She wondered whether to call out, but decided against it. The path was clear as she rushed along to where it opened out into the small jetty. Arnold had it built so he could launch a boat to cast a better line for fish.
Connie was further along, deep in the reeds, moving through the water, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Eve watched her for a few seconds before calling out softly to her.
Connie had catapulted through the yew walk, tears streaming down her face, but by the time she got to the lake, a strange calm had taken over. The water curled around her ankles, seeping into her shoes. The stones on the lake bed scraped her, the cold water hitting against her legs, making her tights stick to her, pinching at her clothes. Her legs heavy, she waded out further, the water washing up her thighs, invading under her blouse, curling up around her chest.
She could end it all here. She could do it: sit down and let the water rise around her, consume her. If they knew why, they would say who could blame her.
She could lie down and feel the water coming over her face, seeping around her neck, crawling down her throat, soaking her long hair.
She could do it, the water a balm on her tired head, soothing, caressing the ache in her heart.
The sunlight streaked a path across the water. She turned to follow it.
Eve’s voice was loud and clear.
“Connie, turn this way please. Turn to me. I am here.”
Eve was standing up to her ankles, holding a life ring.
“I am going to throw it, Connie, you hold on to it. Will you do that?”
Connie looked away, stumbling into a hole on the lake bed, the water above her chest suddenly.
Eve threw the ring.
“Grab on to it, Connie. I will guide you in.”
Connie grasped the ring. Eve heaved hard to pull her in to shore, her breath going, her arms aching, but she was afraid to stop and rest, even when Connie was in the shallows. When Connie came close to her, she grabbed her arms, pulling her through the reeds up onto the jetty, where they both lay coughing and spluttering.
“What were you thinking of, Connie? We need to get you back to the house and out of those wet clothes or you will get your death.” Realising what she had said, Eve shut up.
“It would be too bad if you saved me from the lake for me to die of a common cold,” Connie said, a hysterical ring to her voice.
They ran together hand in hand through the yew walk, Connie shivering in her tights, her shoes slipped off by the weight of water at the bottom of the lake.
“We will get you up to bed and get some nice soup into you. The doctor will come out to you. We will say nothing to the other women, only Hetty,” Eve said as they reached the house.
Rushing Connie through the back door, Eve gently pushed her to the stairs.
“Let’s get you into bed,” she said firmly, holding Connie by the elbow as they negotiated the steps. When they got to the bedroom, she pulled the wet clothes off her, pushing a shivering Connie into the bed. Taking Connie’s mobile, she rang Dr Granger, who promised to call out to Ludlow directly. Next, she dialled Hetty.
“I can’t leave her, not until the doctor has examined her anyway. Tell the others she has a stomach bug and needs a bit of help.”
“Will she be all right, Eve?”
“Who knows?”
“We can pray.”
“I guess it is as good a strategy as any.”
She rang off, turning back to the bed, where Connie was curled up like a child afraid of the dark. Eve pulled over a chair and sat by her.
About thirty minutes later the doctor arrived, letting himself in the back door and up the stairs. Eve left him to it, retiring to the drawing room to pick up her patchwork, her enthusiasm for the sewing somehow diminished.
Three cars came up the driveway, all parking at the front. Kathryn Rodgers, Hetty, Eithne and Dana led a group of women to the front door.
Hetty was surprised to see Eve in the drawing room.
“I am not going to stay, I will duck upstairs in a few minutes,” Eve whispered as she bundled up some more fabric to take with her.
Kathryn Rodgers pulled Eve aside.
“We have some great workers here, do you think we can stay on a bit longer? I want to forge ahead today with the Rosdaniel quilt.”
“Connie is not feeling well and in bed sick. As long as there is not too much noise.”
Eve did not wait for an answer, but scooted out the door and up the stairs.
Hetty, who was sitting ironing flat pieces from Barry’s shirts, smiled watching the others cut out patches from a pile of clothes they had thrown in the centre of the rug.
Kathryn Rodgers held up a long woollen scarf.
“Who in the name of Jesus gave us this?”
“Not Jesus, but near enough: it was Fr Dempsey,” Eithne said.
“What does he expect us to do with it?”
“He insists it is a real test of faith: it is the scarf he wears for the 7 a.m. Mass in Rosdaniel every morning.”
“So?”
“So anyone who recognises it has the faith and the dedication and devotion to turn up for 7 a.m. Mass,” Hetty giggled.
“What a load of balderdash. He would be better donating some of the fancy clothes he wears ballroom dancing,” Eithne said.
Kathryn threw the scarf aside. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Sorry, I thought the whole town knew. Fr Dempsey every Saturday night is twinkle toes himself, not in Rosdaniel, but far away in Wexford town.”
“Is he allowed to do that?” one of the new women asked.
“Since when did a man of the cloth ask if he was allowed to do anything?” Eithne said.
Kathryn, worried at the turn in conversation, clapped her hands again.
“We need to get working, ladies. Eithne, would you start cutting out the patches in this lot?” She shoved a big box of clothes across the floor to Eithne.
“Funny, when you are talking about a priest, there is always somebody wanting to cover up the truth,” she sniped as she opened the box and took out a long orange sparkling dress. “Who the hell would wear this sort of thing?” she asked.
“A priest going dancing on a Saturday night,” Rebecca Fleming said in a matter-of-fact voice, a ripple of laughter pulsing across the room.
*
Eve did not exactly move into Ludlow Hall after that day, but she spent a lot of time there. She sat in the bedroom, which had the best view of the land at the front, keeping vigil beside Connie. Eve stayed there most days and sometimes at night in the house she had once called home.
Much as Michael had been for her as she grieved and her husband tore off to America, she was a comforting presence for Connie as she rested and waited for the medication to help her rebalance. Eve smiled to herself, thinking she was doing the same as Michael, singing a high tune as she came up the stairs each morning with a breakfast tray.
There were days when she had barely talked to him. He said nothing, just opened back the curtains, saying it was a fine day out. What was it, but the weather seemed to fill in the gaps in every conversation. He used to wait patiently outside the door while she got into her dressing gown and then helped her to the chair by the window.
She was sitting in that chair now, looking out over the driveway and the paddocks, bleak, tufted with moss, banked up with sodden grass, so they were more brown than green. It would take a few summers before the fields were worth anything, she knew.
Those days, Michael checked on all the animals very early before coming into the house to fix her some breakfast. Afterwards, he always rushed off to open the shop, returning in the afternoon, bringing something from the delicatessen for lunch. She came downstairs, watching him prepare the food. Sometimes they hardly exchanged words.
Later, he would lay a fire and they would sit in the drawing room, chatting or looking at the television.
Michael knew her well. Even without Ludlow Hall, he had stayed by her side. He was not a
person who needed to visit a big house to sustain a friendship. He gave her the use of the little house she was in now when she was thrown out of Ludlow Hall. He was insulted when she asked him how much was the rent, but told her she must find something that would fill the gap the loss of Ludlow had left in her.
“Do what you love, Eve. So soon after losing Arnold and Ludlow, having a bit of in-and-out around your house and a bit of chat will help you no end.”
She humoured him, setting up in a small way. She had not banked on Michael constantly advertising her business to his shop customers, so the number of people calling and looking for alterations went from a trickle to a constant stream. In time, many also looked for complete outfits to be made.
One early morning, after Eve had stayed with her all night, Connie caught her hand.
“Eve, I really appreciate what you have done for me, but you don’t have to watch over me any more.”
“I would not call it watching over you. It is more that I am here if you need me.”
“The doctor said the tablets would help after a few days. I am feeling more together, calm.”
“There is nothing wrong with giving yourself time.”
“I suppose you are going to say next that time is a great healer.”
Eve snorted. “For some grief, there is no healing.”
Connie sat back, her head on the pillows. They did not talk further. The morning light threw shapes on the room, flashing off the mirror on the wardrobe.
When Eve saw Hetty and Eithne scurrying up the path, she stood up.
“Eithne will have a lot to say if she thinks I stayed here last night.”
Connie giggled.
“Seriously, she has been asking every day where you are. I said you have taken to going on long walks. Do you know what she said yesterday? ‘Connie must be hiking to Timbuktu and back, that one.’”
“I will come down when I am ready,” Connie said as Eve rushed for the stairs to get the kettle on in the kitchen before Hetty and Eithne arrived.
She was halfway down the stairs when Connie called out.
“Eve, the clothes that were in the kitchen . . .”
“I folded them a few days ago; they are in a nice, tidy bundle,” Eve answered.
The kettle was steaming and Eve was examining her quilt in the drawing room when they came in the front door.
“I think I am nearing the end of my quilt.” Eve held up a lemon dress. “Do you remember, Hetty, I wore it the day I braved it and called into the ladies’ club to try and sort out the crisis after Arnold shut the gates of Ludlow Hall.”
“You were like a frightened rabbit in the headlights, but you knew what you wanted.”
Eve touched the lemon satin dress. “I wore it to give me courage. Michael said I looked very chic, but I was worried on the day that I looked too much like a city slicker.”
“Didn’t you notice we all had satin dresses made after that?”
“If I had known I was going to be the fashion icon of Rosdaniel, I might have gone for something fancier.”
Eve, holding the dress up to herself, walked in an exaggerated fashion across the drawing room carpet.
Throwing her eyes upwards, Eithne moved to where she had stored her own patchwork for the Rosdaniel quilt while Hetty moved to the kitchen to get the table set.
She was back in the drawing room almost straight away, carrying a high bundle of clothes, gesturing wildly at Eve.
“These kiddie clothes, what should I do with them?”
“They are Connie’s. I will take them.”
“There is a big box of them in the kitchen. Maybe leave those on top of it,” Hetty said.
Eve went to the kitchen, where in the corner was a box marked “Molly’s clothes”.
“I didn’t know she had a child,” Hetty said quietly.
“I didn’t know until a few days ago. Best not mention it, unless she brings it up.”
“Why, has something happened?”
After she placed the bundle carefully on the box, Eve turned to Hetty.
“Connie’s daughter died some time ago.”
Hetty threw her hands to her face. “Oh, the poor thing,” she whispered quietly, as if somehow her words could travel upwards and be heard.
Date: April 17, 2013
Subject: THE LUDLOW LADIES’ SOCIETY
Ludlow ladies,
Just to keep everybody in the loop, Hetty is forging ahead with her quilt and very fine it is looking too. Eve is also making excellent headway on the Ludlow quilt.
We are sorry to say, but it is most disappointing that more have not come forward to lend their considerable sewing skills at this stage. We are in a bit of a pickle, having promised three quilts, including one on Rosdaniel itself, but we may not be able to keep pace.
Unfortunately, too many saw the request for fabric donations from Rosdaniel as a quick and easy way to dump old clothing. Poor Bernie Martin was so inundated with donations, many of which were dropped off quietly at night, that we had to hire a skip to remove it all. We were lucky to get a good price from Danagher Skips on the Ballyheigue Road or we would have been smothered under a mountain of hand-me-downs.
While the call to arms has received a disappointing response, we are forging ahead. We are glad to report we will at least have two stunning quilts to present at the Rosdaniel Festival and hopefully to the First Lady herself. Ladies, we need to get our act together on the Rosdaniel quilt.
There are three places available for the Obama exhibition and we have to get them. If we are not winners, Jack Davoren will make it his life’s ambition to exclude us forever more. Now is the time to pull together and squash the snake Davoren and put down a marker that the Ludlow Ladies’ Society means business.
Kathryn Rodgers,
Chairwoman
21
It was a few more days before Connie had the courage to walk downstairs.
Dressed in jeans and a jumper, her hair tied up in a ponytail, Hetty noticed she had made an effort with her appearance, dabbing on lipstick.
“Connie, I can’t let it pass. I am so sorry about your daughter.” Hetty, her two arms outstretched, walked towards Connie, pulling her into a tight hug.
“Did Eve tell you everything?”
Hetty drew away. “She did not. I didn’t ask her either. Only the box of clothes is here in the kitchen . . .”
Connie sat down at the table. Straight away, Hetty placed a mug in front of her.
“Eve is just finishing off a few things with her quilt. Tell me about your little girl. What age was she?”
Eve, rambling into the kitchen, spoke severely. “Molly was five when she died tragically, Hetty. I don’t know if Connie is up to saying more.”
Connie shivered, his words beginning to pound in her ear. Every night she stood at the upstairs bedroom window, shouting at the sky, “I don’t forgive, I don’t understand,” before collapsing in tears, pleading to the night sky for her daughter.
“Where are you, Molly? Come to Mommy.”
Up until now, she had half coped by pretending Molly was elsewhere – napping, out with Amy, playing in another room – but since she had moved to Ludlow Hall, she could not so easily imagine that any more. She could not expect her to come tripping up the stairs, calling out over something or other, or placing her little hand in hers.
But last night was different. After weeks of pleading, of screaming to her in her head and heart, Molly spoke to her.
She felt her breath in her ear; she smelled her smell. Her heart and head were calm for the first time since she had lost her.
“Here I am. Just love me, Mommy.”
As quickly as it happened, she was gone, like a shooting star in the night sky.
When she woke up this morning, she was not sure if she had dreamed it or not. All she knew was that his thundering words were banished and, no longer submerged in the details of the crime, she was free to love the little girl she had lost.
Relief flowed thro
ugh her as she heard Molly’s voice:
“Here I am. Just love me, Mommy.”
Connie’s brain did not hurt so much any more. The loss remained titanic, but happy memories were beginning to flood in.
Eve and Hetty sat observing her across the table.
“Honestly, I can talk about her. It feels good to talk about her. Molly was so beautiful, with the cutest giggle. I wish you could have met her. She would have loved it here.”
Eve reached out and took one of Connie’s hands.
Taking a deep breath, Connie began Molly’s story. Like when they brought her home from hospital, she only slept at night if Mommy was beside her.
“Ed, my husband, was very unhappy about it, said we should let her cry in her crib, but I never wanted to let her cry. She was very much stuck to me, and me to her. We were best friends. I learned to look at life afresh, through her eyes. It was such a privilege.”
The pain of the loss rising inside her, she heard Molly’s voice again.
“Here I am. Just love me, Mommy.”
“We were happiest dancing together. She loved to come to the dance studio with me and practise her steps. I miss the sound of her little feet scraping across the floor, her wobbly jumps. I miss her hand in mine, but mostly I miss the laughs and the fun. We had a lot of fun together.”
Connie stopped to swallow hard.
“You have lovely memories. They must be a strength for you,” Hetty said, pouring tea from the pot into three mugs.
“Beautiful memories, but when I opened the boxes containing all her things, I could hardly look at them. Even now, I can’t even look at her clothes. It is a step too far. Holding her little bits and pieces from when she was a baby . . . is torture.”
Connie’s voice wobbled. She gulped the tea Hetty had slipped in beside her.
The silence of the house flowed around them. Hetty, uncomfortable with the stillness, spooned sugar into her tea and stirred. When Eve cast her a long look, she stopped stirring, gently placing the spoon on the table.
The Ludlow Ladies Society Page 18
