Her eyes immediately sought out Theady, who looked downcast and almost tearful. His small voice whispered, ‘Yes, Mr O’Dowd.’ As he walked inside, ahead of the others, it was as though he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Rosie tried to think of something to say, but there was nothing. The only words she could hear in her head were, ‘Come and see us when we move in,’ which drowned out everything else. Despite resolving not to go and see them, she knew that if it meant she might see Michael, be closer to him, maybe even speak to him, the forces of hell could not hold her back. She would become Sarah’s friend and she would be there, in Michael’s home.
Chapter 14
It was September and harvest time and Sarah felt something close to joy the morning she woke and saw villagers coming up the hill to the farm to help. She and Nola had been cooking and baking for two days solid and now it was time for the outdoor work to begin.
‘You go and help in the fields,’ Nola instructed. ‘Josie and Bridget will help me here in the kitchen. They’ll be coming up on the cart. Even Bridget’s Porick turns out for harvest, fat and lazy though he is. Mind, ’tis only for the porter and the food, of course. Make sure he works, now.’
Michael had left already. He and Seamus and Pete had been out in the oat field since first light. There’d been a stiff breeze the previous day, which meant the crop would have dried, and conditions could not have been more perfect. There was no sign of rain, but with crops to be brought in on more than a dozen farms thereabouts, and a limited time to do it in, when the weather was right, every man, woman and child worked a fifteen-hour day. If the skies were clear around the time of the harvest moon, they carried on through the night, grabbing the odd hour of sleep on the edge of the field until the last of the oats had been threshed.
Over the last couple of weeks, Sarah and Michael had joined the other villagers at whichever farm the thresher was at. The dicing with the elements, the meeting of new people on the different farms, and the satisfaction of bringing in a good harvest had all helped ease the acuteness of Sarah’s grief. With the joy of the life growing inside her, her heart felt lighter. She and Michael collapsed exhausted into bed each night.
‘How will they get the thresher up our hill?’ Sarah had asked on the cart home one night.
‘The same way you’re getting up here,’ Pete had replied. ‘Once it’s done its job at the Deans’ farm, six men will load it onto their cart and it’ll be pulled up here the following morning. We have flat fields all right, you just have to get up the hill to reach them.’
Sarah felt a thrill of excitement: it was a challenge, to get all the crops in before the rain, and it was one she relished. For the first time, she felt like an integral part of the community, working in unity with the others to save and store a year’s labour for the families of Tarabeg. She felt as though she belonged, and the importance of that welled up inside her and at times brought her to tears. It seemed that every person knew her name, and the children especially loved her sweet way with them. The whispers had stopped. She had proven herself by rolling up her sleeves and cutting and stacking along with the rest of them. Everyone knew and liked Sarah Malone from up on Tarabeg Hill.
‘I can see the Deans’ cart,’ she shouted from the boreen in through the open door to Nola and Daedio.
‘How many horses has he on it?’ Daedio shouted back.
‘Two, I think. Yes, two.’ Sarah had her hand up to shield her eyes from the sun, which was low on the hill.
‘He has the thresher and the old crones on the cart as well then,’ said Daedio. ‘And I bet I know what weighs the most.’
‘He’s stopping and getting down,’ shouted Sarah.
‘Aye, he’s making the lazy buggers walk the last yards while he turns into the field with the thresher.’
His words were barely out before Sarah, jumping up and down, shouted again. ‘Look, everyone’s coming up the hill behind him – they’re all here!’ She could see the tops of heads bobbing up and down, some with their red, brunette or raven-black hair gleaming in the sun, others in scarves or caps. The shouts and whoops of children reached her ears as they all turned into the field behind the thresher to begin their day’s work. Clasping her hand over her belly and her growing infant, Sarah grinned at the sight of them and realised that at that moment she felt truly happy.
Josie and Bridget, the old crones Daedio had been referring to, broke away from the villagers turning into the first field and made their way up to the house, carrying baskets in front of them, scarves tied neatly under their chins. They smiled and raised their hands and waved to Sarah.
‘Lord in heaven, that hill gets steeper every time I visit,’ puffed Josie from just outside the door.
‘No, it doesn’t, you just get fatter,’ Daedio’s voice boomed out from the bed.
They all heard a yelp of pain and a shout of abuse before they saw Nola emerge from the front door, tea towel in hand, grinning. ‘Don’t you be taking any notice of a word he says now, d’you hear me.’
‘We wouldn’t be here, Nola, if we ever had,’ said Bridget.
‘Can I go now, Nola?’ asked Sarah, looking down into the field.
‘Yes, go on, off you run, but be careful now. Michael will know when to bring everyone back for lunch.’
Sarah had already learnt the ways of telling the time up on the hill. Lunch was ready when the sun sat directly above the old cottage.
The three women watched her as she ran down the hill towards the field, her hair flying up behind her.
‘Does she know yet,’ asked Bridget, ‘what it is that she’s carrying?’
‘No, you know I don’t have the sight like you, and no one else has told her yet, though there’s plenty of women in this village after your crown, Bridget. Do you know?’
Bridget smiled as she emptied the contents of her basket onto the scrubbed wooden table that was already heaving with the first bake of the day, ready to feed the harvesters.
‘What is it, Bridget?’ asked Josie as matter-of-factly as if she had been asking her the time of day. ‘You must know.’
‘I do indeed. Has been obvious to me since I knew she was carrying, and that was long before you knew, Nola. Do you want me to say?’ Bridget took the last pie out of her basket and laid it on the table with the rest.
Nola thought for a moment. ‘Aye, go on then, but don’t be telling anyone else. We’ll keep it to just the three of us. Let’s put the kettle on first.’
Ten minutes later, sitting on the bench and enjoying the last sit-down any of them would have until the harvest was in and they hit their beds, Nola jumped up. ‘Hang on, we need a drop in this.’ She poured a generous measure of whiskey into each cup. ‘Do you know, it’s bliss when Daedio is taken off me hands.’
Daedio had been given a piggyback by Pete down to the field, to supervise the harvest from his favourite position in a chair made out of last year’s bales.
‘Go on, I’m ready,’ said Nola. ‘Tell us then, what is Sarah carrying?’
Josie tittered with excitement.
‘She’s only had one sip,’ said Nola, winking at Bridget, ‘and her, Paddy’s wife. You would think she would be immune from the fumes on his breath alone, wouldn’t you?’
Bridget snorted and almost choked. ‘She swears she never touches a drop, don’t you, Josie.’
Josie grinned, her short curls quivering and her apple cheeks glowing. As they laughed, she thought how lucky they were to be such close friends.
‘’Tis a girl.’
A gasp escaped from the other two.
‘Well, well, well. A baby girl. A little helper for you, Nola, and her mammy. Isn’t that grand,’ said Josie.
‘’Tis a girl for Daedio – ’tis what he is praying for. I’ll let the old maggot keep praying. I won’t be telling him.’
‘Shush,’ said Bridget. ‘Annie is here, she’s listening to you.’
Both Josie and Nola felt the change in the air, the cool
ness that passed in front of them.
‘Oh, I’m sorry, Annie.’ Nola straightened her back and looked around the room. ‘I do look after him, you know, just as you would like.’
‘She knows that,’ said Bridget, patting Nola on the hand. ‘She’s here all the time, watching you. Annie has never left. She says she has work to do and she can’t leave until it’s finished. She also knows what he can be like, she’s saying, and… I can’t hear, Annie, what was that?’ Bridget’s expression remained unchanged. ‘I can’t hear her. Come and sit with us, Annie, try again in a minute.’
The three women shuffled up the bench to make room at the end and carried on with their drinks.
‘Annie was just telling me I was right,’ said Bridget. ‘’Tis a girl, and a blessed marriage all right, no one can doubt that now. If the good Lord thought they had been married in haste, there would be no child on the way.’
‘What child, who?’ Daedio shouted from the door as two young boys carried him past in a fireman’s lift.
Nola sighed. ‘See what I have to be putting up with,’ she said.
‘Might have known you would all be sat on your arses. These lads, they want a drink, and we need to get some more water drawn from the well. The sun, it’s blazing in the sky, it is. A perfect day for the harvest. Could life get any better than this?’
Bridget looked at Nola and grinned.
‘Is there any chance of his joining Annie before this babby arrives?’ asked Nola.
‘No, none at all,’ said Bridget.
‘Well, he can enjoy the surprise of being told it’s a girl by Michael himself then.’ Nola drained the last drops from her mug.
Minutes later, the three women were busy laying the wooden planks for the trestle table across its blocks outside the old cottage and scrubbing them, ready to receive the food that had been in preparation for two days. Bridget and Josie had both brought bread they had baked that morning and some of the children had run up to the house with parcels of butter and cheese from their own kitchens.
‘Give me a hand with this, would you,’ said Josie to Bridget, and the two women dragged out bales of hay from the cowshed to use as benches for people to sit on. The table was laid with jugs and wooden platters, and the smell of gammon sizzling in the pan drifted out from the kitchen. Dishes of buttery mashed potatoes and greens stood in the hearth on skillets, keeping warm, and there were fruit pies and jugs of cream to follow. Sarah and Nola had made cakes and biscuits the night before, and the scones would be served with wild raspberry jam. Sarah, Bee and Ciaran had picked the raspberries the previous Sunday afternoon. Bee had taken almost as many back home to Rory’s parents as they’d picked for the jam.
When the women were done and satisfied, ready well before midday, they sat on the bales with a second round of tea laced with whiskey and waited for the crowds to make their way up the hill.
‘I’ve been doing harvest every day since I could walk,’ said Bridget as she sipped her tea.
Nola flopped down beside her. ‘May we always be doing it, God willing.’
‘I’m not sure we will,’ said Josie, turning away from looking down the hill and towards the other two.
A shot of fear ran through Nola. ‘Why would that be, Josie? Why would anything change?’
‘The war, that’s why. Look at us. We live a life as close to heaven as anyone could want. Oh, I know, everyone loves all the fancy things that come in the post from America and England, but isn’t this the best? Aren’t the poorest among us the happiest? Don’t those who have the least, laugh the most? Look at the McGintys – first out to help at every harvest, so they are.’
For a moment there was silence as they all looked towards the nearest field and sought out the carrot-haired McGinty children, working hard. Their thoughts were interrupted only by the excited barking of the dogs, the calls of children in the field and the thrumming of the thresher in the background.
‘Every month, it seems, someone else leaves Tarabeg,’ said Bridget. ‘There is the worry, right there. If people keep leaving and deserting their houses and fields, the place will alter for sure. Who will be left? You are lucky Michael is staying, Nola, but in every house and on every farm the young ones are flocking to the boats and different shores. Everyone wants to up and away now the war is over.’
Nola wiped imaginary dust from the top of the table. ‘Well, Michael and Sarah are staying and that’s for sure.’
‘Yes, but your others have all left,’ said Josie without hesitation. ‘The price we pay for living here is that our children leave us. Eire is a country awash with the tears of mothers. Is that a price worth paying? I’d rather change came so that the mothers who come after us can see their children grow old and know who their grandchildren are. So they can have a family not just for a few years only. If Michael wasn’t staying, Nola, who would look after the farm when you and Seamus get older or when your time on this earth is done?’
Tears stung Nola’s eyes. The hurt they all carried, every one of them, rushed to the surface when absent children were spoken about aloud.
‘God forgive me, I shouldn’t say this,’ said Josie, ‘but I’m thankful for Tig’s impediments. At least I get to keep him.’
‘Aye, we got to keep one each,’ said Nola. ‘God must be smiling down on us.’
Bridget had no children, but she sensed her friends’ loss. ‘I think things will change and mightily so,’ she said. ‘No loving God would want mothers to suffer like you two have. I think we’re going to be the last to live through these harvests, the last to know this way of life. There will come a day, and it won’t be long, Nola, when you are too old to plant and Michael is running his shop. Teresa Gallagher’s sister is now a widow. When she dies, I asked Teresa, would she be taking over the farm, and she was quite adamant. “I will not,” she said. So there’s another farm that will stand empty. How it will happen, when it will happen, I do not know. But there will come an autumn when the boreens and the roads won’t be full of people rushing out to bring in the crops, the thresher will lie still and there will be a different way of life here. When that happens, I for one will have a pain in my heart as mighty as any, and I hope to God I’m six feet under and I won’t be here, but I fear it might be closer than we think and I won’t be spared. The farms will be idle. The village will become a ghost town. The houses will stand unlived in, this I can see.’
‘The only things idle around here are you lot,’ shouted Daedio, coming back into view, this time being carried up from the fields by two different lads.
‘Is your belly empty, is it, Daedio?’ shouted Nola as she stood up.
All three women looked up to the sky above the old cottage. ‘Right, the sun is almost there. It’s nearly time, let’s start carrying the rest of the food out,’ said Josie. And they all bustled back into the house.
Chapter 15
The house and the shop were finally finished, six months later, on a warm spring day.
‘Sure, would you look at the weather, isn’t the good Lord smiling down on us?’ Michael said to Sarah as he twirled her around in the kitchen.
Sarah was in no mood for dancing. She was busy forking steamed salmon. Tig and Michael had poached the salmon out of the Taramore river the summer before and it had been smoked and lying in Paddy’s cold room ever since. ‘I’m mashing it onto bread and butter and cutting it up onto the salver. Will it be enough, Michael?’
‘Will it be enough?’ Michael took in the wooden platters of sliced bread covered in moist fleshy red salmon. ‘Sarah, that’s a feast. Even Jesus didn’t have the Guinness to go with the fish.’
‘Is it true that the only man not to have an invite is the ghillie?’ asked Sarah with a grin.
‘Aye, it is. But he’ll come anyway. I have to hope he can’t tell the taste of his own fish.’
‘I’ve saved him a pie. The salmon will be gone by the time he hears the music and walks down the hill. He will think we’ve all been eating the pie.’
Michael hugged his beautiful young wife into his chest. ‘Ah, you’re learning the ways.’ He laughed. He could barely contain his excitement as he spun her around. ‘They’ll be talking about this day and the opening of our shop all the way to Galway, Sarah, and they’ll be doing that for a very long time.’
Michael Malone may have had the banter, but Sarah was one woman who would not be taken in by it, and never had been. ‘And isn’t that exactly what you’d be wanting, Michael? Isn’t that just what all this is for?’ She grinned up at the man who had not given her an easy life over the past months, with his mad ideas about his shop and his fortune.
Over his shoulder, Sarah watched through the back door as Nola came into view, a basket in one hand. She was helping Seamus lead a cow in. They’d brought it down from the farm into the shed at the back, a housewarming present from the two of them. As she placed the basket on the ground and let out three chickens, Seamus opened a sack and a cock flew out and strutted around the yard. He tied the cow to the ring in the byre and one of the chickens fluttered onto its back, where it remained, surveying the scene before it.
The new curtains lifted in the spring breeze and their weeks-old baby, Mary Kate, stirred in her basket on the table. Sarah bent over her to check and stroked her downy cheek adoringly. ‘Would you look at all this,’ she said, straightening up and gesturing expansively at their surroundings. ‘We’re here, we’ve done it now, Michael Malone.’
A row of wooden chairs had been laid out under the window on the cinder path, placed to keep mud from the goods that would be set outside the shop for sale, along with straw bales covered in blankets and cloths for people to sit on. While everyone gathered and watched, a wooden stepladder was erected by Tig, who stood on the bottom and held it. Mr O’Dowd handed him the nails as Michael climbed up and gave the shop the finishing touch, the sign that said ‘Malone’s General Store’ over the front door.
Shadows in Heaven Page 20
