The Ludlow Ladies Society

by Ann O'Loughlin

  When she heard a knock on the door, she was ready to meet the Ludlow Ladies’ Society for their first official dance class.

  Hetty bustled in, wearing a turquoise velour tracksuit and runners.

  “You have done something to me, Connie Carter, this is the first time in my life I have worn a tracksuit. Next thing, we will see Eve in leggings.”

  Eithne Hall and three of the other women arrived, some wearing jeans, Eithne in a long, sweeping skirt.

  “Nobody is going to see the width of my ankles, ever,” she said, pulling up her skirt only slightly.

  As the women kicked off their shoes, Hetty turned to Connie.

  “Is Eve not here already?”

  “I thought she was coming with you.”

  “I called in, knocked a few times on the door, even looked in the window, but no Eve.”

  “We can start. Maybe Michael is dropping her off.”

  She turned on the music low in the background as the women did their stretching exercises.

  “I tried ringing her as well, and no-go. Maybe she really does not want to dance.”

  Connie frowned. “I will call on her later. It is not like Eve to go back on her word.”

  She clapped her hands and the women formed a line in front of the mirrors.

  “One, two, three, four, turn, five, six, seven, eight.”

  They followed the beat, their steps so heavy they made the floor bounce.

  “More lightness of step! Trust yourselves.”

  Eithne laughed. “I am a farmer’s wife. I have never had to have a light step in my life.”

  “Move from the hips, Eithne.”

  “Easier said than done: these hips have done too much work over the years,” Eithne said, making the others whoop, holler and punch the air. Connie, laughing, threw her hands up, before switching off the music.

  “Ladies, I know it is a bit of fun, and believe me, I am enjoying it, but please try and concentrate. You look so good when you get it right.”

  Contrite, the group shuffled back in line.

  “Think you are stepping towards something, turning around, stepping back, now hands out and push it aside. It is heavy. Let me see it.”

  “What are we pushing away?”

  “The problems of life, a heavy tree trunk, anything: now run back, turn and kick out.”

  Hetty kicked with gusto, almost falling. “I think at our age we should kick low,” she laughed.

  Eithne, sweating, stopped and bent over, wheezing loudly, her hands on her knees.

  Connie said, “For the last fifteen minutes, we will do something different.” She reached behind the desk, plucking out several hula hoops. “Great for the hips, Eithne. Let’s do it.”

  Hetty confidently stepped into hers. “I used to be so good at this in my younger days,” she said, swinging her hips, the hoop clattering on the floor.

  Rebecca Fleming, who had slipped into the house through the back door, took a hula hoop, immediately able to keep it swinging across her hips.

  “Ah, Rebecca, is there nothing you can’t do,” Eithne said, her voice rich with sarcasm.

  Hetty let her hoop drop, rattling on to the floor.

  “That is enough for today, Connie. Can we have a cuppa before we go?”

  “As long as you help yourselves. I have another class next.”

  Hetty led the women into the kitchen.

  “I heard Eve has a sign up, saying the dressmaking business is closed,” Eithne said.

  Hetty swung around. “That can’t be true.”

  “I saw it with my own eyes, I brought Patricia Fitzpatrick to the house this morning to have a pair of trousers turned up.”

  “Why would she want to take in work when she is engaged to Michael Conway? He is a good man. He’ll take care of her now. He is an awfully good catch.”

  “I don’t think Eve would want to be dependent, after what happened with Arnold.”

  “Maybe so, but a woman can get used to a bit of luxury, real quick,” Eithne said, reaching for the cookie jar and placing it in the middle of the table.

  A flurry of happy noise from the hall signalled the arrival of the mothers and toddlers.

  “Hasn’t Connie made a huge difference to this old place? Arnold Brannigan must be turning in his grave,” Eithne said, making the other women snigger.

  *

  Connie waited until the workmen finished in the barn, before leaving Ludlow Hall to drive to Eve’s house. She could have tried phoning, but somehow she suspected Eve was hiding out.

  When she pulled up, it looked as if nobody was in. The curtains on the two front windows were drawn across. Still, she walked up the path, the sound of snail shells collapsing under her feet. At the door, a small note – “Eve’s Alterations Closed” – was blotted with rainwater.

  Connie pressed the bell, the jingle echoing through the house. She pressed harder, as if the extra effort would make the sound stronger. The dog next door snuffled at the dividing fence, growling and whimpering.

  She waited, cowering in the doorway as more rain began to fall. Leaning down, she pushed at the letterbox, throwing her voice into the house.

  “Eve, it’s Connie. I am not going away until you open this door.”

  She stood waiting, feeling foolish, not sure if Eve was inside, when suddenly the lock was turned and the door opened.

  “I am all right, Connie, I just don’t feel like visitors at the moment.”

  Eve’s face was blotched red, her eyes swollen from crying.

  “Can I come in, Eve?”

  “Why, to talk to a woman who has lost everything? Even the memories are gone, Connie.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I am not talking at all, Connie. I appreciate you coming, but I can’t talk.”

  She moved to push the door shut, but Connie thrust her foot out. Shoving her way into the house, she reached out to Eve, throwing her arms around her.

  “You sat by my bed and brought me back from the dead in my head. I am here for you now.”

  Eve felt her body lean into Connie, who took her weight.

  “Come back to Ludlow Hall, stay as long as you like. If you want to talk, I will listen, I promise,” she whispered. Eve gulped her tears.

  “What will people think if I move into Ludlow?”

  “They can think all they like. Let me bring you home. I don’t know why, but I think Ludlow Hall is what you need right now.”

  Eve nodded, using the sleeve of her cardigan to wipe around her eyes.

  “You are good to me, Connie.”

  “Let’s go. I can loan you some clothes for the time being.”

  Eve gathered up her handbag, the two white envelopes and her keys, making sure to lock the front door behind them. Meekly, she followed Connie to the car. She sat silently, and Connie did not speak either, until they turned right up the avenue to Ludlow Hall.

  “You can have the room I have made up for Bill. I have a feeling he won’t need to use it anyway.”

  “I am intruding.”

  “Nonsense, you are doing no such thing,” Connie said, pulling the car up to the kitchen door.

  She blathered on as they got into the house, in an effort to cover Eve’s discomfort. When she showed her into the guest room, Eve sat on the bed, rubbing the palm of her hand along the top of the duvet.

  “You have made it up nice, this room. This was going to be my baby’s room.”

  Connie’s cheeks flamed bright red.

  “I had no idea. Use my room, I can stay in here.”

  “This room is perfectly fine for me. If memories were to hold me back, I would not cross the threshold of this house.”

  Connie fussed about, pulling over the curtains at the window, quietly leaving the room and coming back about fifteen minutes later with folded pyjamas in one hand and a mug of hot chocolate in the other.

  “I can go down to your house and pack some stuff for you tomorrow, if you like.”

  Eve reached ou
t, squeezing Connie’s hand.

  “It was a good day for Ludlow, and for me, when you came along.”

  “Get into bed and get some rest. If you feel like talking in the morning, I am always awake early.”

  Eve did not answer, but pulled back the duvet, so Connie backed out of the room and closed the door. Eve got into bed and must have fallen asleep, because when she woke, it was still dark outside.

  Passing lightly along the corridor and down the stairs, she stopped to listen to the grandfather clock at the far end of the hall, ticking down the time, as if it mattered.

  The kitchen was cold and damp-smelling. She sneezed, grabbing her coat from the back of a chair, wondering why Connie did not light the Aga every day.

  Slumping down beside the table, she was sitting shivering when Connie came in. Draping a blanket over her, Connie got the electric heater, plugging it in, the first puff of heat ponging up the room.

  “Are you okay, Eve?” she asked gently.

  Eve reached into the pocket at the front of her pyjama top, pulling out the two white envelopes. She handed one to Connie.

  “You don’t want me to read that, Eve?”

  “I do.”

  “No, I can’t, it is private.”

  Eve snorted loudly, pointing at the envelope. “Connie, please. Just read it.”

  Gingerly, Connie picked up the letter. Slipping the page free from the envelope, she delicately opened it up and began to read.

  Eve sat listening to the sounds of the house, the whirring of the fridge, the wind rattling the old gutter pipe over the kitchen window, whistling around the house, pushing into the cracks and broken seals of the windows. How many times had she sat here, a letter from the bank in her hand, shame flaring through her, sweat prickling at her temples?

  Connie, her dressing gown hanging open, leaned over the letter.

  Laurel Drive

  New Hyde Park

  NY 11040

  February 2, 2009

  Dear Mr Brannigan,

  My name is Ed Carter and I understand you are my father. My mother was Rosalyn Carter and when she died I was brought up by my aunt, Kate. Unfortunately, Kate passed away, but she left me details of my birth and the arrangement you had with my mother to finance me until I became an adult. I understand you did that, and I am grateful.

  I am married and have a young daughter now. I have lived my life without a father, though I remember you sometimes in my life for short periods, a benevolent and kind family friend. I realise now how important a father is to a child. I realise too how much I lost out on not having you, my father, permanently in my life.

  I would love if we could get to know each other now and if there are any other family members I should know. To that end, I would like us to meet, if only to satisfy myself that I look like you. I certainly don’t resemble anybody on my mother’s side.

  My aunt told me the arrangement with my mother included a pledge that neither she nor I would make any demands on your estate. I can assure you again of this. My only interest is to develop a relationship with my father.

  I would also dearly love my daughter, Molly, to meet her grandfather.

  I realise this may come as a surprise to you, but I hope once you have had time to consider, you will regard this as an opportunity to catch up on lost time.

  With that intention, I intend to travel to Ireland and to Ludlow Hall on Saturday, February 21 to visit you.

  I very much look forward to meeting you.

  Kind regards,

  Arnold Edward Carter

  Connie was shaking. Trepidation radiated through her, making her read faster When she came to the end, she carefully folded the letter back into the envelope, tossing it onto the table. Nervous, she continued to pick at the corners of the tablecloth before she spoke.

  “How weird is this. Edward was my husband’s middle name; he hated the name Arnold. He was brought up by his aunt after his mother passed away when he was young.”

  She flicked her fingers, a nail hitting the envelope, making it move a fraction towards Eve.

  “He told me he never knew his father, did not know who he was.”

  Eve pushed over the second letter. “You had better read this as well. Arnold was a cruel man who rejected his son.”

  Connie, feeling cold, stretched out and turned up the heater.

  Laurel Drive

  New Hyde Park

  NY 11040

  March 17, 2009

  Dear Arnold,

  You are my father and neither of us can deny that. That you should threaten me and deny me a meeting, even one away from your precious Ludlow Hall, is very upsetting. When I paid a visit to Ludlow Hall, it was locked up and I was not even able to walk up the driveway. Are you so ashamed of me that you will not meet me anywhere and run like a frightened rabbit from looking me in the eye? That I had travelled so far did not bother you either.

  I am sorry you think I pile shame on you or that I intend to lay claim to your property. You say you had one son, James, who died soon after birth. I am sad I lost a brother.

  I am your son, Arnold Brannigan, and nothing you do now can change that. If I thought you could in time acknowledge me, I would persist, but your anger and shame you have made clear to me in your letter.

  Your cruel words will stay with me forever. I return these two photographs to you. My mother gave them to me, I presume so that I would remember you. You say I am not to think of you as a father, and while I cannot do that, I do not want reminders of your pretence of fatherhood.

  As I return these two snaps, I want you to know there were times I looked at these photographs and wondered and dreamed of how it would be if this kind, generous man who came to visit was my father.

  How wrong I was in my estimation of you. I did not know that under the veneer of a gentleman was a cruel man who won’t even go so far as to acknowledge his son.

  My hope is that as a father to my daughter I will never be so uncaring. For my part, I have to find a way to be a good father, even though my only example is the worst.

  I am your son, Arnold Brannigan. I would give anything to hear you say those words. Without the blood ties to this earth, there is nothing. You have left me dejected, with nothing and worth nothing.

  Your son,

  Ed Carter

  Connie put down the letter, tears streaming down her face.

  “What sort of man denies his own son?”

  “A cruel man who knew no better than to be looking over his shoulder at how others saw him. He was a fool, but a cruel fool, which makes him infinitely worse,” Eve said, her voice flat and cold.

  Eve held out the two photographs.

  “I presume the baby in the picture with Arnold is Ed.”

  Connie examined the photos.

  “I have never seen either of them before. That is Rosalyn. Ed must have been six or seven years old there. Arnold was a handsome man; Ed looked a lot like him.” Suddenly, she banged down the photographs on the table. “What has happened? What has happened to our families, Eve?”

  Eve shook her head, unable to answer.

  “Ed never let on,” said Connie. “I did notice a change in him, but I thought it would pass. I remember after Kate died, he seemed awfully upset for a long time, which I put down to losing the one woman who had been there from the day he was born. I just gave him time to grieve.” Wiping away tears, she shook herself. “He must have felt so bad at Arnold’s reaction, but I don’t understand why, so soon afterwards, he bought Ludlow Hall or why he never tried to persuade Arnold after that brush-off. Why didn’t he tell me?”

  “Who knows, Connie? He would not have had much time to persuade my husband: within days, he was dead. The bank came in as soon as it could and put the place up for sale.”

  “He would not have known any of that, but he did buy Ludlow Hall, sank all our money into it.”

  “Maybe he wanted his rightful inheritance and that was the only way he could do it.”

  Connie jumpe
d up, the chair toppling back behind her. “He wanted to knock the place down, after he had covered the land with housing.”

  “Never.”

  “He wanted to tear it down, he told the auctioneer.”

  “Surely not the house, after he’d seen the place.”

  “He didn’t even want to view it properly. He was intent on knocking it down.”

  Eve pulled her hands along her face. “God, no, because Arnold rejected him?”

  Connie paced the kitchen, like a cat circling, waiting to be let out. “Maybe he was hitting back at the hurt Arnold caused. He didn’t go through with it, though, when he realised how difficult it would be.”

  Eve sighed. “Arnold would not have been able to cope with the land ploughed up and concreted over, the house razed to the ground.” She looked up at the ceiling. “For the first time in my life, I am glad Arnold decided to leave this world. I know Ed had something to do with it, that the bank bearing down on us had something to do with it, that his feeling of shame had something to do with it but . . .” She stopped, choking back the tears. “He left on his own terms. I was left to cope, but he was right to leave at his own bidding.”

  “Maybe Ed knew Arnold enough, to realise how much Ludlow Hall meant to him.”

  “Revenge is powerless against death. I don’t think Ed knew he was already dead,” said Eve.

  Connie flopped down at the table. Eve reached over and grabbed Connie’s two hands, squeezing them tight.

  “This house is rightfully yours. I am happy for you that it may now bring you some peace in your heart. None of this is at your feet. Arnold fell in love with an American woman: that’s it, pure and simple.”

  “Eve, this must be simply terrible for you. It must have been so bad for Ed as well, but no matter how much I try, I don’t know if I can understand or forgive.”

  Eve’s head thumped. Her eyes, she knew, were bulging in her head. She was tired and wanted to sleep.

  “All the talking in the world won’t soften it, Connie, like all the talking in the world won’t lighten your great loss.”

  “Being a good father to Molly meant everything to him . . .”