THE JARROW TRILOGY: all 3 enthralling sagas in 1 volume; The Jarrow Lass, A Child of Jarrow & Return to Jarrow

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  ‘No,’ Rose admitted while gazing intently at her feet.

  ‘I haven’t seen you at any of the church socials,’ he said.

  She could tell he was watching her, but she dare not meet his gaze. Had he been looking out for her?

  ‘Don’t have time,’ Rose answered, ‘now I’m helping Da with the digging and that.’ She caught sight of her large, rough-skinned hands and quickly slid them behind her back. But William saw the self-conscious movement and reached out to take her hands. He held them gently in his own warm, work-hardened ones and rubbed his thumbs over her blistered palms. Rose caught her breath at the delicious tingling sensation this caused.

  ‘You shouldn’t be ashamed of them,’ William said, ‘or the hard graft you put in to help your family. I admire you for it.’

  Rose looked up and met his blue-eyed gaze. It was full of warmth and understanding.

  Rose gulped. ‘Do you really?’

  William squeezed her hands in his. ‘Aye, I do. But then I’ve always admired you - the way you look after your sisters, your friendliness. That day of the storm - it was the first time I’d ever really spoken with a lass apart from me sister. You were so easy to talk to, so full of life. I stopped feeling shy with you. But afterwards ...’

  Rose saw the doubt on his face. ‘Afterwards?’ she whispered.

  William shrugged. ‘Well, you kept out me way. I could see that day of the storm hadn’t stuck in your mind like it had in mine.’

  Rose gripped his hands in return. ‘But it did!’ she cried. ‘I came round to see you when you had pneumonia -brought stuff for a broth - but Florrie wouldn’t let me near you. Couldn’t get rid of me quick enough. And your mam hid upstairs so she didn’t have to meet us. Did Florrie never tell you?’

  ‘No!’ William replied. ‘At least I don’t remember ... I was feverish for a long time. They were afraid I was going to die. But it would have cheered me to know you had come. Maybes they just forgot.’

  ‘They wouldn’t have,’ Rose retorted. ‘It was obvious they thought I was too common to be seen coming to your house.’

  ‘Florrie’s not like that,’ William protested.

  ‘Then why did she never invite me round to her house?’ Rose asked. ‘She was always welcome at mine - but she used to make excuses not to come.’

  They dropped hands and looked at each other uncertainly. Rose felt wretched that she had spoken out so swiftly against his family, but it had rankled inside for years. She saw William frown and took it for disapproval.

  Suddenly, he slipped his arm through hers and said, ‘Let’s walk for a bit - down to St Paul’s.’

  Confused, she allowed him to lead her away towards the ruined monastery. The light was beginning to dim, a hazy orange glow settling over the rooftops behind them as early evening closed in. William did not speak again until they were standing under the arch of the long-abandoned monastery.

  ‘I love this place,’ he said softly. ‘I like to imagine St Bede walking around the cloisters, working at his books. Sometimes I can almost hear the voices of the monks singing - echoing round the stone.’

  Rose kept silent. All she heard were the distant shouts of children in the streets and the clanging from the shipyards. To her the place was empty and full of frightening shadows. But she let William carry on in his quiet voice, telling a story of early Christians working the fields round about, fishing from a river as clear as glass and praying in the calm of the evening. She marvelled at his imagination. How could he see such beauty in this dirty, soot-covered landscape where nothing grew?

  Looking at his animated face and listening to his mesmerising voice, Rose felt again the rush of love for William that she had experienced when they were younger. It must always have been there, buried under her disappointment and rejection by his family. When he fell silent, Rose stepped closer and looked directly into his dreamy eyes.

  ‘You’re a very special lad,’ she whispered. ‘I’m glad we met again.’

  William gazed at her in surprise for a moment, then he smiled. ‘So am I.’

  The next instant they were leaning towards each other and brushing lips together. It was such a tentative kiss, like the touch of butterfly wings, that Rose was not sure they had kissed at all, but it filled her with a warm excitement. She yearned for William to kiss her again and for longer, but he seemed unsure and drew back.

  ‘Better get back to the weddin’,’ he said with a bashful look, ‘in case your father’s worrying where you are.’

  ‘He won’t be worrying about anything if he’s still drinking with Mr McMullen,’ Rose answered. But to her disappointment, William turned back up the street.

  When they reached the Kennedys’, many of the revellers had spilled out into the street and were dancing and drinking outside in the dusk. The noise of celebration rang around the cobbled lane. Rose saw Lizzie dancing with one of the McMullen boys.

  ‘Would you like me to see you home?’ William asked.

  Rose hesitated. She would like nothing more, but she could not leave without her family.

  ‘I’ll have to wait for me sisters - and make sure Da gets home in one piece,’ she answered.

  William nodded. ‘I’ll go and say goodbye to the Kennedys then.’

  ‘Aren’t you staying?’ Rose said in dismay.

  ‘I’m helping at St Bede’s this evening,’ he explained. ‘I’ll see you at Mass tomorrow, though?’

  Rose nodded. She would have to be content with that, though she was in a fever of confusion over what William really thought of her. Had he regretted their brief kiss in the shadow of St Paul’s? Did he fear what his parents might say if they knew he had walked out with her? But he was gone and she was engulfed in frustration.

  For a while, she stood around in the half-dark, watching the dancers, and was on the point of going to find Maggie and her father when someone lurched out of the shadows and grabbed her arm. Rose smelt a waft of whisky on the man’s breath and recoiled before realising it was John McMullen. He held on.

  ‘Dance with me, Rose Ann,’ John ordered, his grip tight and bruising.

  ‘Leave go me arm, you’re hurting me!’ Rose protested.

  ‘I want to dance wi’ you,’ he growled.

  ‘All right, I’ll dance,’ she gave in, ‘just don’t hold me so hard.’

  He relaxed his iron-fisted grip a little, as he swung her into the throng of dancers. He was a touch unsteady and she knew at once he was drunk, but he swirled her around with more assurance than she would have thought him capable of. With William gone, the excitement had drained out of the day, but dancing at least would fill in the time until her sisters wanted to go home. Rose could not help smiling to think she had been asked to dance twice in one day. It was more than she had danced in the past two years!

  ‘Glad to see you’re enjoyin’ yersel’,’ John shouted above the noise of the revellers, in mid reel.

  ‘Aye, I like a good weddin’,’ Rose called back.

  When the dance finished, John took a quick swig from a jar of whisky while holding on to her with his other hand. Rose looked around for Lizzie but could not see her in the dark. The fiddler struck up again and John pulled her into the next dance.

  ‘Since when have you been so keen on dancin’?’ Rose teased.

  ‘Depends on the company,’ he said, giving her a drunken grin. She had never seen him so animated.

  They danced again and at the end Rose insisted, ‘I need a sit down.’ She went and squatted down on a neighbouring doorstep.

  ‘We could gan for a walk,’ John suggested. ‘Promise it won’t be the Slake.’

  Rose looked at him in surprise. Why was he showing her all this attention? Could Lizzie’s teasing remarks about him being sweet on her really be true?

  ‘I’m too tired to walk,’ she replie
d.

  He flopped down beside her. ‘You weren’t too tired an hour ago.’ He nudged her. ‘I saw you ganin’ off with that stuck-up Fawcett lad.’

  Rose blushed. ‘He was telling me about the monastery. It was very interesting.’

  John laughed in derision. ‘Didn’t look like he was giving you a lecture from where I was standing.’

  Rose was incensed. ‘Were you spying on me, John McMullen?’

  ‘Your father wouldn’t like to hear you’d been wanderin’ off with a lad, now would he? I was worried for your safety.’

  ‘It’s none of your business to worry over what I do!’ Rose replied at once.

  ‘But I do, Rose,’ John said, leering over her. ‘What do you see in that lad any road? Don’t you want to be kissed by a real man?’

  Before Rose could dodge away, John had hold of her roughly and covered her mouth eagerly with his. She was enveloped in his sour breath, his wet lips hungry for hers. After a moment, Rose managed to shove him off and turn her face from his in disgust.

  ‘Don’t you dare try that again!’ she hissed, not wanting to draw attention to them.

  John laughed. ‘Just a bit fun on me brother’s weddin’ night. It’s not asking much.’

  ‘I never heard you asking,’ Rose retorted, trying to stand up. He grabbed at her skirt.

  ‘Haway and sit down wi’ me! Didn’t mean to upset you. You must know I’ve taken a fancy to you?’ John slurred.

  ‘I know it’s the drink talking,’ Rose said, wrenching her skirt from his hold. Her heart was thumping with something that felt like fear. Why did he always make her feel so uncomfortable?

  ‘Think yourself above us McMullens, don’t you, Rose Ann?’ He turned suddenly aggressive. ‘Well, your father would think you lucky to have the likes of me - a real Irish patriot - and true to the Faith!’

  Rose laughed scornfully. ‘When’s the last time you went to confession?’

  He staggered up and blocked her path. ‘Not like your little altar boy, eh? Pure as the Virgin Mary,’ he taunted.

  Rose was offended. ‘Watch your tongue!’ She pushed past him and hurried to the safety of other company. Behind her she could hear him cursing her for a prude and a snob. Hot with the shame of the encounter, she looked quickly for her sisters. They were sitting in the parlour singing with Danny Kennedy and some of John’s brothers.

  ‘It’s time to get Da home,’ she told them brusquely. They knew from the look on her face not to argue.

  A few minutes later they were out on the street, steering their maudlin father between them, as he sang snatches of half-forgotten Irish songs. John was still there, taunting her as she went.

  ‘Ta for the dance, Rose Ann, and for the kiss!’ he shouted.

  Lizzie and Maggie giggled.

  ‘Don’t look back or say anything,’ Rose ordered.

  ‘By, you’ve had a time of it!’ Lizzie said in admiration. ‘Lads falling over themselves for you.’

  ‘That’s all John McMullen’s good for,’ Rose snapped, ‘falling over.’

  Later, when they had tucked their father into bed and climbed into the one they shared, the sisters talked about the day and who they had met and danced with.

  ‘Fancy our Rose Ann being courted by two lads at once!’ Lizzie crowed.

  ‘I’m not courting either of them,’ Rose protested. ‘John was drunk and won’t remember the fool he made of himself - and you forced William to dance with me.’

  ‘We didn’t force him to walk out with you,’ Maggie reminded. ‘You’d like to see him again, wouldn’t you?’

  Rose sighed, ‘Aye, I would. But his family’ll not allow it.’

  ‘That William has a mind of his own,’ Maggie encouraged. ‘You shouldn’t give up hope.’

  Chapter 5

  The next day, Lizzie went back to South Shields, promising to visit before the winter set in. Rose went eagerly to church with Maggie, but William did not seek her out after the service as she had hoped. The Fawcetts left together. William merely glanced in her direction, and allowed his mother to bustle him out of the church. Rose swallowed her disappointment and trudged back up the hill, determining to put William from her thoughts for good. Even Maggie could not think of anything to say.

  That afternoon, while their father snoozed by the fire, the sisters went picking blackberries and stayed out until dusk. When they returned, they found a small bunch of flowers and twigs on the doorstep, gathered from the surrounding hedgerows. Rose picked them up, quite puzzled. Rushing into the house, half expecting to find a visitor, she saw only her father sitting staring into the fire.

  ‘Da, have you had company?’ she asked. He looked up at her blankly. ‘Has anyone called while we’ve been out?’

  He shook his head. ‘Have you been out?”

  ‘Aye, for hours, Da!’ Maggie exclaimed. ‘We’ve picked a canny few blackberries. Have you been asleep all this time?’

  ‘Must have,’ he yawned and stretched.

  ‘So you didn’t see who left these flowers on the doorstep?’ Rose asked in frustration. Her father shook his head again.

  ‘Are you courtin’?’ he asked, suddenly suspicious.

  ‘No, Da,’ Rose answered swiftly, but could not help a twitch of a smile. William must have come to see her after all. Only he could have made such a romantic gesture. Hope flared within her once more. She would encourage William to court her and help him stand up to his parents. Rose was convinced that they would be happy together.

  All week, as they worked on the smallholding, Rose planned. On Saturday evening, she washed and dressed in the clothes she had worn for the wedding and set off for St Bede’s, knowing she would catch William after evening benediction. To her relief none of his family were with him. She waited around, approaching him from the shadows in the entrance.

  ‘Rose!’ he gasped in surprise.

  She came straight out with her invitation. ‘We’d like to ask you up for tea tomorrow,’ she gabbled. ‘Maybes go for a walk in the fields first - if it’s fine. The blackberries are grand just now - we could pick some. Then you could stay for tea and maybe you could sing to us - me and Maggie would like that. And Da would like to meet you again. I just thought that after you had - well, you know...’ She tailed off, her cheeks on fire.

  William was looking at her in astonishment and she thought he was going to rebuff her like Florrie had done so often in the past. Then suddenly he was smiling.

  ‘I’d like that very much,’ he said, touching her lightly on the shoulder. ‘I’ll come after Sunday dinner - when my parents are taking a nap.’

  Rose grinned back at him. ‘Grand! I’ll see you tomorrow then.’ And she turned on her heels and almost ran into the dark, before he should change his mind and decline the invitation.

  So began Rose’s courtship with William, fanned into life by the gesture of the flowers on the doorstep. After the first successful Sunday afternoon visit, William called regularly for tea at the McConnells’ home at the top of Simonside. All through the autumn they strolled through the fields on bright, chilly afternoons, or sat round a cosy fire and made toast if the weather was too wet. They revelled in each other’s company, Rose enjoying William’s stories about history, while he delighted in her quick talk and observations about people in the town. After tea, they would sing together, and Maggie and her father would clap enthusiastically, calling for more.

  ‘It would be canny to hear you at the piano,’ Rose suggested one day. ‘I wish we could sing around your piano.’

  They all watched William for his answer. Rose’s great happiness was only marred by the thought that he had avoided inviting her round to James Terrace. She wanted their courting to be official and acknowledged by his family.

  He hesitated, then nodded. ‘We’ll do that.’

&n
bsp; ‘When?’ asked Rose in excitement.

  ‘Soon,’ William promised.

  But the weeks wore on and Christmas came and went without any invitation to visit the Fawcetts. William made excuses that he was too busy at the church and they should wait until the New Year. Lizzie came home for a brief visit and spoke her mind.

  ‘They’ve no right to treat you like they do. You tell him if he wants to carry on courting he’s got to take you home and do it proper, like.’

  Rose repeated this to William. ‘It’s as if you’re ashamed of me and me family,’ she complained.

  ‘Never!’ William protested. ‘I care for you, Rose. I care very much.’

  ‘Then show it,’ she challenged.

  At the end of January, William finally came with the invitation to call round on Sunday afternoon to James Terrace. Maggie spent hours helping Rose to get ready, combing out her hair and tying it up neatly, scrubbing her hands until they were raw and stinging.

  ‘Put on the glass beads and Lizzie’s hat,’ Maggie said. ‘Wear everything fancy we’ve got.’

  Rose was in a turmoil of nerves and anticipation as she approached the house in the gloom of that January day. William let her in and steered her into the parlour with a nervous smile. His parents sat stiffly in chairs either side of the fire, while Florrie set the table for tea.

  Mr Fawcett asked after Rose’s father and sisters, and then the room fell silent. Rose turned to Florrie.

  ‘I hear you’re courtin’, an’ all,’ she smiled.

  Florrie clattered the crockery and her mother gave her a sharp look.

  ‘Careful, Florrie. You’re so clumsy,’ she scolded.

  Florrie seemed too flustered to answer the question, so William intervened to break the awkwardness.

  ‘I’ll play something on the piano,’ he said eagerly. ‘Rose, would you like to sing?’

  Rose did not know if she could manage a squeak, so dry was her mouth from nervousness. But she nodded and stood up, keen to be near him. They sang ‘Linden Lea’ together and for a moment Rose lost herself in the beauty of the music, even though her own voice was nervous. At the end, William smiled at her in encouragement. But when he suggested another, his mother interrupted sharply.