The afternoon sun dipped lower in the sky and cast long shadows across the fast-flowing river, its peaty, tea-coloured water rushing over the stones through Michael’s seven acres. Seamus and Pete had brought down from the farm extra straw bales; they bound the bales together with rope and made rows of benches that glowed a deep buttery yellow in the sunshine. Mr O’Dowd had even taken the donkeys up the boreens and transported down the infirm in basket chairs strapped across their backs. ‘I could do this quicker if you just jumped on my back, Mrs Power,’ he said to Keeva’s mother and Mrs Murphy. ‘All you had to do was wrap yer legs around my waist and hold on good and tight – you can remember how to do that, can’t you?’ They laughed so hard, Mrs Murphy’s last tooth fell out on the way.
It didn’t take long before the first neighbour began to doze, a smile on his face, a pot in his hand and feeling happy, thanks to Michael Malone.
As the villagers stood and admired the shop, inside and out, gasping over the new goods and chatting in the street, the fiddler, who attended every gathering in Tarabeg, small and large, was joined by one of the farmers from up in the hills on his own fiddle. Six men carried the piano down from the Murphys’ house and set it on the side of the road. Someone began to play tunes they all knew and the tapping of feet began to play a tattoo on the dusty road. Paddy continued filling pots and mugs and Tig took his mouth organ from his trouser pocket. The blended sound of piano, fiddles and mouth organ filled the air and, with the fading sun on their faces and Guinness in their bellies, people began to relax. One or two jigged to the rhythm and the children formed a circle and danced their traditional dances in the middle of the street, sending up clouds of dried mud around their ankles. The only sounds louder than the music or the river were the howls of laughter as villagers danced and clapped their hands in time to the ever quickening rhythm.
Sarah could practically feel the beat coming up from the road and through her legs as it pounded into her heart as her own feet began to tap, her hips swayed and yet still Mary Kate slept in her arms, oblivious throughout.
‘Come away and dance with me, will you,’ said Michael as he ran up to his wife and circled her and his daughter in his arms.
‘Are you mad? Get off, she will wake any minute if you don’t stop.’
But Michael would not take no for an answer and, handing Mary Kate to his mother, he took his wife for a twirl. The crowd parted and everyone clapped as he spun his Sarah around.
‘You see that?’ said Daedio to the men sitting around him. ‘That’s what me and Annie danced like. Do you remember? When we had the fair and Seamus was a lad and we were dancing out here, long before Paddy built his shop.’
The men nodded and for a moment fell silent as they wondered where the years had flown and how it was that one minute they’d been young men dancing a jig and now they were the old men sitting on the side. ‘That was me and Annie once,’ repeated Daedio, almost to himself.
The space outside the shop was full and Father Jerry, having taken the Angelus Mass, now flopped onto a bale and looked settled in for the night. It was a Sunday and Michael had timed it right. The farmers and those in the remote dwellings, like his own Aunt Mary in the lodge up on the next hill, had travelled in for the Mass and now he would keep them there with the promise of food and drink and a seat to rest their weary legs.
Bridget and Porick McAndrew had arrived and joined in the festivities. Bridget had set herself up inside the shop and was telling fortunes, a safe distance from Father Jerry. She was reading palms and supplying potion to those who found the trek to her farm too much. Sarah brought Mary Kate over to her, carrying her across her chest, tucked into her shawl, and Bridget stood on tiptoes to peek at her.
‘She’s special, that child, mark my words,’ she said to Sarah. ‘She could have the sight. There aren’t many born that have that look about them. I’m thinking your Michael will be right. Her future isn’t here in Tarabeg, I see her across the water, and…’ Suddenly her face clouded over.
‘What is it, Bridget?’ asked Sarah, a note of alarm in her voice. ‘What is it?’
Bridget recovered herself. ‘Nothing. Nothing at all. I have a God-awful pain in my leg.’ She bent down and rubbed her leg, averting her face from Sarah. ‘I just told you, this one, she’s special.’
Sarah smiled, relieved.
‘As God is true, she will be worth a hundred times her father when her days are done, that I do know.’
‘She is due for another feed soon,’ Sarah said, feeling the now familiar tingling and swelling of her breasts and a desperate need to relieve the fullness.
The musicians and dancers had stopped to take a break and fill themselves with the best pork any of them had ever tasted, cooked over a pit on Michael’s seven acres. The children ran back and forth with wooden platters of the steaming, succulent meat. Suddenly Sarah heard a voice call her name. It was a child’s voice and one she knew; it was Ciaran shouting to her. Her heart had been aching and her happiness incomplete, but now he was here.
‘Sarah! Sarah!’ He ran to her, waving, and threw his arms around her legs.
Turning sharply, she saw two cartloads of new arrivals. Driving the first cart were her Uncle Rory’s parents, waving to her, and the second was driven by Captain Bob. In those carts they brought to Sarah all of her past, all the way to Tarabeg, which was her future. People who had known her since she was a child. People who knew her mother and could tell her that as well as looking like Michael’s relatives, Mary Kate looked just like one of her own. She thought her heart would burst as Bee waved and all of her former neighbours did the same and called her name excitedly.
Michael ran towards the first cart and guided the horse by the harness to the post to pull up outside Paddy’s.
‘There you go, it’s your day now, too,’ said Bridget as she squeezed Sarah’s hand. ‘They have all come for you, Sarah. Just for you.’ As Sarah hurried over to greet her friends and neighbours, she missed the shadow of concern that crossed Bridget’s face and nor did she see her kiss the rosary she took from her pocket. Bridget dabbled in many things she ought not to, and some she had every right to, but her last line of defence was always the rosary.
The sun set and the moon rose. The air was uncommonly warm for a spring evening and the glow of the meat-roasting pit took the edge off any chill. Children slept soundly on the tops of bales, tucked up into capes and shawls. Michael and Sarah had chosen a full moon night so that people could find their way home should they leave before dawn, and the village bathed in its magical silver light. Josie had fetched the candles and hurricane lamps, but there was barely any need.
As midnight approached, the merriment showed no sign of abating. Paddy and Josie made their way back into the bar to prepare the next round of refreshments.
‘I don’t think anyone will be leaving until we’re drunk dry,’ Paddy said as he wheeled out another barrel.
‘Sure, was it ever any different?’ Josie replied. ‘The ocean lot won’t be leaving until the sun is up, they know how to dance, and Sarah will want to keep them here as long as she can. I’ve put the pies in the oven and Sarah’s is full too. Mrs Doyle has the bread in her kitchen and it’s being carried down now. It’ll be time to feed everyone again soon and there is still some of the pig left out in the pit.’
Josie was bent over the range, sliding out a tray full of hot meat and potato pies. The steam rose to greet them and Paddy’s stomach groaned in response. Josie picked up the corner of her apron, lifted a hot pie and held it out to her husband.
‘God, you are an angel,’ he said as he took it, using the corner of his jacket against the heat. As he bit into the buttery pastry and hot salty gravy dribbled down his chin, Josie flicked the rest of the pies from the cast-iron tray onto a wooden platter.
‘Will ye take a look out there,’ said Paddy, sucking in the air to cool the last of the pie in his mouth.
Josie glanced over her shoulder.
‘If I was a man with a pen
cil and paper and a gift for the drawing, I would want to paint that sight right now and keep it for ever. Sure, was there ever such a night?’
Josie placed her palms in the small of her back and straightened. Much to her surprise, a tear filled her eye. Out of the door was a vision of pure joy. Out there were the friends they had grown up and lived with every day of their lives, dancing, talking, singing and laughing. Some of the children, too excited to sleep, were running around on the periphery, slower than they had been earlier, their energy reserves depleted. Tig was sitting on a bale with Michael and Bee, and Captain Bob was showing him a trick with a coin. Tig threw his head back, laughing. The silvery light of the full moon cast an eerie but beautiful light over the scene.
Paddy slipped his arm around his wife’s shoulders. ‘What’s up wit’ ye?’ he asked as he placed a kiss on her cheek.
Josie lifted the corner of her apron, which was still warm and floury from the pie, and wiped her eye. ‘I wish I knew. I have this feeling, Paddy. Like we are the last. Like this is the last. That maybe there will never be another night like this. You know, with the new quarry, the things that people talk about, ’tis all changing, and I don’t think Tarabeg or any of the villages around here will stay the same. Every person here tonight has known each other all of their lives – we’re family, not neighbours, and, jeez, so many have married from one family to the other over the years, we really are. Can it stay the same, as good as this? It can’t, can it?’
Paddy shook his head. He couldn’t disagree with her. ‘Maybe it will all be for the better after all. Maybe it gets as good as it will ever be and then it has to change. We are the lucky ones who get to be here, when that happens.’
‘Aye, maybe.’ Josie sniffed and wiped her hands on her apron. ‘But I can’t think how you could match this. If laughter and long living is the best ye can ask for, how can any change be for the better when we have the best already? ’Tis one thing for us to get the best, sure it is, but I want that for Tig, and Sarah’s baby. We don’t need the best, they do.’
‘Aye, well, some things won’t change, Josie. When was the last time anyone died before their ninetieth year? Look how many live to over a hundred. There’s a reason they call Ireland God’s own country, we are blessed by saints and the good Lord himself. Nothing can change that.’
Paddy opened his arms and his wife stepped into them. Over her shoulder, he saw Sarah and Tig in conversation alongside the latest arrivals to the party. His wife was right, he knew it, and a great sadness slipped into his heart.
*
‘I haven’t seen the babby properly for days now.’ Tig had hobbled across to Sarah, his stick tapping on the hard-baked earth. ‘What a grand man Captain Bob is, and all the way from Ballycroy.’
‘He is. And Mary Kate hasn’t changed much,’ said Sarah.
‘Does she still look like her daddy?’
‘Everyone says she looks like Grandma Annie, but I wouldn’t know.’
‘Ah, well, doesn’t matter who she looks like, she’s yours and Michael’s. You are mighty lucky to have a babby as bonny as she is.’
‘You’ll have one too one day,’ said Sarah, who knew exactly what she was doing.
‘Me? Who would want me? No, I’m just happy that you’ve asked me to stand for Mary Kate, though you’ll have to put up with me being around all the time, keeping an eye on her. I’ll be happy with that, being her godfather.’
‘Well, I think it’s time you stopped feeling sorry for yourself and realised that there is a very lovely young lady in this village who has eyes only for you. And when you do, I might be bothered listening to your protests.’ Sarah turned and began to walk away.
‘Sarah, stop, who?’ Tig was trying to run and Sarah, worried that he might fall over, stopped and looked back, laughing.
‘Oh, interested now, are you?’ The moment she saw his face, she took pity on him. He was stricken, anxious. He didn’t speak, just stared at her, and she saw a flicker of hope in his eyes. ‘Tig, ’tis Keeva from the post office, she told me herself.’
‘No! When? What did she say? Tell me her exact words.’
‘Well, let me think… She said she was interested in you but you never even noticed her. She said she knew who her heart was for. Yes, that was it, her exact words.’
Tig collapsed onto a bale and Sarah laughed. ‘Tig, it’s not that big a deal that you need to fall about…’
‘Oh yes it is.’
Sarah thought she had never seen a smile so broad on the face of any man other than her Michael.
They broke off the dancing and the card playing and the drinking when Nola and Josie shouted for everyone to help themselves to food. Seamus and Pete had laid long planks of wood across straw bales and this makeshift table was now heaving with hot pies and chicken and slabs of sliced meat, next to buttered bread and pots of salt.
‘Stop, everyone!’ The voice of Father Jerry rang out even as Teresa Gallagher was still whispering in his ear. ‘We must give thanks to the good Lord for tonight, and a special blessing for Michael, Sarah and the babby. And, before we eat, also for the food. Have we all forgotten?’
Impatient muttering rose from those who had drunk well into their cups and could just about stand and those who could smell the chicken and the hot pies and were hungry.
‘The father had forgotten to give thanks himself until Teresa Gallagher reminded him,’ said Tig to Pete.
There was more murmuring as those who had already helped themselves to food from the table set it back down. Hands were clasped together, hats removed and heads bowed as Father Jerry began.
‘Thank you, Lord, for the food we eat with friends, and know ’tis of your will and blessing. Michael and Sarah, may the Lord bless you and Mary Kate, and your new venture and your beautiful home. May joy and peace surround you all, may contentment latch your door, and may happiness be with you now and love be cherished evermore.’
There was a moment of silence, broken by a hungry cry from Mary Kate, swaddled in her shawl in Sarah’s arms. The crowd slowly lifted their heads and, remembering the food, shuffled towards the table. But they were to be thwarted once more.
Michael was the first to hear them, alerted by the sound of horse’s hooves in the distance. It was a moment before Sarah herself noticed that the chatter around the table had diminished and silence had fallen, so focused was she on the needs of Mary Kate. But then she registered the rise of an anxious murmur, which melted straight into silence. Or maybe it was the cloud that arrived from nowhere in the sky and covered the moon that made her look up and her heart beat faster. They had all heard it before, the clatter of hooves and the rumble of wheels as the dust cloud rolled along the Ballina road and into the village. No one spoke and plates and mugs were held still as Shona Maughan, driving her caravan and horses, came into view. Her wild hair hung down from her hat in escaping tendrils like the tails of white rats.
The crowd parted as Bridget stepped out into the street. ‘She takes her strength from those horses,’ she said to Josie, who stood next to her. ‘She has no age, has always been here.’
Shona’s teeth were as black as her skirt. As they all looked on, she spat her chewing baccy to the ground. About her shoulders she wore a brown and black Aran spun blanket; her skirts came down to her ankles, revealing her worn leather boots. She pulled the reins close to her chest and Sarah could see that the skin on her hands was as black as her uncut nails.
Shona leant over and whispered to her son. Sarah felt her eyes resting on the emerald around her neck. She lifted her left hand to cover it. The chatter of the children who were still awake and the whispering of the revellers fell away to absolute silence. The only sound was that of the running river in the distance.
‘You be taking our trade with that shop,’ said Jay Maughan from the seat next to Shona. He too spat a black wad of chewed baccy onto the ground at Michael’s feet.
Michael knew it was no coincidence that the Maughans had arrived during the party for
the shop opening – he’d been expecting them. They would have picked up the news in one of the coastal villages as they passed through.
In fact, the news had been delivered in the form of a taunt. Many locals hated the tinkers and feared that bad things happened when they turned up. A few days earlier, some villagers who’d taken a drink had let the alcohol loosen their lips, shouting, ‘We won’t be needin’ you and your like soon, Maughan – we have the brave man himself, Michael Malone, to be buying whatever we be wanting.’
Jay Maughan had listened in silence. He rarely spoke to those who lived in the remote villages, or their children, who threw stones at his wheels when they left.
‘Are they talking about the Malone shop?’ Shona had asked him as she cracked the reins on the horse’s back. ‘I don’t know, but we need to make it our business to find out. Seems to me that Malone is after making trouble. I will sort it with my fists, and if not, you will sort it with your words. We will put the fear of God into them, one way or another.’
Maughan was a man used to letting his fists and boots do the talking. Ordinarily he would have paid no regard to there being twenty Tarabeg men standing around him. He knew, they were more terrified of Shona and her reputation, than they were of their own wives. But for Maughan a far bigger fear was the officer from the Garda, who was sitting on one of the straw bales. He’d been chatting to Mrs Doyle, gathering nuggets of local information from the nosiest woman in the west, a woman who knew the ins and outs of the comings and goings of almost everyone in the village. Now, though, the guard had his eyes fixed on Maughan as he puffed on his pipe. He had a new car, from the government, his pride and joy and the source of all his self-importance, and a new stone cell to replace the barracks that had been in place since the days of the famine and the deportations but had been burnt down by the Black and Tans.
Maughan gave the guard a long hard look back. He knew only too well that he was mad keen to use both the car and the cell and he didn’t fancy taking his chances again, having spent enough time in the old cell. Maughan was also only half as brave without McGuffey at his side and as he looked at Sarah with the baby in her arms, he spat again.
Shadows in Heaven Page 22
