchair and then spent a long time examining John’s chest, making him move in various directions and breathe to a particular rhythm.

  ‘There’s a great deal of tension in the muscles, John. What I can’t tell for sure is what’s causing it. It could be anxiety in itself, but it could be something more serious,’ he said coolly.

  ‘Angina pectoris is only the Latin name for a pain in the chest,’ he said, as John put his shirt back on. ‘But it can be a symptom of heart trouble. What is somewhat comforting about angina is that the pain is a warning and if properly heeded, it is not a threat in itself. I’ve known patients with angina live to a ripe old age, but they do have to take care and rest when the pain tells them they’ve done enough. They also have to avoid anxiety,’ he ended more firmly.

  ‘Aye, well,’ said John wryly.

  ‘Yes, John, I know you well enough by now,’ said Richard, eyeing him as he reached for his jacket. ‘There’s no patent medicine for your problem, or if there is, I wouldn’t prescribe it anyway, but there is something we can do. We’ll summon Elizabeth and Sarah to join you and Rose and we’ll have a family board meeting. Whatever’s causing this pain, John, part of it is the weight of Sinton’s Mills. I’ve never operated on a mill before, but there’s always a first time,’ he said grinning. ‘And I’ll have three great nurses to help me.’

  The family board meeting did a great deal to comfort John. Both Elizabeth and Sarah, the other major owners of Sintons, were quite clear that the changes they’d planned before Hugh’s death would have to be advanced more quickly. At least two more working directors were needed to help, or replace, the directors who were simply consultants. The plan to go public had to be speeded up. With two more directors to handle the day to day overseeing of the mills, John could return to his major role, the responsibility for keeping the current machinery working and buying the new machinery that would keep all four mills properly up to date.

  The decisions made in Elizabeth and Richard’s comfortable sitting room did bring some relief, both to John, who now admitted how anxious he’d been feeling, and to Rose, who noticed within days that John was looking better and had started talking to her again. But it was not until the beginning of September, on a warm, sunlit afternoon, that something happened which changed the whole situation in a way the family board meeting could never have imagined.

  Rose had been gardening and had just washed her hands in the dairy when she caught the vibration of a vehicle on the hill. Assuming it was Sarah, she went to the door to wave to her as she passed or greet her if she slowed down an
d stopped. To her surprise, the motor which appeared, its bodywork gleaming, its lamps polished till they flashed in the sun, was much larger and far grander than Sarah’s. She reached the front door just as it drew up beside the garden wall and first one young man, stepped down, then another and made their way round the vehicle towards the garden gate.

  ‘Good day,’ she greeted them, as they strode up the narrow path one behind the other.

  ‘Missus Hamilton?’ said the first, a small, robust young fellow with clear blue eyes that looked straight at her.

  ‘Yes, the very person,’ she said easily.

  There was something familiar about his face. She felt sure she ought to know him, but she couldn’t place him. For a moment, she wondered if he might be a friend of Sam’s from the days when he worked down at Tullyconnaught, before his move to Richhill, but she doubted if a friend of Sam’s was likely to arrive in such state.

  ‘Ned Wylie,’ the young man said cheerfully. ‘You’ll not remember me.’

  Rose laughed.

  ‘I would have known you, Ned, if I’d thought a bit longer. You’ve got your mother’s eyes. Come in, come in,’ she said warmly, her smile including the stranger who stood patiently watching them.

  Ned followed her into the house, then turned to his companion, a tall, sombre-faced man of about his own age with dark hair and eyes and noticeably broad shoulders.

  ‘This here is Alexander Hamilton,’ he said, introducing him to Rose with a brief nod. ‘He wanted to meet you, so I said I’d bring him over on my day off. He’s got somethin’ to ask you,’ he went on cheerfully, ‘Aye, an’ indeed, so have I.’

  ‘Hamilton?’ said Rose, turning to the young man whose dark eyes were fixed firmly upon her. She shook his hand, beaming at him. ‘Are you one of our long-lost relatives?’

  ‘Well,’ he began awkwardly, his eyes flickering away from her face for the first time. ‘I think it’s just possible, ma’am, but I’ve such a bad memory I’m not sure myself,’ he said, his soft Canadian accent a marked contrast with the strong lines of his face and the obvious strength of his body.

  Rose insisted on making tea and was pleased to see both her visitors settle comfortably by the fire. Alexander Hamilton, she noted, was looking round the room, taking in its every detail, while Ned Wylie was extracting a well-wrapped parcel from the bag he’d been carrying. He set it down carefully on the corner of the kitchen table.

  So amazed and intrigued was she by her unexpected callers, Rose discovered she had the greatest difficulty keeping her mind on the simple business of making tea.

  ‘Ned, it’s a beautiful motor,’ she said, glancing through the open door as she lifted a fruitcake from its tin, cut generous slices and arranged them on a cakeplate.

  ‘She is indeed, Missus Hamilton. I wish she were mine,’ he said laughing. ‘I work for Loudan’s in Armagh. Weddings, funerals and visitors wi’ plenty o’ money. He lets me have the motor for the odd day when I’ve had a lot of extra work an’ we go a bit slack. I keep her runnin’ ye see, an’ I tell him she sometimes needs a real old run to keep her in good heart. It’s true all right, but Peggy says I’m the crafty one tellin’ him that an’ gettin’ the car for the day,’ he went on happily, his blue eyes moving between Rose and the plate of fruitcake.

  ‘This one has them all beaten for guile.’

  Rose smiled to herself. She was back in the kitchen of the house opposite the forge, making tea for his mother, her dear friend, Mary. She’d been feeding him and had put him down on the bed to sleep, but she wasn’t hopeful. Waving her arms with fingers crossed on both hands she’d come back out of the bedroom, waiting for his usual outburst, but on that day young Ned had slept.

  ‘Yes, I know about motors, Ned. You have to in this house,’ she explained, turning towards the stranger. ‘My husband’s been mad about motors since ever I’ve known him,’ she went on. ‘Sam, my son, is just as bad. Even Sarah, my daughter, can fix her own if it gives her trouble and her father’s not about,’ she went on, coming between them to the stove to make the tea.

  ‘How is Peggy? I owe her a letter,’ said Rose, glancing down at Ned as she put the lid back on the teapot.

  Every time she looked at him now, she could see his mother. It was quite disconcerting. This was the child Mary had thrown through the window of the runaway excursion train a few minutes before she herself was killed in the crash that followed. Ned had been found, unmarked, in the middle of a bush. His two older brothers lay with Mary in the shadow of the church at Salter’s Grange.

  ‘She’s well. An’ Da too. An’ my wee sister’s gettin’ married next month,’ Ned went on with a grin. ‘That’s us all married now.’

  Rose asked one or two more questions and Ned chatted on happily, filling in the latest news from the Wylie family while the tea brewed, but then, concerned he might feel neglected, she turned to speak to Alexander Hamilton.

  To her surprise, before she had opened her mouth, he immediately got to his feet.

  ‘You come here, ma’am, to your own chair, opposite Ned. I’ll sit over here.’

  Without the slightest fuss, he drew a kitchen chair from under the table and settled himself between them as if the only thing he wanted to do was share their enjoyment in their talk.

  Apart from pausing briefly to demolish his cake in generous mouthfuls, Ned moved on from the Wylie family to tell Rose the news from Annacramp and Salter’s Grange. He passed on good wishes from old neighbours and particularly from Selina and Thomas Scott, who were hoping to see them again soon. It was some time before he paused and remembered the parcel sitting on the table.

  ‘Peggy gave me this last year when Jeannie and I got married,’ he said with a sideways look. ‘She said it might come in handy. An’ indeed it won’t be long now. Jeannie’s expecting next month,’ he said, colouring slightly, as he handed her the parcel and waited while she opened it.

  ‘She said she wasn’t sure, but she had a good idea that it was you made that. I’d made up me mind to come an’ ask you, even before yer man here turned up,’ he said slowly, casting a quick glance at Alexander, before turning back to watch Rose closely as she unfold the christening robe she’d once made to thank Mary for all the help she’d given her with the children after Granny Sarah had died.

  ‘Shure he’ll look like a wee Prince.’

  Rose spread out the delicate fabric on her knee. Her eyes misted as she recognised the pattern of flowers she had scattered across it. She nodded at Ned, an uncomfortable lump in her throat.

  ‘That’s a beautiful thing ma’am.’

  Rose was almost startled at the softness and unexpectedness of Alexander Hamilton’s comment. She turned to him and saw he was holding out his hands towards her.

  ‘May I?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ she said, touched by the gentleness of the request and the way he handled the fabric, as if it were infinitely more delicate than it actually was.

  There were several moments of absolute silence, when even the irrepressible Ned said nothing. Then Alexander, who had studied each tiny flower individually, handed her back the robe.

  ‘You’re a lucky man, Ned,’ he said soberly, looking Ned full in the face. ‘That’s a beautiful thing ma’am,’ he repeated, as if it was a matter of great importance to him.

  ‘Well then, Alexander, I’m dying to know what’s brought you all the way from Canada to Annacramp. What part of Canada do you come from?’

  Rose saw a sudden flicker of anxiety in Alexander’s dark eyes, but it was so fleeting she wondered if perhaps she was mistaken.

  ‘I’ve moved about a bit,’ he said, easily enough. ‘I was in Canada a long time, but my last place was in Pennsylvania, a place called German Township, in Lafayette County. That’s where I met your brother, ma’am, Mister Sam McGinley. About two years ago.’

  ‘You met Sam?’ Rose cried, delighted and amazed they should have met in this unknown place, so far away. ‘How extraordinary. But how did you meet him?’

&n
bsp; ‘Well, it was a meeting of farm labourers he was addressing. You probably know, ma’am, farm workers don’t get very well paid. Some get nothing much beyond their keep. And poor food and a bed in the straw at that.’

  ‘Yes, Sam’s told me all about it. Did you know he’s come back to Ireland?’

  ‘No, ma’am, I didn’t. I just met him the once after the meeting,’ he said, looking slightly startled. ‘That’s when he mentioned Annacramp.’

  Rose looked puzzled, but said nothing.

  ‘When I went to ask him some questions, I told him my name and he said, ‘That’s a good Ulster name. My sister Rose is married to a Hamilton from Annacramp.’ And I asked him where that was and he told me it was about three miles outside of Armagh on the Loughgall Road. So I knew where to go.’

  ‘But what made you come?’

  Rose watched his face, trying to grasp the difficulty he was having in finding words.

  ‘My mother once said that my grandfather had come from Ireland. I’m nearly sure she said Annacramp, for I kinda knew the name when your brother said it, but I was only a wee thing when she died.’

  ‘And your father?’ Rose prompted gently.

  ‘My mother was a widow. I don’t know what happened him at all,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘I can hardly remember my mother.’

  ‘And what happened you when your mother died?’

  ‘I was put in an orphanage till I was old enough to go to work.’

  ‘And what age was that?’ asked Rose, who couldn’t bear not to know the rest of Alexander’s story.

  ‘I was big for my age, so they let me go at nine. Though ten’s the age, I’m told,’ he said, in the same matter-of-fact tone in which he’d answered almost all of her questions.

  Rose put her hands to her face and thought of her own children. Even Sam, who was taller now than Alexander and had shoulders just as broad, was only a wee thing when he was nine, still liable to shed tears when he was upset and to climb on her lap to be comforted.

  ‘So you decided to come and find your family?’