“And look at the grand surprise we have here,” Molly announced excitedly as she ushered Tara into the warm kitchen. “We were just saying that a bit of young company would do you good, Joe. God must have been listening to our prayers.”
It turned out that after returning to the seminary in Dublin after the Christmas holidays, Joe had been struck down with a severe throat infection, and had been allowed home to recuperate. Molly and Maggie fussed about now, making tea and cutting bread and cake, and insisting that Joe and Tara go into the sitting-room with its nice warm fire, where they could talk ‘young people’s talk’ on their own.
“Don’t put yourself to any trouble. I had my lunch before coming out,” Tara said, as her coat and scarf were swept away to warm by the kitchen range. She wondered what she would say to her brother, because she was ignorant as to the life he led in the seminary – and because they had never spent much time alone before.
Joe saved her the immediate problem of thinking up a topic of conversation, as he went to dig out some records to play on the gramophone. “You like classical music, Tara – don’t you?” he asked in a croaky voice.
“I do . . . I like all kinds of music, classical and modern.”
“Maybe you’d give us a few tunes later,” Maggie suggested brightly. “Joe hasn’t heard you play for ages.” When Joe turned his attention to the gramophone, Molly bent towards Tara and whispered: “The doctor took some tests on Friday . . . they think he might have glandular fever! At the very least, it’s that bad ‘flu, which they say has claimed a good many over in England. Don’t you think he looks desperate?”
Tara nodded in agreement and then Molly scuttled off to make the tea. When Joe came to sit on the chair opposite her, Tara examined him at closer quarters and reckoned her brother did indeed look desperate. He had lost weight from his already slim frame, and his face had a dampish pink pallor, which was most unusual for him. His thick black hair – normally well controlled by a hair preparation – looked wild and unruly, and for the first time Tara was struck by the strong resemblance he bore to their father.
“Have you seen my father or Tessie lately?” Tara asked, since Shay had come into her mind.
“He called in yesterday evening,” Joe said, “but he got a cool reception, so he didn’t stay long.”
“Was he drunk?” Tara queried.
“He wasn’t bad – but I could tell he had drink taken. And unfortunately, so could Molly and Maggie.”
Tara sighed disapprovingly. “Did he have anything to say for himself?”
“Very little, but then –” Joe gave a sudden, uncustomary smile, “if he had anything to say, I shouldn’t think he would say it to me. He treats me as if I’ve just come down from another planet.”
Tara gave him a quizzical look. He had never spoken of, far less criticised, his father before. “That makes two of us then, because he has very little to say to me either. We always end up in a row, especially when he has drink taken.”
Joe gave another smile – a gentle smile. “I don’t think he’ll ever change. It’s sad really to think about it, to have lost his wife and then lost his son and daughter too.”
“He has another wife and another family, Joe,” Tara reminded him. “He got a second crack at the whip, and he doesn’t seem one bit the better for it. He treats Tessie very shabbily, spending money she needs for food and clothes for the children.” She stopped, unaccustomed to talking in such a personal way. But, having suddenly opened the floodgates, the flow of words refused to be dammed. “He’s never stopped to think of us, has he? We got no second chances. We lost a mother when we were young, and then we were split up because he couldn’t look after us on his own. We’ve had no mother or father in our lives and he never stops to think of us. He’s too busy drinking every penny he has, feeling sorry for himself – and making a damned fool of himself.”
There was a silence for a moment. “I didn’t know you felt like that, too,” Joe said quietly. “I’m always praying for forgiveness, for the hard thoughts I have about him at times.”
“He used to cause terrible trouble out at the cottage when my granda was alive,” Tara went on, “but thankfully, with the weather being so bad at the minute, he hasn’t called out so much.”
“Doesn’t Mick miss the company? I thought they went out together at the weekends.”
“I think Mick meets him in Tullamore for the odd drink, so that we don’t have the trouble getting him home late at night.” She looked at her brother now, who had become more like a real person, and less like a priest. “Mick’s changed since my granda died . . . in fact everything’s changed.”
“In what way?”
“Oh, nothing terrible . . . he goes out more often and –”
“Tea!” Molly suddenly chirruped, bringing the intimate conversation to an abrupt end. Tara sat and ate sandwiches and cake, and drank tea with her brother and her aunties. Afterwards, they insisted on her playing some of her pieces on the piano for Joe. She could not refuse, since she always left her sheet music at their house between lessons and practising. Joe was profuse in his praise of Tara’s playing – urging her to go straight on from one piece to the next. “You have a wonderful talent,” he told her, his eyes shining as she played her favourite ‘Moonlight Sonata”. “I didn’t realise I had such a clever sister! You definitely outclass me as a pianist.”
Tara felt a lovely warm glow run through her. It was wonderful to feel that somebody actually cared about anything she did. Apart from her granda, nobody else in the family had ever shown a real interest in her. Of course, she knew that her father and Tessie and her Uncle Mick had no real knowledge about her music and studies, and so she avoided the subject, not wishing to talk over their heads. She also knew, deep down, that they didn’t really know what to make of her at times – everything about Tara always seemed different.
It was nice to feel comfortable with someone who understood her, and didn’t make her feel quite so odd. Someone who now seemed more like a real brother and less like a stranger.
Joe played a few pieces on the piano next – proving himself to be every bit as competent as his sister – and then he and Tara played several duets to the delight of Molly and Maggie.
Tara told Joe and the aunties about her plans to buy the piano. “It’s beautiful,” she said with shining eyes. “It’s walnut wood, and has lovely flowers carved in it, and two candlestick holders. It has a nice matching stool with a tapestry seat which lifts up to hold the books.”
“And aren’t you the clever girl to have saved up money to buy such a thing?” Maggie said. “Your mother would be proud of you!” She looked over at Joe and gave him an encouraging smile. “She’d be proud of both of you. A clever girl with a good job and such a talent for the piano, and then the crowning glory of having a priest for a son.” She turned her smile, now beaming, to her sister. “Amn’t I right, Molly? Having a priest in the family is the greatest honour to be bestowed on any family?”
Molly clasped her hands together as though in prayer. “Indeed it is!” she said passionately. “It’s the greatest honour for any family. No matter what sacrifices have to be made.”
“Oh, no sacrifice is too great,” Maggie echoed, “when we know that at the end of it, Joe will reap the rewards of a life serving God.”
There was a silence during which all eyes turned towards Joe.
“Please God,” Maggie said in an emotional voice, “that you’ll be returned to the full of your health, and soon be able to go back to your college in Dublin.” She looked at Tara with clouded eyes. “He hasn’t even been fit enough to attend Mass these last two Sundays. Him who liked to attend daily Mass during his holidays. Father Higgins was good enough to bring him the Holy Eucharist during the week, when he was doing his parish sick visits.” She turned her gaze back to Joe. “Please God, you’ll be on your feet again soon and back to your holy studies.”
Joe, against all the aunties’ arguments about catching pneumonia, saw Tara
out into street. “I enjoyed our chat by the fire,” he said quietly, “and I enjoyed hearing you play the piano. Maybe you would call in again?” He paused, then added hurriedly. “Only if you have the time . . . I know you have a busy life with work and everything. It’s just –” His eyes dropped to the frosty ground, “I very rarely have any company apart from Molly and Maggie . . . and the priests and nuns. To be honest with you, I find the days very long and depressing at home.”
“I would imagine you’re missing the seminary and all your priest friends,” Tara said sympathetically. “Tullamore must seem very dull to you after Dublin.”
Joe looked back at her, the white of his eyes standing out against his flushed hot skin. “I have no great friends in the seminary,” he said in a croaky, desperate whisper, “and the days were even longer and more depressing there. I’m sure that’s what has me so ill . . .”
Tara felt a cold chill run through her. “Have you said anything about this to Molly and Maggie?” she ventured. “Have you said how you feel about the seminary . . . how it’s affecting your health?”
Joe ran his hands through his curls – the dampness from his constant fever making the locks stand on end. “It would kill them,” he said in a flat voice. “They’ve only lived for my ordination these last ten years. They’ve scrimped and scraped, and gone without themselves – to have the honour of a priest in the family.”
“Maybe,” Tara suggested, “if you take a good long break from the seminary . . . you might feel different. When you feel depressed, everything looks dark and pointless.”
He nodded slowly and frowned as though in deep thought. “Maybe . . . maybe, indeed.”
Tara cycled back, taking care with the patches of frost which were settling on the road. Her mind flitted from delight over the prospect of owning an elegant walnut piano with candlesticks – to dread over her brother’s illness and his uneasy mind. What a predicament he was in, she thought. If he was to decide that the priesthood was no longer his vocation in life, then he would have to live with the consequences. However much it affected him – it would destroy his two old aunties.
* * *
Darkness had just fallen on Ballygrace as Tara approached the cottage. The place looked better lit than usual, with an oil-lamp shining from both the front bedroom and the kitchen. She dismounted from the bike and put it in the shed at the side of the cottage. After paying a quick visit to the grim wooden lavatory at the bottom of the garden, she entered the house the back way. As she opened the heavy door, Tara was instantly aware that there was more than Mick in the cottage.
“Come in – come in and warm yourself by the fire, my girleen,” Mick called with a heartiness bordering on falsity. “Isn’t that the cold night coming on us? Kitty was just saying that there’s snow in that wind. Snow, begod! Isn’t that all we need?”
“I don’t know about snow,” Tara answered with a smile, “but there’s a frost settling on the ground. You’d want to be careful out on a bike later on.” She came to stand by the fire to warm her freezing hands. “How are you, Mrs Dunne?” she asked pleasantly.
“Oh, I’m fine, Tara,” Kitty replied, giving an anxious smile, “and thank you for asking.” She suddenly rose out of the comfortable rocking chair that Noel Flynn had sat in for most of his life. “Begging your pardon,” she said anxiously, “but maybe ‘tis your own chair I’m sitting in?”
“Not at all,” Tara reassured her. “I’m going to have a cup of hot tea and then I’ll set a little fire in my room to study for the evening.”
“I have the kettle boiled an’ all here for you, girl,” Mick said, rushing to put it back on the fire for a few minutes. “And then we’ll all have a cup of tea, for Kitty’s only here these last few minutes herself, and hasn’t had a drop yet.” He went back over to the table, and busied himself with the teapot and cups. “And how did you get on with your piano?” he called in the hearty manner again.
An uneasiness settled on Tara, for everything about this situation told her there was something afoot. Something that concerned Kitty Dunne, and something that was going to have a big effect on Tara herself.
Eventually, after much humming and hawing, and beating around the bush, the news finally emerged. Mick was to be married to Kitty Dunne – and in the very near future. Apparently, Tara discovered, they had been sweethearts many years ago – but then Mick had gone to work in England for a couple of years. In the meantime, thinking he was gone forever, Kitty had married someone else. It was only at her granda’s funeral, that he and the recently widowed Kitty had become friendly again.
“It will make no difference to you, Tara,” Mick said in a blustering manner. “That I can assure you. I promised me father that there would always be a home for you here. I have a will made out to that effect, so that when I pass over meself, the cottage will be yours.”
Tara nodded slowly, trying to take in the implications that this news would have for her. Then, her serious expression melted into a warm smile. “I’m delighted for you, Mick . . . for you both. I wish you the best of luck,” she said sincerely. She then moved and gave them both a hug and a kiss to verify her words.
“Well now!” Mick said, flustered by the unusual show of affection. “Kitty brought a bottle of sherry with her, so maybe we could crown the occasion with a little drink?”
Over the sherry, it transpired that, with Tara’s agreement, Kitty would move into the cottage after their marriage.
“Sure, the old farmhouse down by the canal is far too big for her,” Mick explained. “It’s fierce cold in winter, and the windows are shivering and shaking with the icy wind. It’s too far out from Ballygrace for any kind of comfort, with regard to the shops and the church.”
“It was fine when I was younger; the few miles cycle didn’t bother me. But as I’m getting that bit older, I feel nothing about it suits me at all – so I’m going to sell it,” Kitty explained, “and let out the few acres of land to a neighbouring farmer.”
“And then we’ll build on next year,” Mick added, his face red from all the unaccustomed talking and explaining. “We’ll build on a bit at the back of the house, to give us all a bit more room – a bit more comfort.”
“I’ll be able to pay for that,” Kitty said hurriedly, “when I get the proceeds from the farmhouse.”
“And then,” Mick said, finally reaching the pivotal point for breaking the news this evening, “we’ll have more room for yer piano.”
“I have a few bits of furniture to bring with me,” Kitty said weakly. “I couldn’t leave them behind.” She gestured to the kitchen and living area which made up only a modest-sized room. “This room would only hold a few more items, so I’ll have to squeeze the rest into the bedroom.” She then blushed at the mention of the room she and Mick would be sharing. “Next year, when we’ve added on to the house –”
“Now about the piano –” Mick blusteringly started to explain again.
“Forget the piano,” Tara interrupted. “It was only a notion I had . . . it’s not important.”
“Indeed we will not forget it,” her uncle said in a high voice. “Just as soon as we have the room, you’ll have your piano. In fact,” he said, nodding for confirmation in his intended bride’s direction, “you can have a whole band in here, my girleen – if it’s to your liking.”
“Indeed,” Kitty agreed, “if that’s what she wants. This house will be yours, Tara, and every stick that belongs in it – as your Uncle Mick said. And it will be yours when I’ve added the bit on too, because you’ve been kind enough to welcome me into the house and to allow me to live with ye, when we get married.”
Tara took a deep breath, and – for the sake of her kindly uncle who had lived as a bachelor for the last fifty years – she gave a big smile and said: “Have you picked a date yet, for the wedding?”
That dark January evening had not finished with its surprises for Tara Flynn. As she saw Mick and Kitty Dunne off, the worst news of the day was making its way thr
ough Ballygrace village in the distressed shape of her long-time friend, Biddy Hart.
Tara was sitting staring into the fire, still stunned by Mick’s news, and trying to work out exactly what effect Mick getting married was going to have on her. It was easy enough to cancel the piano. That was no problem. She could continue to practise at the old aunties. But there were other issues to take into account – issues that were much more serious. Her continuing to live in the cottage meant that they would have to ‘build on’, and building on to the little thatched house would change it forever. It would not be the same place she grew up in. And eventually, she would leave – maybe to get married. But even if she didn’t get married, she would have to consider leaving Ballygrace and moving somewhere that would afford her more opportunities.
Mick’s words about her maybe moving to Dublin or even England suddenly came back to her mind, causing a heavy feeling to settle over her. She had secretly hoped that if she kept improving herself and saving, that one day Gabriel Fitzgerald might ask her to marry him. After their last meeting that did not seem so likely.
If marriage to Gabriel Fitzgerald was not an option, then perhaps she might meet someone of his type. But she knew of no others like him in the area and did not have the connections or the transport to be introduced to those further afield. It suddenly struck her, that in order to meet the right sort of husband, or have the right sort of career, she might have to move herself. She had some very hard decisions to make. Not right away, but soon enough to start thinking about it.
Tara was woken out of her reverie by a sudden, violent banging on the front door. Surely, it could not be Mick back so soon? In any case, he always came by the back door. With a thumping heart, she rushed to open it.
Tara Flynn Page 23
