by Anne Doughty
‘Yes, that bit’s quite easy. The difficult bit is picking buds at the right moment back in the fields, so they’ll be ready for me next day, but my friend Billy has been doing this many, many years.’
‘How long will this one last?’
He nodded down at the buttonhole she had given him that morning.
‘You’ve had that in water?’
‘Yes, while I was working in my office, but I wore it for several hours when I was conducting visitors.’
‘Two, maybe three days, if you keep resting it. I’ll give you a new one when it fades.’
He paused, scanned the menu rapidly, consulted her and ordered their main course.
‘You chose Patience. Was that significant?’
She laughed.
‘We have great hopes for Patience at the National Rose Show, but I picked it to go with your suit.’
The large dining room was quiet on a Monday evening, the sound of cutlery and china absorbed by the heavy velvet curtains and the thick carpet. The meal was served promptly and Rosie discovered how hungry she was. They ate in companionable silence, until coffee arrived and he poured for them both.
‘To continue where we left off …’
He asked most carefully about her job, how exactly she’d found it, how her brothers and sisters and friends had tried to find employment. She answered his questions freely and told him as much as she could, especially about each member of her own family, and about Lizzie and Hugh and their plan to open a shop in Richhill.
‘You’ve been most helpful, Rose, if I may call you Rose.’
She nodded and smiled.
‘We have some very difficult problems ahead of us. Young people like yourself not able to get further training or apprenticeships. Talented ones like your sister Emily leaving, because wages are so very low. What you’ve provided me with is a case study, if you like, but I suspect when I make further enquiries I shall find what you’ve told me repeated all over the province. I’ve no idea what’s to be done, but finding out the existing situation is a good place to start, don’t you agree?’
‘Yes, yes, I do.’
She paused and then ventured to ask him about his own family and whether or not they’d been able to help him with his research.
‘I’ve just one son, at university in England,’ he replied, as openly as she had done to his own questions. ‘His future is quite secure. He wants to do engineering and fortunately I can afford to support him till he’s qualified.’
He paused, looking round the almost empty dining room as if looking for someone he knew. As her own mind filled with questions, she wondered if he was going to say something more.
‘I’m out of touch in some ways, because I’ve been abroad for many years. In Australia. I’ve followed the political situation here, but I only came back last year when the new government began to find its feet. I have one or two friends in office now who think my experience overseas in various industries might be useful here.’
‘So you came back because of the job?’
‘That’s what I’ve been telling myself.’
She waited, a sense of tension growing as she sipped her coffee and tried to be patient.
‘Have you ever heard of Annacramp?’
She laughed.
‘Of course, I’ve heard of Annacramp. When I was little I thought everyone in the world knew about Annacramp because Uncle Alex met Great Uncle Sam in Canada, in some strange place called German Township, and that’s what they started to talk about. That was why Uncle Alex came to Ireland to look for his family. He was an orphan, you see, but when Great Uncle Sam mentioned the name, it must have rung a bell. So he set out to find the Hamiltons with nothing but the name of a townland and his own name.’
‘And what was his name?’
‘Why, Hamilton, of course. Alex Hamilton,’ she went on, laughing at herself for not making it plain to him. ‘I’m sorry, it’s one of those family stories you hear so often you forget to put in the details. Uncle Alex was an orphan, sent to Canada when he was only a little boy. He worked on farms from the time he was nine. He met Sam at some sort of trade union meeting. Sam was like Aunt Sarah, always thinking what could be done to help working people. Anyway, the two of them got talking, Sam made some remark about Alex’s good Ulster name and the next thing Alex was saving up to come to Annacramp.’
‘And did he come?’
‘Oh yes, he did. Someone in Annacramp sent him to Thomas Scott’s forge in Salter’s Grange, and Thomas sent him on to Granda and Granny at Ballydown to see if Granda could get him a job in one of the mills. When Granda saw him he said he was the very image of his father and that was that. He’s been Uncle Alex as long as I remember. He and Granda worked together. And last year, when he and Emily had their little boy, they called him John. So there’s still a John Hamilton at Ballydown.’
He’d listened to the story with a smile on his face, but at the mention of Ballydown the smile faded. He dropped his eyes and studied the pattern on the damask tablecloth as if trying to memorise it.
‘Would that all such family stories ended so happily.’
‘Do you know Ballydown?
‘Yes.’
‘And Annacramp?’
‘Yes.’
‘And J is for James?’
‘Yes.’
There was a moment of complete silence. ‘Would you like some more coffee?’ he asked politely.
She took a deep breath as if the decision was more than she could manage. ‘Yes, please.’
‘How did you guess?’
‘Last year when Bobby and I were carrying buckets of water for the cows, he told me I didn’t have the Hamilton shoulders. He said it was lucky because I was a girl. And when I told you just now about Alex I suddenly remembered what Bobby had said. You have the Hamilton shoulders and your forehead is just like Da’s, if it wasn’t for the colour of your hair.’
‘Great Uncle Sam,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘Granny’s red-headed little brother. Is he still with us?’ She shook her head.
‘He was killed by a stray bullet in Dublin in 1916. He was trying to help one of our cousins escape from the College of Surgeons.’
‘And the cousin?’
‘Brendan Doherty,’ she nodded. ‘He survived. Went to America. He and his cousin, Sean McGinley, have both been very kind to Emily.’
‘I had no idea how I was going to tell you, but you’ve saved me the trouble. The question now is what to do. Would that I could arrive like Alex and be welcomed, but I don’t deserve that. I behaved appallingly. I turned my back on my family for the most selfish of reasons when my parents had been extremely generous to me. Unlike your brothers, I had an apprenticeship and went into management. I was rather successful in business. Less successful in my private life. My wife died soon after our son was born, but by then any feeling we’d had for each other had gone. My son was brought up by her family, the Slaters, with whom I went into business for a time, hence my name. I’m about to resume James, regardless of what might happen here.’
‘What age were you then?’
‘When?’
‘When you rejected your family?’
‘Nineteen. Twenty, perhaps.’
‘But that is a long time ago, isn’t it?’
For some reason, the only thing Rosie could think of was seedlings. Billy said that after you’d grown enough spindly ones that had to be thrown away, you’d be able to spot a grower when it was no bigger than your thumb. She pushed the thought out of mind, because she couldn’t see what on earth it had to do with the matter in hand.
‘Yes, it is a long time ago. But surely that makes matters worse and not better?’
She wondered what he could have been like in his twenties, but she could make no connection between the confident and considerate man that sat opposite her and the young man who’d rejected his family.
‘But why? I think Da would be delighted to have you back.’
‘And could forgive me for the
hurt I caused? Especially to your granny, whom he always loved so dearly.’
‘Da’s a Quaker now. They’re very good on forgiveness.’
A small smile touched his lips.
‘And your grandmother?’
For a few moments she hesitated. She went back over the evening she’d shown Granny James’s business card. At the time, she’d said nothing, but there’d been a sudden moment of quiet before they moved on to speak of other things. That was what was significant now.
‘Uncle James, I showed Granny your business card early last month. I think she’s worked it out already. She’s just waiting till the time seems right.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
There was heavy rain in Belfast on Monday night. Rosie woke, heard it drumming on the roof but was so tired she fell asleep again without having time to worry about any consequences it might have. All it did was freshen the streets of the city. Next morning, the air was clear and bright and when her colleagues arrived from Portadown they replied to her anxious questions about the rain with laughter. They’d had no rain at all.
The dry, settled weather seemed like a good omen and the days that followed were rewarding and enjoyable. On Tuesday, a busload of ladies from the Armagh Group of Women’s Institutes arrived to visit the fair, among them Miss Wilson, Mrs Mackay and Mary Braithwaite. They were tremendously impressed with the stand and what the staff were wearing and delighted by the colour postcards of roses they were invited to choose. On Wednesday, Dr Stewart arrived with Aunt Elizabeth and her grandmother. They confessed they’d kept their visit a surprise because they didn’t want to upset any plans she might have made.
‘Norman Lambert, perhaps? What do you think, Rosie?’
She nodded at Mary, a shy country girl, who in the short space of time since Monday was now cheerfully choosing buttonholes for the gentlemen visitors as if she’d been doing it for years. She watched, delighted, as Mary carefully pinned the rose on Dr Stewart’s lapel.
‘That smells wonderful, Mary. Do I have to buy a whole bushfull now?’
‘No, sir, just tell everyone where you got it, please.’
‘I will do that with great pleasure, my dear. Thank you very much.’
‘And ladies can choose colour postcards,’ Rosie said, giving both her aunt and her grandmother a quick hug.
‘Rosie, these are really lovely,’ said Elizabeth, casting her eye over the selection spread out before her. ‘Will your father manage to get up to Belfast this week?’
‘Yes. Friday afternoon. Bobby and Charlie too. They’ve all managed a half day off.’
‘Richard is hoping to come up tomorrow. He arrived home this morning looking ghastly. Apparently it was a rough crossing and after that they lost his luggage,’ she went on, raising her eyebrows.
‘But I thought it was to be the end of June.’
‘So did I, but we all forgot there’s a fortnight’s holiday included in his year’s contract.’
Elizabeth moved away and crossed the stand to join her husband, Dr Stewart, who was deep in conversation with Brian Singleton and at the same time casting his eye down his lists very intently.
Rosie turned to her grandmother and found her gazing at the publicity photographs taken on Monday.
‘This is a splendid photograph, Rosie. Pity it’s not in colour. Were these the Americans we’ve heard about?’ she asked, examining the other images in the display Brian had added to the stand the previous day. ‘Very good of Mr Sam. Good of Slater Hamilton too,’ she said thoughtfully, running her finger along the large black and white print and pausing at his tall figure.
‘I had dinner with him on Monday.’
‘Oh, you did, did you?’
She could see her grandmother was pleased and would have said more, but as another group of visitors began to swirl around them there was no opportunity.
‘Would you have a pencil and an envelope?’ her grandmother asked.
Rosie produced a pencil from her pocket and gave it to her, but an envelope was more difficult. She left her choosing a postcard and went across to ask Brian if he had one. All he could offer was one that bore the address of the Portadown showroom printed on it, but she took it and thanked him. She knew it wouldn’t matter.
‘I’ve just written a short message,’ her grandmother said, as she slipped the postcard into the envelope and sealed it. ‘But it may make it easier.’
‘I’ll see he gets it.’
‘Oh, I mustn’t forget what I have to tell you. Helen is engaged.’
For one long, distressing moment, Rosie felt herself go rigid with anxiety.
‘I’ve forgotten the young man’s name, but Richard P. says he’s a good chap. Another doctor, I gather.’
She gave Rosie a small, secret smile, squeezed her arm and said they must see each other soon, they had rather a lot to talk about. Then with a wave, she went to join Elizabeth and Richard, who had just finished ordering some new roses for their front garden.
An hour later, Rosie turned to find a familiar, tall figure smiling down at her.
‘Mr Hamilton,’ she said politely, the stand still crowded with colleagues and visitors.
‘I can see how busy you are, but I thought you’d like to see this. We can make arrangements another time.’
He handed her the reply-paid envelope on which she’d written his name and waited patiently while she read the short message several times over.
Dear James,
Welcome home! I look forward to seeing you when time and occasion permits. Rosie has my telephone number, so new I keep forgetting it. With love, Ma.
‘Lizzie, I have such wonderful news,’ Rosie said, as she pushed open the door of their room sometime after six, her arms full of roses, still lovely and full of fragrance, but already beginning to be overblown.
Lizzie was lying on the sofa, a hot-water bottle clutched to her stomach. She was very pale and looked as if she might have been crying.
‘Oh my poor dear, what’s wrong?’
She dropped the roses on the nearest single bed, came over and took her friend’s hand. ‘I feel awful.’
‘Is it your monthly? Has it just started?’ Lizzie nodded, bending over, clutching the hot-water bottle fiercely against her stomach.
‘You don’t normally have much trouble, do you?’
Rosie bit her lip. It was perfectly obvious something was not right, but Lizzie wasn’t doing much to tell her how she felt. While she was still thinking what to do next, Lizzie gave a little cry.
‘I think I’ve wet myself.’
She attempted to stand up, but had to sit down again, crying out in horror as she saw blood trickle down her bare legs and make small puddles on the worn carpet.
‘I’m goin’ to die,’ she moaned. ‘Somethin’ awful’s happenin’ to me. An’ what’s poor Hugh going to do without me?’
She burst into tears and sobbed as if her heart would break.
‘No, you’re not. No one dies of a heavy period. Here, stick this between your legs and we’ll get you sorted out.’
Rosie picked up the neatly folded hand towel beside her own bed, put her arm round her and helped her remove her saturated knickers. There was indeed an awful lot of blood. She was concerned at the amount and its appearance.
‘What was last month’s like? Was it very light?’
She shook her head.
‘It didn’t come at all last month.’
‘Does that often happen?
‘No. It’s never happened before. Rosie, I’m goin’ to bleed to death. I know I am.’
‘No you are not.’
Rosie racked her brains trying to think of what might help. She knew perfectly well what a missing period meant. If Lizzie and Hugh were married, there’d be no puzzle at all, but she was certain Lizzie had never made love with Hugh. This was the girl who had never even seen a boy peeing in a hedge until the day she’d met him in the strawberry field.
‘Sure them one’s could pick it up off the grass.’<
br />
Suddenly, she remembered overhearing her mother and one of her neighbours fulminating about some girls who were ‘always falling pregnant’. From what she’d been able to grasp, it seemed they were so fertile that even a kiss and cuddle behind a haystack could have an unfortunate outcome.
‘Lizzie dear, now I don’t want you to be upset with me, but I need to know. Have you and Hugh been cuddling together without your clothes on?’
‘An’ what if we have?’ she replied crossly, a little colour mitigating the ghastly pallor of her face. ‘I’ve never done what you’re not supposed to do. I know better than that.’
Rosie took a deep breath.
‘But have you ever got damp?’
‘Yes, well,’ she said, tossing her head. ‘But sure what does that matter? I told you we’ve never done anythin’ wrong. Hugh knows all about that. He’s explained it all to me, but he’d never do that. It would be trouble for me and he loves me far too much for that.’
Rosie gave a sigh of relief. She’d no idea what she was going to do next, but at least she could reassure Lizzie she wasn’t going to bleed to death.
‘Lizzie dear, I know you’ve done nothing wrong, but I think there may have been an accident.’
‘You mean I’m in the family way?’ she demanded, her eyes wide, a look of absolute horror on her face.
‘Well, you were, at least I think you were, but you’re certainly not now. That’s what the bleeding’s about. That’s why you’re going to have to see a doctor.’
She shook her head vigorously.
‘If I see a doctor then Auntie will know and she’ll tell Da. He’ll go mad. I can’t do that.’
‘I suppose you’d rather die?’
‘Ach, Rosie, don’t be cross with me,’ she said, bursting into tears again.
Rosie put her arms round her and comforted her.
‘I do know one doctor who wouldn’t tell anyone. If I can get him to come, would that be all right?’
‘That nice old man, the one you call Uncle Richard?’
Rosie nodded. That nice old man, as Lizzie called him, had driven to Belfast this morning, spent the day tramping round the trade fair and was probably now having a well-earned nap after his supper, but at least she could talk to him, or Aunt Elizabeth, and they would know what it was best to do. Granny would know too, but the chances were she was still with them at Dromore. She often stayed the night if they’d been out together all day.
