by Liz Harris
Connor nodded at him. ‘Thanks, Jack. I’ll begin with the slate. Bridget’s startin’ school soon.’
‘That sure don’t seem possible,’ Jack Massie said, reaching behind him to a pile of slates and flat wooden frames. He turned back to Connor and put one of each in front of him. ‘Only minutes ago, she was nowt but a wee bairn.’
‘Isn’t that the truth?’ Connor ran his fingers across the smooth, soft-grey surface of the slate, then fitted it into the frame that Jack had put next to it.
‘And you’ll need a slate pencil. That’ll be a penny. Now what else is on that list you’re fingering?’
‘We need some sugar and things for the kitchen.’ He turned to look for Ellen, and saw her in the shadows on the opposite side of the room, walking slowly along, hugging the wall, her face turned towards the ploughs, kegs of nails and rolls of wire that were stacked up in piles beneath the saws, hammers, hatchets and knives that were hanging from higher up on the wall.
‘Ellen!’ he called to her. ‘Come and choose the sugar and coffee you want, and the rest of the things on your list.’ He turned back to Jack Massie.
‘You said we,’ Jack remarked with a grin. He raised a bushy eyebrow. ‘From what folks have been sayin’, you’ll not have been referring to Bridget alone. We sure are wantin’ to meet your new wife, Conn.’ He saw Jack Massie gaze past him towards the other side of the store.
‘Folks should have better things to talk about,’ he said bluntly. He turned around again. Ellen was still on the other side of the room, her back to him. ‘Come here, Ellen,’ he repeated, a note of impatience in his voice.
Her heart beating fast, Ellen gave a final tug on her bonnet to bring it as close as possible to her face, turned slowly and took a few steps towards him.
‘Ah, Ellen! I thought I’d find you in here.’ Oonagh’s voice came from the open doorway.
Ellen stopped short and turned in dismay towards the door. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Connor turn at exactly the same moment to look at Oonagh, and that he kept on looking. Then he glanced at Ellen, caught her eye and looked back down at his list.
‘How did you know we were here?’ she asked as Oonagh came up her.
‘This is the first place Connor always comes,’ Oonagh said, glancing across at him and laughing. ‘Isn’t that so, Conn?’ She turned back to Ellen. ‘And seeing Martha also helped. She told me you’d come to Massie’s. So, what do you think of Liberty?’
‘I like it. It seems to have all the shops you could wish for.’
‘I’m not sure about all of them, but there are a good number. And it has more than just shops,’ Oonagh said. ‘It has entertainments, too. For example, we ladies meet at intervals for a sewing bee, usually at my house. Alice used to come to the bees, and you must come, too.’
‘I don’t much like to sew. I can mend clothes, of course, and if I had to I could make them, but I don’t do that so well.’
Oonagh gave a dismissive wave of her hand. ‘Oh, the sewing is just an excuse for us to gather together and talk. You must come along the next time we have one. You may bring your darning, if you wish,’ she added with a laugh. ‘Or you can come to one of our dime sociables. There’s no sewing there. All we do is talk and maybe have some cake.’
‘I don’t know. I …’
‘I hope you’ll join us for something, Ellen,’ she cut in. ‘It’s the neighbourly thing to do. I think most people know already that Conn has taken a wife, and after today, they will all know. Everyone will want to meet their new neighbour. We town dwellers are your neighbours just as much as the Thomases and the Careys, you know.’ The warmth of her smile embraced Ellen. ‘And apart from that, I am not so much older than you that we can’t be close friends. I’d like that.’
‘I’d like that, too,’ Ellen said, and she did her best to return a smile. ‘Thank you, Oonagh. I promise I’ll come to one of your activities just as soon as I’ve settled into my routine.’
‘I’ll tell Conn to make sure that you do.’ Oonagh laughed again, and she smoothed down the bodice of her dress.
Ellen’s eyes went to Oonagh’s high-necked violet and white striped calico dress, to the low-waisted bodice that emphasised her slim waist, to the sleeves which hugged her arms from her wrists to her elbows and then filled out to her shoulders, to the skirt which was fuller at the back than the front. Raising her eyes to the rough-straw bonnet with its lining of violet silk, she saw that the shade of violet matched exactly both her eyes and the violet stripes on the dress
‘Your dress is very fashionable,’ she said, trying to push back a rising sense of envy. ‘Did you make it yourself?’
‘Yes, I did. I didn’t really have a choice. I generally wear a blouse and skirt when I’m teaching school, but I wouldn’t want to wear such clothes at other times, and I would never wear the only sort of clothes I could buy in a small town like this.’
‘Pa said I’ve got to get a brown dress for school, Miss Quinn.’ Bridget’s voice came from behind Oonagh. ‘Brown’s horrible, isn’t it? Martha will have a red dress.’
Oonagh turned sharply. Ellen saw Bridget standing there, staring up at Oonagh.
‘I didn’t see you there, Bridget,’ Oonagh said, a hint of discomfort in her voice. ‘So you’re getting a new dress for school, are you?’ she asked brightly.
‘Yes, and Pa said I have to get a brown one, but I don’t want to. Like you said, they don’t have nice clothes here. They only had one brown dress and it was ugly.’
Oonagh bent towards Bridget. ‘I’ll tell you a secret,’ she said in a loud whisper. ‘We dress to please men. So if the most important man in your life wants you to wear a brown dress, then brown is what you must wear.’
‘Hello, Oonagh,’ Connor said, coming over to them with a sack in each hand. ‘I gave up waiting for you, Ellen, and gotten what I thought would do.’ He glanced down at Bridget. ‘You’re not still complaining about having to wear brown for school, are you? If you are, you should know that I’m getting a mite tired of it.’
Bridget glared at him. Her look embraced Ellen, too.
‘A brown dress can be very smart,’ Oonagh said quickly. ‘A few little touches can make even a brown dress special. When I was your age, my mother made me a dress of brown wool, lined with brown cambric. I cried all night because I thought it looked plain and unattractive. But you should have seen it when she’d finished with it.’
‘What did she do to it?’ Bridget asked, pulling a curl into her mouth and sucking on the end of it.
‘Well, first of all, she sewed small brown buttons down the front, and then she put a plaid trimming on either side of the buttons and around the bottom. It had red and golden threads running through it, and they shone in the light. Then she made a high collar out of the plaid material, and fitted a little white lace inside the collar so that it fell over the top. I couldn’t wait to wear the dress when she showed it to me.’
‘There’s a brown dress at Mrs O’Shaughnessy’s. Will you make it pretty for me, Miss Quinn? Please?’ Bridget pleaded, her eyes shining.
Oonagh laughed. ‘I think your pa would prefer it if Ellen did it.’
Connor turned to Ellen. ‘Can you do the things that Oonagh was talking about to the dress that Bridget’s seen?’
Ellen’s heart sank. ‘I’m sorry, Bridget,’ she said apologetically. ‘I really wish I could do that, but I think it’s beyond my ability. I could probably sew piping around the wrists and collar, though.’
‘But that’s not what I want. You don’t want me to look pretty. That’s why you won’t do it.’
‘Bridget!’ Connor exclaimed. ‘That’s enough. If Ellen says that’s all she can do, then that’s what you’ll have.’
Oonagh glanced at Connor. ‘It’s up to you, of course, Conn, but if you’d like me to put some buttons and plaid, or something similar, on the dress that Bridget’s chosen, I’d be happy to do that. We could go and get the dress now, and buy the trimmings at the same time.’<
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‘Oh, Pa, please,’ Bridget begged. She jumped up and down, beaming up at Oonagh.
Connor gestured in despair. ‘Well, if you’re sure you don’t mind, Oonagh. It’s mighty kind of you to offer.’
‘You know me, Conn. When have I not enjoyed looking for clothes, or making them, or improving the ones I’ve got? We’ve known each other for most of our lives, so you know that there’s nothing I like better. Come on then, Bridget. Let’s see what we can find.’ She held out her hand to Bridget, who eagerly took it, and they made their way towards the doorway, with Connor following close behind.
Ellen stood for a moment and watched them go, then she began to walk slowly after them, a chill of foreboding creeping through her.
Chapter Eight
Ellen turned the handle of the large barrel churn that stood on wooden legs in the small shed behind the house, rocking it gently as she did so, her eyes on the cream in the churn, her mind on Connor.
If he’d wanted to push any lingering thoughts of Oonagh to the back of his mind, he hadn’t had much of a chance to do so in the past month or so, she thought bitterly. Trimming Bridget’s dress had brought Oonagh into the homestead several times in the run-up to the start of school – almost certainly more often than had really been necessary, she couldn’t help thinking. And although Bridget was now at school all day and returning home tired every evening, she wasn’t too tired to praise Oonagh nightly on her return.
Oonagh may have chosen not to marry Connor, but even when she wasn’t physically there, thanks to Bridget she’d become an invisible presence at their table.
Her arm suddenly tired, she stopped turning the handle and shook her hand a few times as she leaned over the churn and peered inside. To her relief, the pale-yellow cream had finally broken up into grains of butter swimming in buttermilk. She pulled a round wooden butter bowl towards her, skimmed the grainy butter into it, pressed the remaining drops of buttermilk out of the butter, salted it and packed it into tubs which she covered with stretched muslin.
She took a jug from the shelf and poured the buttermilk into it. There was more than enough buttermilk to make both doughnuts and soda bread the next day, she thought as she put the jug on the table. The doughnuts would make a change from flapjacks. Bridget would like them, she was sure, and she was equally sure that Bridget wouldn’t admit it. All of her appreciation was reserved for Oonagh.
She sat down on a stool and poured herself a mug of buttermilk. Sipping the milk, she wondered if Oonagh was now regretting her the decision to turn Connor down. It was certainly beginning to look like it. She seemed to be searching for reasons to come to the house, and she couldn’t do enough for Bridget and Connor. Striking up a friendship with Connor’s wife, which she clearly wanted to do, could be just another way of staying close to him.
If Oonagh, seeing someone else in the position that she might have held, felt a sense of regret, or even jealousy – no, not jealousy; no one could ever feel jealous of her with her ugliness – it could explain why Oonagh didn’t like her.
Of course, she didn’t know for sure that Oonagh disliked her, but her every instinct told her that this was the case. Although Oonagh had always been very pleasant to her, she was certain that her importance to Oonagh was merely as an access to Connor, not for herself.
She finished her milk, stood up and started to pile the butter tubs on to a tray.
But what if she were wrong about Oonagh? She had become so used to the cruelty of people in Omaha, who’d been unable to see beyond her scars, that she could be in danger of imagining something that wasn’t there.
Peggy had shown her that not everyone thought of her as little better than an animal, and Connor, too. Also Aaron and the hired men. Their eyes had been curious at first, but they’d never looked away, nor had they been anything other than polite and respectful. It could be that Oonagh did truly want her as a friend and that she was misreading the situation. She’d like to think so. And she’d also like to think that she wasn’t pushing people away from her and losing the chance of being happy. No, it was time that she started to make a real effort not to be so suspicious of people, nor to expect the worst of them, she decided, putting the last of the tubs on to the tray.
She picked up her bonnet, raised it to her head, then stopped midway and lowered it again. Clutching it in her hands, she stared at it.
After that first morning six weeks ago, Connor had never again said anything about her not wearing a hat. He’d left the decision up to her. She’d chosen to wear her bonnet lest she meet any of the men while she went about her chores, but in truth the men had done nothing to make her feel it was necessary. It was habit more than anything else.
She had to start trusting people more, and this could be a beginning.
Her heart jumping nervously, she tied the end of the ribbons together, slipped her arm through the loop she’d made and tucked her hair more neatly into her French knot. Then she put the jug of buttermilk on the tray and picked up the tray with both hands. Using the heel of her boot, she pulled the door shut behind her and made her way across the flattened grass to the house, her bonnet hanging from her arm and swinging at her side.
She went into the kitchen, rested the tray momentarily on the nearest ledge and closed the kitchen door behind her.
‘I’m afeared I bin stoppin’ your man from workin’,’ Peggy called to her from the living room.
‘I expect he was glad of a break,’ she shouted back. She went into the pantry, put the tray on the side and smoothed her hair down again. Then she took a deep breath and went out into the living room. Peggy and Connor were sitting at the table in the centre of the room. Seeing them there, her steps faltered. ‘He’ll have enjoyed talking to you,’ she told Peggy, and she forced a nervous smile. ‘I would have joined you sooner but there was a great deal of milk, and the butter took me longer than I’d expected.’
She went across to the small table by the window, pulled the ribbon loop off her arm and put the bonnet on the table. Pausing a moment, she stared down at her hat and slowly ran her fingers along the rim, then she turned and went over to Connor and Peggy.
She saw them glance at her hat at the same moment, then exchange a quick look with each other.
Connor picked up his mug of coffee. ‘Our cows are good milkers. Always have been.’
Peggy smiled up at Ellen. ‘They must like you. Cows don’t milk well for people they don’t like.’
‘Then for the sake of our butter supply, I hope their affection for me lasts. And talking of butter, would you like to take a tub or two back with you?’
‘Thank you for the offer, my dear, but we’ve plenty. The lack of rain doesn’t seem to be troubling the cows. But now that you’ve finished churning, why don’t you come and sit with us? I’m sure you could do with a break, too.’
‘All right, I will. But first of all, you must let me get you something else to drink.’ She moved towards the kitchen. ‘More coffee, or some peppermint tea maybe?’
‘Coffee would be fine,’ Peggy said.
A few minutes later, Ellen returned from the kitchen, a pot of coffee in one hand and a plate of small seeded cakes in the other. She put both on the table, poured coffee into the mug that Peggy had pushed towards her, took a mug from the shelf for herself and filled it, then she sat down.
‘About the butter, Connor. I was wondering if I should try to sell some to the store in town,’ she said. She leaned across to fill Connor’s mug, but he put his hand across the top.
‘Not for me, thanks. I reckon I’ve had enough to drink.’ He stood up. ‘The butter’s a good idea. It’s what Alice used to do. And now it’s time that I watered the animals and fed them, so I’ll leave you ladies to talk.’ As he went past Ellen’s chair, he stopped. Looking down at her, he put his hand lightly on her shoulder. ‘It’s real good to see you like that, Ellen,’ he said. ‘It makes me think you now feel at home.’
A lump came to her throat, and she looked up at him. ‘I
do, Connor. Thank you.’
He nodded at them both and went across the living room. A moment later, they heard the kitchen door close.
Peggy sat back in her chair and looked at Ellen. ‘It must be five or six weeks now since you got here, my dear. You and Conn have obviously settled well. And what about Bridget? How are you getting on with her these days?’
‘It’s hard to say. She still resents me being here, and I can understand why. I’m doing the things in the house that she used to do, and it looks to her as if I’ve taken over her place, which I have to some extent. She feels that she’s no longer as important to Connor. Of course that isn’t true, but she doesn’t want to hear that, and she can be mighty difficult when we’re all together. She’s deliberately awkward whenever she can be, but maybe she isn’t quite as openly rude as she was when I first arrived.’
Peggy nodded. ‘And she’s gone all day while you’re at home with her pa, is how she’ll see it. She’ll be feelin’ that she’s not as close to Connor any more, and she’ll be blamin’ you for that.’
‘That’s right. And me being scarred like this has made things worse. I’ll never forget how embarrassed she was the first time we all went into Liberty together and we met Martha. And something Connor said at the time made me realise that he, too, was feeling awkward about the way I look. I hadn’t thought of that before, that people would stare at him, wondering why he married someone like me. But they do. I’ve seen their faces, and I’ve seen his. Him being such an attractive man, they will have expected a lot of his wife, and me looking like this must make it very difficult for him.’
‘I’m sure you’re wrong about that, my dear. It’s not like Connor to worry about what other people think.’
She shrugged her shoulders. ‘He’s only human. As for Bridget, if she could have felt proud of me, it might have helped her to accept me. But she can’t; she’s ashamed of me.’
