Anne Bennett - Pack Up Your Troubles

That Sunday Maeve’s children didn’t notice that the family scurried from the church without talking to any friends as they normally did, and they certainly didn’t care. Their grandma had killed two chickens as it was a special day and a good dinner awaited them with pudding, as Lent was now over, and then they had the bar of chocolate each that Rosemarie had bought from the town for them to eat. They’d just discovered chocolate, which they’d never tasted before – not that they’d had much of it now either, for neither their grandma nor their mother approved of their eating too many sweet things, but both Kevin and Grace loved chocolate. They liked it to melt in their mouths and run down their throats, and to have a whole bar each was sheer luxury.

The Wednesday after Easter, Maeve was by the window when she spotted Father O’Brien striding purposefully down the lane and she felt her insides contract with fear. Annie was stirring a pot hung over the fire and hadn’t seen him approach and she was glad they were alone, her father having taken the children, together with Nuala and Colin, in the cart to the peat bogs to cut turf.

‘Mammy,’ Maeve said, ‘the priest’s here.’

Annie straightened up, and her eyes met those of her daughter. The priest gave a tentative knock and lifted the latch as Annie cried, ‘Come away in, Father.’

The priest seemed to fill the room. ‘Will I take your coat?’ Annie said. ‘And will you be having a cup of tea?’

Father O’Brien didn’t take his eyes from Maeve and she met them boldly, but he divested himself of his coat and said, ‘A cup of tea would be very nice, so it would. Shall we sit down, Maeve?’

Maeve’s legs were shaking and the top of her mouth was suddenly dry. She told herself she was a grown woman and this man before her couldn’t make her do anything; he could hardly pick her up bodily and take her back to Birmingham. And yet she knew it was a mistake to underestimate a priest’s power.

He waited till Maeve was sitting opposite him, the kettle singing over the glowing peat and Annie busy at the dresser sorting out the best cup and saucer for the priest, and then he looked Maeve full in the face.

‘Well, Maeve,’ he said.

‘Well what, Father?’

‘Have you no idea why I felt it necessary to come out here and visit you?’

‘Suppose you tell me?’ Dear God, Maeve thought. What was the matter with her, answering the priest like that?

He didn’t like it; she saw a frown furrow his brow and his eyebrows jerked up in surprise. ‘Now, Maeve,’ he said, ‘there is no need for you to be like this. I told you of the letter I received from your parish priest. Last night I had a most disturbing call from the man.’

Maeve didn’t reply and so the priest went on, ‘Maeve, surely I do not have to remind you of your marriage vows?’

‘No, Father. You have to remind me of nothing.’

‘Father Trelawney said your husband is distraught, and with good reason, I’d say by your attitude.’

‘My attitude!’ Maeve cried. ‘I’m sorry, Father, but you know nothing about it. It’s Brendan’s attitude needs to be sorted out.’

Annie came bustling towards them then for the kettle was boiling noisily. She made a cup of tea for all of them, while Father O’Brien shook his head as he said, ‘Father Trelawney tells me there were a few problems in your marriage, but that your husband is willing to meet you halfway.’

‘A few problems! Is that what they call it these days?’ Maeve said with a sneer. ‘My husband, Father, drinks nearly every penny he earns, keeping me and the children short, and apart from that he is a vicious bully, both to me and my son.’

‘Father Trelawney mentioned that you make trouble whenever your husband has seen fit to discipline the boy.’

‘Discipline him? Using his belt on a wee boy, who even now is only just seven years old.’

‘Boys, even wee boys, can be very bold. We both know that, Maeve,’ Father O’Brien said. ‘And, you know, it is a father’s duty to chastise his children.’

Maeve shook her head in disbelief. What Brendan had done was not mere chastisement, but how could she make the man before her believe how it really was? ‘All right then, Father. Let’s leave Kevin for the moment. Is it a husband’s duty to chastise his wife too?’

‘It’s a husband’s duty to demand obedience from his wife. You promised to love, honour and obey him, you know.’

‘I know what I said,’ Maeve barked. ‘And I was a fool, for the man is brutal. I have been bruised head to toe by my husband and my face has been such a mess, I’ve had to hide from my neighbours till the swelling has gone down and the black eye’s not so noticeable. As for my son, he still has the stripes across his back from his father’s attempts at disciplining him.’

‘Your husband told Father Trelawney you are argumentative and undermine his treatment of the children. In other words, you provoke him.’

‘Oh, so now it’s my fault?’

‘Not at all,’ Father O’Brien said. ‘Don’t be so hasty, Maeve.’

Annie had remained in the other chair during this time, completely silent. She saw her daughter become agitated and though she knew she had a point in everything she said, she was shocked to see Maeve attacking the parish priest in such a fashion. In order to give Maeve time to compose herself, she said, ‘Would you like another cup of tea, Father?’

The priest handed the cup across to Annie. ‘That would be lovely, thank you,’ he said, and then he directed himself again to Maeve. ‘Perhaps that is one of the problems here.’

‘What is?’

‘Your hot-headedness,’ Father O’Brien said.

‘My hot-headedness, Father, is because you want me to return to a brutal bully and I won’t. You don’t seem to have listened to a word I’ve said as to why I won’t go back to him.’

‘I have listened, Maeve,’ Father O’Brien chided. ‘I have also said your husband is so upset by your flight over here he has promised to change.’

‘Oh yes,’ Maeve said sarcastically. ‘I bet.’

‘Maeve, you’re not being very helpful.’

‘No, Father, I’m not, am I? That will probably be another black mark against me, won’t it?’

Father O’Brien tutted in impatience. Maeve saw he was controlling his anger with difficulty. Without another word, he drained the cup of tea Annie had handed him and got to his feet before he looked at Maeve again. ‘Is that your last word on the subject?’

‘It is, Father.’

‘Then, child, I’ll pray for you.’

‘Thank you. I’m probably in need of prayer.’

‘Don’t mock, Maeve. It doesn’t become you,’ Father O’Brien said sternly.

‘Who’s mocking, Father?’ Maeve asked innocently. ‘I don’t know one soul in the land who would not value prayer.’

Again he tutted in annoyance. Annie had run before him to retrieve his coat and as he took it from her he said, ‘And what is your view on this, Annie? Are you prepared to harbour Maeve and her children, although she is a married woman?’

Annie shrugged. ‘She’s my daughter, Father,’ she said.

A little later they stood at the window and watched the priest stride angrily up the path.

Annie said, ‘This won’t be the end of it, lass. It’s just the beginning.’

‘I know, Mammy,’ Maeve said with a sigh.

There was talk in the village when Maeve went to enrol her children in the village school after the Easter holidays. The headmaster, Mr Monahan, expressed surprise, and Maeve admitted that there were some problems at home that she needed time alone to sort out and she thought it better the children missed as little schooling as possible. Mr Monahan was impressed with the young woman before him, softly spoken but with a decided lift to her chin. He remembered the cowed skinny children she’d arrived with and now saw them sitting each side of their mother definitely much improved even after a few short weeks.