Anne Bennett - Another Man’s Child

‘Better not tell her then,’ Norah said impishly.

‘I just might.’

‘No, you won’t,’ Norah said assuredly. ‘You’re no tell-tale.’

‘All right,’ Celia conceded. ‘You’re right, I’d never tell Mammy. But talking of men, I was wondering the other day about you wanting to go to America and all. Whatever are you going to do about Joseph O’Leary?’

‘What’s Joseph O’Leary to do with anything?’

‘You’re walking out with him.’

‘Hardly,’ Norah said. ‘We’ve just been out a few times.’

‘Huh, more than a few I’d say,’ Celia said. ‘But it doesn’t matter how long it’s been going on, in anyone’s book that constitutes walking out together.’

‘Well if you must know,’ Norah told her sister, ‘I’m using Joseph to practise on.’

‘Oh Norah, that’s a dreadful thing to do to someone,’ Celia cried, really shocked because she liked Joseph. He was a nice man and had an open honest face, a wide generous mouth and his fine head of wavy hair was as dark brown as his eyes, which were nearly always fastened on her sister.

Norah shrugged carelessly. ‘I had to know what it was like. I am preparing for when I go to America.’

‘Does he know your plans?’

‘Sort of,’ Norah said. ‘I mean, he knows I want to go.’

‘Does he know you’re really going, that Aunt Maria said she’ll sponsor you and pay your fare and everything?’

‘Well no,’ Norah admitted.

‘Poor Joseph,’ Celia said. ‘He’ll be heartbroken.’

‘Hearts don’t break that easy, Celia.’

‘Well I bet yours will if you can’t go to America after all and Mammy could stop you because she’s great friends with the O’Learys.’

‘Mammy will be able to do nothing,’ Norah said confidently. ‘She has made me wait until I’m twenty-one and that was bad enough, but I will be that in three months’ time and then I can please myself.’

‘She doesn’t want you to go.’

‘I know that and that was why she made me wait until I was twenty-one.’

‘And that doesn’t worry you?’

‘It would if I let it,’ Norah said. ‘Now you worry about everything and in fact you would worry yourself into an early grave if you had nothing to worry about. You never want to hurt people’s feelings either and, while it’s nice to be that way, it could stop you doing something you really want to do in case someone disapproves.’

‘Like you going to America?’

‘Exactly like that.’

‘But I’d never want to leave here,’ Celia said, looking around the town she loved so much. She loved everything, the rolling hills she could see from her bedroom window dotted with velvet-nosed cows calmly chewing the cud, or the sheep pulling relentlessly at the grass as if their lives depended upon it, and here and there squat cottages with plumes of grey smoke rising from the chimneys wafting in the air. Their farmhouse was no small cottage however for it was built of brick with a slate roof and unusually for Ireland then, it was two storeyed. Downstairs there was a well-fitted scullery with a tin bath hung on a hook behind the door and leading off it, a large kitchen with a range with a scrubbed wooden table beside it and an easy chair before the hearth. It was where the family spent most of their time, for though there was a separate sitting room it was seldom used. The stairs ran along the kitchen wall and upstairs were three sizeable bedrooms; her parents had their own room, another she shared with Norah and Ellie and the other one was for Tom, Dermot and Sammy.

It was all so dear to her, familiar and safe and she couldn’t see why anyone would want to leave it. She said this to Norah and added, ‘I’d never want to go away from here.’

‘Never is a long time,’ Norah said. ‘And you’re only seventeen. I felt like that at seventeen. But by the time I was twenty I felt as if I was suffocating with the sameness of every day.’

‘But don’t you want a husband and children?’

‘Not yet,’ Norah said emphatically. ‘Why would I? I intend to keep marriage and all it entails at bay or at least until I meet and fall madly in love with a tall and very handsome man, who has plenty of money and will adore me totally.’

Celia burst out laughing. ‘Shouldn’t say there’s many of them about.’

‘Not in Donegal certainly,’ Norah conceded. ‘But who knows what America holds? The country may be littered with them.’

Celia laughed. Oh, how she would miss her sister for, since leaving school, she saw her old friends rarely. She’d meet some of them occasionally in Donegal Town, but it wasn’t arranged or anything, they would just bump into one another. They seldom had time for any sort of lingering chats because all the girls would usually have a list of errands to do for their mothers. The only other time to meet was at Mass on Sunday but no one dawdled after that because most of the congregation had taken communion and so were ravenously hungry, for no one was allowed to eat or drink if they were taking communion. So the two sisters had relied on each other – and Peggy wasn’t the only one to hope that Norah would change her mind in the months till her twenty-first birthday.

Celia opened her mouth to say something to Norah about how much she would miss her, but there was no time because they had reached the Abbey Hotel and their father, Dan, was waiting on them. Celia thought her father a fairly handsome man for one of his age; his black curls had not a hint of grey and he had deep dark brown eyes just like her eldest brother, Tom. Only his nose let him down for it was slightly bulbous, but his mouth was a much better shape. Tom was just like a younger version of him. Dan was a jovial man too and as they approached his laugh rang out at something someone in the crowd had said and it was so infectious that Celia and Norah were smiling too as they reached him.

He had told them on the way in that if he sold the calves early enough, they could wait on and he’d take them home in the cart, but if the calves were not sold, he might stay on and they would have to make their own way home. Celia wondered why he even bothered saying that because she had never known her father come home early on a Fair Day and his delay had more to do with the pubs open all the day and old friends to chat to and gather news from than it had to do with selling the calves.

Norah knew that too, but both girls went on with the pretence. ‘Have you sold the calves, Daddy?’

Dan took a swig of Guinness from the pint glass he held before he said, ‘Might have. Man said he’d tell me this afternoon when his brother has a chance to look them over. So you must make your own way home. Tell your mother.’

‘Yes, Daddy,’ the girls chorused, though they knew their mother wouldn’t be the least bit surprised.

They passed the Hireling Stall again on their way out of town and Celia saw the blond-haired man talking to Dinny Fitzgerald whose farm abutted theirs in many places. ‘Looks like Dinny’s hiring that chap,’ Norah remarked.

‘Well Daddy said he would have to hire someone after his son upped and went to America,’ Celia said and added, ‘Huh, seems all the Irish farms are emptying of young men going to that brave New World.’

‘Yes and I might want to nab one of those men for myself in due course,’ Norah said. ‘That’s why I have to practise on poor Joseph.’ And her tinkling laugh rang out at the aghast look on Celia’s face.

It was some time later when Dan Mulligan came home, very loud and good-humoured, which Peggy said was the Guinness effect. He brought all the news from the town though, including the fact that Dinny Fitzgerald had indeed taken on a new farm hand.

‘Must be no sign of his son retuning then,’ remarked Peggy. ‘America seems a terrible lure to the young people.’