Storms Gather Between Us

by Storms Gather Between Us (retail) (epub)

  Hannah, numb with shock moved towards the door.

  As she turned the knob, he said, ‘Send Judith to me now.’

  * * *

  After the visit of the Hendersons, Dawson told Hannah she was no longer to come to work at Morton’s Coffee. He contended that it was inappropriate for a married woman – or one soon to be married – to be employed in an office. For two days after the meeting with Hannah’s future husband, Charles Dawson remained at home, instead of going to work himself. Hannah and her mother were unable to talk in private and it felt as though they had both been confined to a jail. Dawson was closeted in his study, doing they knew not what, but calling out for refreshments to be brought to him from time to time.

  Each morning, Mr Busby arrived punctually at nine to confer with Dawson and remained with him for up to an hour before returning to the office. As Hannah was showing him out on the second day, he said, ‘You ill again, Miss Dawson? Leaving all your work to me?’ He scowled at her. ‘Notice he doesn’t pay me any more for taking up your slack.’ He was holding a handkerchief over his nose and mouth.

  So her father hadn’t told the clerk the real reason for her absence. She decided she wasn’t going to tell him herself. ‘Don’t worry, Mr Busby, it’s not contagious.’ Then, with a sense of devilment she added, ‘Just women’s troubles,’ and enjoyed a brief moment of amusement as he scuttled away red-faced.

  Most of the time, Hannah sat at the table in the back parlour pretending to read the Bible verses her father had assigned her to study in preparation for her marriage. Sarah had resorted to spending her days up in her bedroom – although no longer lying in bed.

  Confined to the house, Hannah thought constantly about what she could do to prevent her imminent marriage, to escape the house and go to find Will. Imminent – but what did that actually mean? This week? Next? Next month?

  ‘You have to go and find Will,’ said her mother in a whisper, when she brought her up a cup of tea on the second afternoon. ‘Get him to take you away.’

  ‘I don’t even know when he’s back in port.’

  Sarah, her listless attitude now a thing of the past, counted the days on her fingers. ‘It must be about now. I think he probably docked yesterday and will be leaving again today.’

  Hannah covered her face with her hands. ‘But Father’s downstairs. Guarding the door.’

  ‘Leave him to me. I’ll distract him while you slip out the back door. But you’d better be quick. I’ll tell him you’re feeling unwell. Get back here as soon as you can. Tell Will he needs to act fast.’ She paused, pulling her daughter towards her and hugging her against her chest. ‘In fact if you get hold of him I think you’re better to stay with him. There may not be time otherwise.’

  ‘But that means… you and Judith…’

  ‘I’ll explain everything to Judith when you’re safely away.’

  ‘But it means I can’t say goodbye. I don’t know when I’ll see you and Jude again.’

  ‘I told you: once you’re safely married you can write, care of next door. Then once he knows you’re married and has some time to get used to the idea we’ll see about you coming back to visit us.’

  ‘Only when he’s not here. Oh, Mother, I honestly don’t want to see him again. Is that terrible of me?’

  ‘No. Of course it isn’t. I wish I’d taken you girls and run away with you years ago. But…’

  ‘I know. You couldn’t leave.’

  ‘When I was expecting babies, I couldn’t leave. I still hoped and prayed we’d be a proper family. If the babies hadn’t died. And then losing Timothy…’ She closed her eyes tightly, sucked in a breath and squeezed her daughter’s hand. ‘Go! Now. I’m going to take him in some tea and I’ll tell him you’ve gone to lie down with a headache. ‘Go!’ She pushed Hannah towards the door.

  Hannah ran as fast as her legs would carry her towards the docks. She burst through the gate of the Gladstone Dock just in time to see a ship moving out into the estuary, ready to sail into the waters of the Irish Sea. There were no other vessels in the dock, just another ship waiting to enter.

  Lungs bursting, she ran towards one of the stevedores who were wheeling empty barrows to the dockside ready to unload the incoming ship. ‘Excuse me. That ship that’s just left, what was it?’

  ‘Arklow, heading for Dublin.’

  ‘But I thought it wasn’t due to leave until later today.’

  ‘Well, you thought wrong, love.’

  ‘When will it be back?’

  He shrugged. ‘Dunno, doll. Two or three days? Maybe more.’

  Disappointment flooded through her and she walked to the edge of the dockside and watched as Will’s ship sailed into the distance, leaving a churning wake behind it.

  With a sinking heart and an overwhelming sense of abandonment, she headed back to the house. All she could do now was pray that Will would be back before it was too late.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Once in Dublin, Will went straight to the see the O’Connors.

  He was disappointed that Hannah hadn’t managed to get away to see him this time. He’d even passed by the office, looked through the window and had seen she wasn’t at work. The temptation to go to her house had been enormous but he kept the promise he’d made to Hannah not to go near. It was probably best not to rouse the suspicions of her father until the time came for her to leave, and anyway Will had yet to finalise the plans for her escape. Better to focus on getting all that ironed out. He couldn’t afford to overlook any details. They would probably only have one chance.

  His previous crossing to Dublin had not allowed him time to visit the O’Connors as he’d been assigned to port watch duty and hence confined to the ship. This time though, he would have plenty of time to talk to Mrs O’Connor and make the necessary arrangements. He had enough money put aside to rent a place of their own for Hannah, but there wasn’t sufficient time on this trip to go looking. Anyway, he wanted the decision on where they would make their first home to be Hannah’s too – and being alone in a strange city she would probably prefer to stay with some friendly faces at first. Eddie had assured him that his mother would be only too happy to take Hannah in, and Will was confident that Bridget would prove a good friend to her.

  Will tried to imagine being married. Coming off the ship after each trip and into her arms. He thought of the two of them sharing a meal and sitting in front of their own fireplace, listening to the wireless. Maybe they’d go dancing. To the pictures. She loved books – he’d buy her a shelf-ful to occupy her while he was at sea. Beautiful clothes too, to replace the threadbare, old-fashioned garments she usually wore. He imagined lying with her in their own bed, making love for hours, then going out to walk together, lost in the pleasure of each other’s company.

  It was hard to believe that in such a short time he had come to feel this way. Before the Christina had docked in Liverpool, all he’d cared about was his next drink, the next woman, the next port, whether he’d get shore leave, which roster he’d be on. A pointless, aimless, empty existence. Now he let himself imagine having children with Hannah, holding their first child in his arms, watching her feeding their baby. He hoped it would look like her. A beautiful bright happy child. A child like little Mikey, his poor dead half-brother. Only he knew now he probably wasn’t his half-brother – but Hannah’s. That thought made him think of Charles Dawson – not something he wanted to do. He felt his hands form fists and his anger rising inside him. The man was pure evil. He had to get Hannah away from him.

  As he had hoped, Mrs O’Connor and Bridget were only too willing to take Hannah in. ‘If she doesn’t mind roughing it and mucking in with us,’ said the mother. ‘Bridget and I share a bed but we can squeeze a mattress in for her in our room. Two of the lads can share for a while. They won’t care. And we can’t have her bunking down in here with the boys.’ She gestured around the small room. ‘It’s not much, but it’s home and your intended will be very welcome.’

  Bridget was grinn
ing at him. ‘I can’t tell you, Will, how happy I am for you and I can’t wait to meet Hannah.’

  Her mother gave her a wistful look.

  ‘My prayers for you were answered. Thanks be to the Blessed Virgin Mary.’ Bridget’s face was glowing with happiness. ‘I told you, you deserved to be happy, that day when we had our walk to St Stephen’s Green and I’ve been praying up a storm ever since.’

  Mrs O’Connor looked sideways at her daughter. ‘You didn’t tell me you’d been walking with Willy. And over the other side and all.’ She looked indignant.

  Bridget laughed. ‘I didn’t tell you, Mammy, as you’d have read all kinds of things into it that weren’t there at all.’ She threw another grin at Will, who thought, not for the first time that it was a terrible pity the woman was set on becoming a nun.

  Stretching her lips and giving her head a little shake, Mrs O’Connor said, ‘Oh well. Aren’t we all helpless in the will of the good Lord?’ She turned again to Will. ‘We’ll take great care of the lass. Just get her over here and you can rest assured she’ll be safe with us. Now you will be marrying in the Church – I can have a word with Father O’Leary.’

  ‘Neither Hannah nor I are Roman Catholics. It will have to be a civil wedding.’

  The two women looked at each other. ‘We know nothing about that,’ said Mrs O’Connor, rather primly. ‘But we’ll make enquiries.’

  ‘It might be more straightforward if we marry in Liverpool before we leave.’

  ‘Aye, it might.’ Mrs O’Connor was tight-lipped.

  ‘But risky. I told you about her father. I was thinking to wait until just before the ship sails for Hannah to slip away. If we have to get married first there’s always a chance of her father finding out and having time to get her back. I know nothing of the procedures for getting married over there either.’

  ‘I thought captains could marry people at sea,’ said Bridget. ‘Can’t you get yours to marry you during the crossing?’

  ‘That’s just a myth. There’s nothing to say a ship’s master can legally marry a couple – and absolutely not on a short eight- to ten-hour hop across the Irish Sea.’

  ‘Oh, that’s a pity.’ Mrs O’Connor gave a rueful smile. ‘I’d always thought it was possible. Well, for the non-Catholics anyway. And so romantic.’ She corrected herself quickly. ‘But of course, it wouldn’t be a marriage in God’s eyes. We Catholics need the priest for that. But you being a Calathumpian, that’s different.’

  Before Will could ask what a Calathumpian was, Bridget jumped up and went to fill the kettle. ‘Don’t you worry, Will. We’ll make all the necessary enquiries for you to have a civil marriage here. By the time you come back with your bride-to-be, we’ll have it all straightened out.’

  ‘And we’ll be throwing a party for you,’ her mother added. ‘The boys will insist on it!’

  Bridget returned with the teapot and three mugs. As she poured the tea, she said, ‘And don’t you forget to ask your captain for a few days’ leave. You have to have a honeymoon. It’ll be a chance to see a bit of Ireland and discover what a beautiful country it is.’

  ‘And how would you know, Bridget? You’ve never set foot outside Dublin.’ Her mother folded her arms across her ample bosom.

  ‘That’s not true, Mammy. Have you forgotten when I went with the parish on the pilgrimage to Knock?’

  ‘You did. And, yes, I had forgotten.’

  ‘You’re right,’ said Will. ‘I’d forgotten about asking for some shore leave. I’ll ask the master. He’s a decent fellow. I’m sure if he knows I’m getting wed he’ll let me take a few days off.’ He grinned at Bridget.

  * * *

  Her father gave her no warning. The family were eating breakfast when he put down his teacup and announced that Hannah was to be married that morning.

  ‘No!’ Her reaction was instant. Spilling her tea, she jumped to her feet.

  Charles Dawson narrowed his eyes. ‘What have I said about your defiance, Hannah? I will not tolerate it. Remember what the Bible says. “It is better to dwell in the wilderness, than with a contentious and an angry woman.”’

  Hannah turned to her mother, who looked stricken. ‘This is too soon, Charles. Hannah needs time to prepare herself. She’s only just met Mr Henderson. She needs more time to get used to the idea.’

  ‘I am the judge of what is best for my daughter. It’s all arranged.’ Turning to his younger daughter, he said, ‘Judith, it’s time you left for work.’

  ‘But you just said the wedding is today.’ Judith’s eyes darted to her sister’s.

  ‘The wedding is Hannah’s, not yours. Now be gone.’

  ‘Can’t I be there?’ Judith’s voice was anguished. ‘Please! Mother?’

  ‘Neither you nor your mother will be there. Say your goodbyes now. Hannah, you will be living with your husband’s family from today.’ He turned to his wife. ‘As for you, you’ll actually need to start doing some work around here from now on.’

  Dawson rose from the table, and indicated that Hannah follow him. He looked at his watch. ‘Get a move on, girl. I don’t want to be late.’

  ‘No. I won’t. I can’t.’ She felt tears of anger rising. ‘I won’t do it.’

  Dawson grabbed her upper arm in a vice-like grip that made her shriek with pain. ‘Dare to defy me, you shameless creature, and you’ll suffer not just my anger but the anger of the Lord God. As will your mother for feeding your head with this defiant nonsense. I am God’s instrument and I am doing his will.’ He jerked her violently across the room so she hit her shoulder against the door.

  Tears now streaming down her face, shock pumping through her body, she looked to her mother. Would she help her? Should Hannah just run? But her mother shook her head then buried her face in her hands. Judith was open-mouthed and also tearful.

  Numb with shock, Hannah threw a last look back at her mother and sister as her father pushed her in front of him out of the house.

  * * *

  Hannah had never before set foot inside the chapel her father attended. One of the prime tenets of the religious sect to which he belonged was that the role of the husband was to guide his wife and any other female members of the household in religious observance and hence all Hannah’s knowledge of the Bible had come entirely from him. The premises used by the brethren were strictly a male-only province.

  The illicit reading of library books had given her clear awareness that in the wider world things were done very differently and, piqued by curiosity, she had occasionally slipped inside a church – mostly a Catholic one near her home – to see for herself what they were like. She had only dared to go in when there was no service, sitting at the back, enjoying the quiet, the scent of incense still in the air from an earlier Mass mingling with the perfume from the flowers on the altar. She would stare, in fascination, at the painted statues, the stations of the cross, the rows of wooden benches and the ornately carved altar with its shining tabernacle. There was something beautiful and mysterious about the place and on the odd occasion when she had a spare coin she always lit a candle.

  Today, as her father walked briskly with her to his place of worship, she therefore expected it to look something like that church – a place designed to reflect and celebrate the glory of God. Her expectation was confounded when she entered the small wooden building that resembled the kind of hut Boy Scouts and Girl Guides might use. Inside, it was empty, apart from a half-circle of wooden chairs, and a lectern placed at the top.

  As she entered the room with Dawson, the heads of the men seated in the semi-circle all turned to look at her. Her father took one of the few empty chairs. Hannah hesitated, unsure whether to sit on one of the others, both of which were a distance from the one Dawson had taken. For a moment she thought of turning on her heels and running but knew she had no chance of escape with all these men ready to chase after her. And another look from her father chilled her to the bone.

  Her dilemma was resolved when the pastor appeared from behind a c
urtain at the rear of the room and indicated that she kneel on the floor in front of him. Conscious of the many pairs of eyes trained on her, and still wanting to get up and run out the room, she felt like St Joan bound to the stake – but without the consolation of belief in her imminent eternal salvation. Why hadn’t she realised her father would do this – use the element of surprise to force the issue? If only she’d run away, hidden in a corner of a warehouse until Will’s ship returned. What a fool she had been.

  Pastor Henderson’s voice veered between a low monotonous drone and near hysterical hectoring. She wasn’t entirely sure what he was speaking about, but she knew it was in some way designed to demonstrate to her that her presence and her personal feelings were of little or no consequence to the men gathered around.

  Oh, where was Will? When would he find out what had happened to her? Would he even find out at all? But she knew that he would. And she knew it would be too late. He would go to her house if she failed to appear on the shore or on the dockside and her mother would tell him she had been married off to somebody else. She suppressed a sob. If only he could appear now – before it was too late – burst through the door, sweep her up and take her to safety, away from the hostility of these grim-faced men and her husband-to-be.

  And what of him? Of Samuel Henderson? She lifted her eyes from the rough wooden floor and tried to spot him, but without lifting her head, which she feared would be interpreted as disrespect, all she could see was a curving row of feet, all uniform in their polished black lace-ups. Which were his?

  After what seemed an eternity that was a slow torture and yet which she wanted to prolong as long as possible – buying time for the impossible dream of Will somehow coming to rescue her – she was told to stand up. Her head spun as she righted herself and at last, she was able to look around. Sam Henderson was now standing beside her, his face as unreadable as a marble statue, his expression frozen in a fixed stare into the middle distance.