by Alice Taylor
“Do you think that I should offer to drive them to Ross tomorrow?” she asked Jack. “I thought of it but was afraid that Martha would think that I was pushing myself on her.”
“I’d offer anyway,” he told her. “She can always say no.”
“Grand; I’ll run back early in the morning and put it as diplomatically as I can,” she smiled.
When Kate had gone, Jack remained leaning on the gate thinking. It had come as a bit of a surprise when Kate had mentioned his feeling for Nellie, but he was glad to know that she understood. He had always hoped that Nellie had loved him, and Kate seemed to have no doubt about it. It was a good feeling. Nellie was gone, but while he walked the fields of Mossgrove she was still with him.
This time tomorrow night they would know if the provision in her will would change life in Mossgrove.
Chapter Fifteen
WHEN MARTHA AWOKE she lay in bed considering the day ahead because this morning she felt the need to do a bit of thinking. The bad patch after Ned’s death had lodged deep within her a fear of lying there. During those terrible days she had been unable to get herself out of bed and her inner demons had almost destroyed her. That was all in the past, but she was conscious that those demons could be awakened again, and they were nearer the surface early in the morning. This morning, however, she was not giving way to morbid thinking but wondering what the day ahead would bring.
The thing that she did not want to happen was for the gap between herself and Peter to become wider. What was it with herself and Peter? They simply scrope off each other. It had always been like that since he was a little boy. When Ned was alive, he was able to pour oil on their troubled waters, but after his death their relationship had deteriorated. Maybe she had been too distraught to be able to help Peter when he most needed her, but then she had not known what she was doing herself. Their relationship would probably have recovered in time but for her attempt to sell Mossgrove. Peter was devastated by that. Only the fact that she had changed her mind gave her some saving grace in his eyes. Today he would learn that she had not changed her mind but that his grandmother’s will had changed her mind for her.
She had always found Peter difficult, but once he became a teenager he was absolutely impossible. If he got too much headway, she felt that he would walk all over her. She knew that Jack thought that she was wrong, but then Jack and Peter could always discuss their differences and come to an agreement. If only it could be like that between herself and Peter. Her wedding photograph was on the wall at the end of the bed, and at first glance it could be Peter in the picture. He looked so like Ned, but inside he was not in the least bit like him.
She looked around the room, the only one in Mossgrove that she ever felt to be completely hers. The big old timber bed had been Edward Phelan’s, but strangely enough that did not put her off it. He was the one Phelan whom she might have understood. Jack always said he was tough and straight, and she liked people like that. Maybe if Nellie Phelan had had some of his toughness, they would have understood each other better. As it was, you could not argue with Nellie; she just let you have your head. Martha had found that hard to handle. Everyone had thought Nellie Phelan was perfect and it was hard to live with perfection, or at least she had found it so.
Was Peter like herself? She knew that Jack thought so. He had never said it, but then Jack could let you know these things without saying a word. But even if Peter was like her, Jack could still see enough Phelan in him to understand him. As for Jack and herself, there would never be the understanding that he had with Kate and Nora, but still they had a healthy respect for each other. The fact that she had looked after Mossgrove well was an important factor in Jack’s eyes. He loved the land above all.
She looked again at the photograph: Ned and herself twenty-two years ago. They looked so young and happy! She looked at her own face, far more beautiful than it was today, but at the same time a face that had done very little living. Just as well, she thought, that we cannot see down the road ahead of us. That view would certainly have wiped the smile off my face.
Martha had come out of a very different home from Mossgrove. Her father was withdrawn and silent and did not encourage callers, so the easy comings and goings of Mossgrove had been very hard to take, and she had discouraged them from the beginning. That had not gone down well with the neighbours.
Nellie Phelan and Jack were like a guard of honour around Ned, who could do no wrong; Martha felt that she was on approval and that, in their eyes, she never quite measured up. She had found it a difficult situation, and the only way she could handle it was to push them all away from Ned and herself. Ned was often confused by her attitude, but she had her own ways of bringing him into line. Peter, however, was a different kettle of fish and opposed her on all fronts. He was not going to be forced into doing anything that was not his own choice.
She heard Peter’s door bang and then the soft thud of his stockinged feet along the corridor and the usual creak of the third step of the stairs. Jack would have the cows in by now, and Davy would be arriving with a head full of sleep and protestation. Like Ned, getting up in the morning posed no problem for Peter, but Nora was the sleepyhead who hung in there until the last minute.
Martha got out of bed, thinking as she dressed of all she needed to do before they caught the bus to Ross. It would have been handy if Kate had offered a lift as it would have spared so much time. The fact that Kate was in the dark about the will had made a big difference. Old Hobbs had really cleared the air on that one. Of course, he would not put himself out very much to help herself.
She was setting the table for the breakfast when she heard a car in the yard and looking out the window saw Kate’s Morris Minor. When she did not come in straightaway, Martha knew that she had called up to the stalls to Jack and the boys, but a few minutes later she came into the kitchen ahead of them. Kate’s smiling face had always irritated Martha and no less this morning. How on earth could you have anything to smile about at this hour of the morning?
“Martha, would you like a lift to Ross later on?” Kate asked tentatively. “It would be no bother, but if you’d prefer to be on your own I could understand that, too.” Why did Kate always have to be pussyfooting around her?
“It would suit us fine to get a lift,” Martha told her.
“That’s grand, so I’ll be here around two,” Kate said, disappearing out the door and colliding with Peter.
“What’s the hurry?” he demanded. “Why don’t you stay and have a cup of tea with us, or weren’t you asked?”
“I was actually,” she lied, “but I’m in a bit of a rush. I’ll be back later on to take you all to Ross.”
“Oh, good,” he said, “you’ll be there for the unveiling of the past.”
“No, no,” she told him hurriedly. “I’m only chauffeuring.”
“Well, then, you’ll get the news hot off the press,” he told her.
When Kate had gone, Martha decided to take advantage of these few minutes alone with Peter before Jack and Davy came in. She would probably have no other opportunity before they visited Hobbs.
“Peter, whatever happens today, I would like you to know that whatever I did in the past I was doing the best that I could at the time,” she said with difficulty.
“Well, Mother Martha,” he said, “you’re the one who is always complaining about Aunty Kate going around in circles and now you’re at it.”
“Forget it,” she snapped at him, annoyed that he would make no effort to meet her halfway.
“What’s wrong with you?” he demanded. “Are you afraid that today Nana Nellie will be back to haunt you? She’d have good reason, but she won’t bother, because life is probably more peaceful where she is.”
“You’re impossible,” she told him and was glad when Jack and Davy came in the door.
“How’s you mother, Davy?” she asked without thinking and saw the surprise in his face that she bothered to enquire.
“Wouldn’t you call ba
ck to see her?” Peter cut in before Davy had a chance to open his mouth.
“Oh, she’s shagged,” Davy told her, ignoring Peter. “She was the one that was always up yowling around the house at the crack of dawn to get us out of bed. She was worse than Jack here in the morning. Now she wouldn’t care if we died inside in it. I used to be stone mad with her for dragging me out of it so early, but I declare to God, now I’d be glad of it.”
“It will just take time,” she told him, and decided that she would go to see Ellen Shine during the week. At least she had some idea what the poor wretch was going through. The mealtimes in Mossgrove were set in concrete: breakfast after the morning milking, dinner at one o’clock, tea at four o’clock and supper after evening milking. It had to be something important to change the dinnertime, but today Martha brought it forward to twelve in order to avoid rushing to get ready for Ross. She hated rushing; it was the one point of argument between Nora and herself. Nora was a last-minute person who never seemed to have heard of hurry. Wherever they were going, they all finished up waiting for Nora. Today was no different. Peter stood at the foot of the stairs yelling up at her, “Norry, it’s not to a dance you’re going, so what is all the doing up for? I doubt that Old Hobbs is going to be swept off his feet.”
“You’ve no sense of occasion, Peter Phelan,” his sister informed him loftily, coming down the stairs at a leisurely pace. “We are going to see the family solicitor about something that could change the whole course of our lives, so we need to be dressed accordingly.”
“Baloney,” Peter told her. “He probably has some minute legal details to straighten out, and we’ll be rushed in and out like going to the dentist.”
Fine for him to be so relaxed, Martha thought. She was feeling tense about the whole thing.
“Come on, for God’s sake, will ye?” Peter urged. “Kate is outside talking to Jack with the last ten minutes.”
“Is this skirt all right, Peter?” Nora asked, twirling around, and Martha knew that she was just winding him up. They did it to each other all the time.
“I’m going,” he declared and banged the door after him.
“My brother has no patience,” Nora decided. “Come on, Mom, or we’ll be walking after them.”
Out in the yard Peter was in the front of the car with Kate, who was giving him elementary driving instructions. Martha and Nora sat into the back and as Kate drove out of the yard, Jack waved them off.
“We should get a car,” Peter declared.
“You must learn to drive first,” Nora told him.
“A piece of cake,” he assured her.
“I’d probably learn faster than you,” Nora said, “because I wouldn’t get excited so easily.”
“Norry, you’d never get started,” Peter told her.
“Did you never hear the story of the hare and the tortoise?” Nora demanded.
“But even the tortoise moved.”
She lent forward and gave him a smart slap on the back of the head and he ducked sideways, expecting another one.
“Be careful, Pete,” Kate warned, “or we’ll all finish up in the ditch.”
Martha was only half hearing what was going on. She wished that this interview was behind her and whatever the outcome, she could deal with it then. The waiting and not knowing were a strain.
During the entire journey, Nora and Peter kept up a stream of chat with Kate, almost forgetting about Martha, which suited her. When they arrived outside the office, Kate parked and turned back to Martha.
“Will we all meet in the hotel across the road in an hour’s time?” she suggested. “We’ll have tea together, and if you’re all there before me, go ahead and I’ll join you when I’m finished. I’ve a few things to do.”
Martha knew that she was giving them time to sort themselves out before she joined them.
“Oh, that will be just lovely,” Nora declared, before her mother had a chance to voice an opinion.
“Not so slow now, Norry,” Peter teased.
“Stay quiet,” Nora ordered. “I love having tea out. There is something very posh about it.”
“God help you.”
When they went into Mr Hobbs’ waiting room, Peter and Nora looked around curiously.
“Mark would have a great time in here,” Peter decided, looking around at all the bare walls.
“Shush,” Nora whispered fiercely when the secretary looked disapprovingly over her spectacles at them. “This is probably the way these kind of places are supposed to look.”
“Depress the clients before you get them in,” Peter suggested.
“Peter, you have an opinion on everything,” Nora told him scornfully, “even things that you know absolutely nothing about.”
They sat on a hard timber bench opposite a door through which the secretary had disappeared. When she returned, she held the door open.
“Mr Hobbs will see you now,” she informed them, and they trooped in.
Mr Hobbs placed his gold-framed spectacles on the polished desk and uncoiled his thin length from behind it. He came forward and shook hands formally with the three of them.
“You sit here, Mrs Phelan,” he said, indicating Martha to an upright armchair in front of his desk. “And now, Miss Phelan, would you like to sit here?” He put a straightbacked chair on Martha’s left. “And you here, Mr Phelan,” and Peter was seated on her right.
Now that we are all to his satisfaction, he will start to play God, Martha thought.
“Thank you for coming,” he began courteously, which Martha thought a bit unnecessary because after all they did not have much choice.
“Are you all quite comfortable?” he asked, and she felt like shouting, Will you for God’s sake get on with it. But Mr Hobbs was in no hurry. He drew the green file, the only thing on his desk, toward him and carefully drew out the yellow document. Martha felt as if he were opening the lid of Nellie Phelan’s coffin. Hobbs would be doing the reading, but it would be her voice speaking. A slight shiver ran up her spine. Peter looked at her peculiarly and she pulled herself together.
“Now, Mr Phelan,” Mr Hobbs began in his silken voice, “I believe that you will soon be twenty-one, coming of age, so to speak.” He smiled thinly.
“That’s right,” Peter told him.
“Well,” Mr Hobbs continued, unfolding the document and ironing it out on the desk with the side of his long, thin hand, “we won’t go into all the legal details, but in essence what is relevant at the moment is that this will states that if either of your parents had died before you attained you majority, you would then become a partner with the other in the farm known as Mossgrove.”
There was absolute silence in the room. Martha could hardly believe what she was hearing. Peter a partner in Mossgrove! He would be impossible. It just could not work. They could never work it out between them. Her mouth had gone dry and she could feel her head thumping. She became aware that Peter was speaking.
“What exactly does that mean?” he was asking in a shaky voice.
“Exactly what it says. You will be party to all decisions. Your mother cannot act without your consent and you cannot act without hers. That applies to all management and working decisions on the farm. Now, as regards the financial side of things, both your names will go on to the Mossgrove bank account.”
There would be no new house. She heard Mr Hobbs voice from a long way off.
“And now for you, Miss Phelan,” Hobbs continued, smiling at Nora who smiled back uncertainly, not quite sure of all the implications unfolding around her, “you will have right-of-residency in Mossgrove until you decide to marry. If you never marry, it will continue for life.”
“What is right-of-residency?” she ventured.
“The right to live there,” he said.
“But, sure, of course she’ll have that,” Peter broke in indignantly.
“Of course,” Hobbs said agreeably, “but it has another implication. Mr Phelan, should you ever decide to sell Mossgrove, she could pr
event it.”
“That won’t arise,” Peter told him shortly.
“Glad to hear it,” Mr Hobbs told him.
Martha’s mind snapped back into alertness. Now it would come out about Kate’s objecting to the sale of Mossgrove, and whatever hope herself and Peter had of working together would be blown away for ever. She could see Peter straining to take in all the implications, and with his next question she held her breath.
“When Nana Nellie left the farm to Dad, did she make the same arrangements?” he asked.
It would be important for Peter that he was being treated the same as his father. Now, she thought, he is going to find out!
Then to her amazement she heard Old Hobbs say, “Your aunt had a very good job when you father died and could support herself.”
It was not a lie, simply an evasion of the truth. She looked at him in amazement, and he returned her gaze with an expressionless face and then smiled vaguely at the three of them.
“Will we get a copy of the will?” Peter asked.
“You know, Mr Phelan, sometimes wills are like life and it is better to deal with them when the relevant events unfold,” he said evenly, and Martha knew that they would not get a copy and for that she was grateful. But Peter was still in search of details.
“But what if my mother and I run into difficulties?” he persisted.
“And that may be a possibility,” Hobbs told him, and Martha felt that he had the situation well sized up.
“More than a possibility,” Peter assured him.
“Well, in that event, we have two executors, Mr Jack Tobin and Mrs Sarah Jones, both lifelong trusted friends of your grandmother’s. They will see that the will is administered fairly,” he told them.
Martha’s feelings were in disarray. What she had dreaded most had not happened, but the will had presented her with another problem. What was it that Jack used to say? That worries are often overcome by events. It had just happened.
Mr Hobbs was rising to his feet, letting them know that the interview was coming to a close.
