A Sister’s Promise

‘Aye, you’re right,’ said another of the women. ‘Let’s all wait and see.’

And they did see, that first Sunday morning. Everyone saw, in fact. Those who could remember Nuala saw the resemblance to her in Molly, and they also were soon well aware, from the malice-ridden eyes Biddy turned on the girl and the brusque way she spoke to her, that she had not brought the child to live with her because she felt sorry for her. It was for other reasons altogether and not ones that were making the young orphaned girl happy.

Molly sensed the people felt sorry for her, and indeed many expressed this as they shook her by the hand, the priest, Father Finlay, amongst them.

‘In the midst of life there is death, Molly, and we must remember that,’ he told her predictably.

‘Yes, Father.’

‘And I am sure your parents are now reaping their reward in Heaven.’

‘Her father won’t be,’ Biddy said harshly and with satisfaction. ‘He’ll have descended to the fiery pit by now, where all sinners go.’

Ashamed at her grandmother saying that about her lovely father, Molly burst out, ‘He’s not. My father was no sinner.’

‘No sinner,’ Biddy repeated, and turned to the priest. ‘Went nowhere to worship, Father, neither church nor chapel. That’s why I took the girl. Couldn’t have left her there with the heathen of a grandfather, for he was the same as his son.’

The priest was embarrassed and whispered something noncommittal. Those close enough to hear what Biddy had said were looking askance at her and could clearly see how upset the poor girl was. Molly was, in fact, angry, and she wondered why her grandmother thought she had the right to judge her father. She knew not the slightest thing about him; didn’t know what a good kind man he had been. He didn’t go to church, that was true, but she knew a fair few who never missed Mass who were not half the man her father had been. And she knew that if God was the loving Father they were taught He was, then she was sure that He would treat her father fairly.

She didn’t attempt to say any of this, however, because she knew she would cry if she tried. Tom, who had stopped at the gate to talk to neighbours, had not seen any altercation and was unaware of any undercurrent until he saw the tears glistening in Molly’s eyes.

‘You all right?’ he whispered as he got closer.

Molly gave a brief nod.

‘You sure?’

Molly, seeing her grandmother was now out of earshot, said quietly, ‘I sometimes wonder if I will ever be right again, but it’s nothing that can be fixed here and now. But I’ll tell you one thing,’ she added fiercely. ‘I don’t care how sensible it is. I am not going to let my grandmother say what she likes about my parents and say nothing in their defence ever again.’

‘Molly—’ began Tom warningly.

‘No, Uncle Tom. I know what you are going to say,’ Molly said. ‘You must do as you see fit, but I will not let her or anyone else destroy the memories I have of my parents, for they were the best parents in the world to me and Kevin.’

She walked away from her uncle then and he watched her with worried eyes, knowing that if she stuck to her guns she was heading for extremely choppy waters.

When Molly entered the church and saw the painting of the Nativity scene, she could understand her uncle’s enthusiasm, because it was magnificent, especially with the sun glinting on the vibrant colours so that the whole thing looked almost lifelike. Somehow, the sheer beauty of it soothed her a little, and this was helped by the familiarity of the Mass, so that she let it all wash over her and give her a measure of peace.

After a very good dinner, Molly washed up while Tom took his ease by the fire with his pipe and the Sunday paper, but really he was watching Molly and as she put away the last plate he said, ‘I don’t suppose you would fancy a tramp amongst the hills this fine afternoon?’

Molly turned to her uncle with her eyes shining, for there was nothing, absolutely nothing, that she would like better. The baking for the Sunday tea had been done the day before and she could conceivably be free for an hour or two.

Biddy didn’t think so. ‘Don’t you offer to take the girl off out without as much as a by-your-leave.’

‘I wasn’t under the impression I had to ask permission of you to take a walk with my niece,’ Tom said mildly. ‘Come along with us if you like?’ He caught the look of distaste that flitted across Molly’s face at his words and the slight shiver to her body and hid his smile. He knew he was on safe ground.

‘You know full well my gallivanting days are over,’ Biddy snapped.

‘All right, Mammy,’ Tom said. ‘But Molly’s are just beginning, do you see? She’s young and well up for gallivanting. Isn’t that so, Molly?’

There was such a broad smile on Molly’s face as she answered in like manner, ‘I am, Uncle Tom.’

‘So, are you ready?’

‘Quite ready.’

‘Then what are we waiting for?’ Tom said, catching up her arm.

Only when she was a little way from the house did she say to her uncle, ‘Did you see the look? Crikey, by rights I should be lying dead now on the kitchen floor.’

‘I should say you’re not that easily killed, Molly,’ Tom said.

‘People are very easily killed when you think about it,’ Molly murmured quietly.

Tom felt immediately contrite. ‘Oh, my dear, I am so sorry.’

‘No, I’m sorry,’ Molly said. ‘For bringing such sadness into this lovely afternoon. It wouldn’t be something my parents would have approved of at all. They were always telling me to take joy in every day.’

‘You are a privileged girl to have such memories,’ Tom said. ‘Your home sounds as if it was once a happy one.’

‘It was, very.’

‘Well, no one can take those memories away, and they will help sustain you during the bad times.’

Molly nodded. ‘I know, but sometimes I am sad that those times will never come back.’

‘You are not alone, Molly,’ Tom said. ‘You’ll always have me.’

‘I know I am not alone, Uncle Tom,’ Molly commented grimly, but with the ghost of a smile playing around her mouth. ‘I have your blooming mother as well.’

Tom laughed as he said, ‘By God, young Molly, with that spark of humour, I’d say you’ll do all right. You are one of life’s survivors.’

Molly gave a definite nod of her head. ‘I fully intend to be,’ she said.

Tom caught up her arm. ‘Come on then, Molly. Let’s you and me stroll out with the best of them and you can tell me all about your life in Birmingham.’

‘Only if you tell me about my mother when she was a girl.’

‘It’s a deal,’ Tom said.

Afterwards, Molly was to see that walk she undertook with her uncle as a sort of turning point in her relationship with him. The tentative talks that had begun in the cowshed had opened the way for them and that day each found out more about the other’s life.

Molly could see how it had been for them all growing up on the farm, the three boys and the baby, Nuala, spoiled and petted by them all. She tried to paint the picture of her life before the tragedy. She wanted him to see how the adult Nuala had fared, of the fine man she had married and what a marvellous mother she was.

‘It wasn’t always easy for her, either,’ Molly said. ‘She wanted a houseful of children, she told me herself, but she lost three babies before Kevin was born. Then she was so ill giving birth to him that the doctor said there were to be no more.’

‘Ah, that must have been a disappointment for her.’

‘I’m sure it was,’ Molly said. ‘In fact, she said it had saddened her at first, but then she got over it and took pleasure in the children she had. That was the type of person she was, you see, someone really special. She said often people hanker for things they can’t have, until it takes over their lives and they miss enjoying the things they have got. I know that she would want me to always remember them, but not let their loss destroy my life totally.’