A Daughter’s Secret

‘I’m not saying she has, missus,’ the garda went on, though he knew she wouldn’t be the first one to do that. ‘It’s just that gypsies get about and hear things.’

But the gypsy camp had been disbanded and there was not a sign of them when the garda investigated. The news that Aggie had run away with the gypsies spread like wildfire, as such things do. Tom could see that the garda believed that as well.

That first Sunday, after Mass, many came to talk to Biddy and she knew that while some offered support, others were there to gloat a little that their daughters hadn’t done such a thing. Tom, though, could not believe his ears when he heard McAllister commiserate with his father as he shook him by the hand.

He said that he had known Aggie well through the dancing and she was the last person he thought would disappear from her home and worry her parents so. ‘All goes to show that no one person knows the heart of another,’ he went on. ‘But this is one heart anyway you can be sure of, and if you need anything you only have to ask.’

‘Thank you, Bernie,’ Thomas John said. ‘You are very good. Tell you the truth, this has knocked me for six. I would never have said that Aggie was a bold girl, but this is as bold as it gets.’

McAllister nodded sagely in agreement and heat flowed through Tom at the unfairness of it all. One person noted Tom’s discomfort and his cheeks flushed crimson, and that was McAllister’s wife, Philomena. She remembered that the night that Aggie was reputed to have gone missing was the night that Bernie hadn’t sought his bed until the early hours. The following day she had found a large amount of money missing from the till.

It didn’t take much to put two and two together and her heart ached for she knew she was partly to blame. If she had left Bernie to his just deserts in Birmingham that time and come to Buncrana alone, she could bet that Aggie Sullivan would not have felt the need to flee the way she did, and her heart went out to the boy who so obviously missed his sister.

All morning, Tom festered over what McAllister had done and what he had said to his father. And then at dinner his mother referred to Aggie as ‘a viper in the nest’, and said that she was no longer a child of hers and no one was to mention her name in the house ever again.

‘Mammy, what are you saying?’ Tom gasped.

‘Is there a problem with your ears, Tom?’

‘No, but Mammy—’

‘It’s the only thing to do, caddie. This is the only way that I can cope with it.’

Tom noted the deep lines on his mother’s face, her eyes puzzled and confused, while his father’s was just a mask of sadness. He felt for both of them. ‘I know, Mammy,’ he nodded. ‘I am not blaming you, but it will be hard for me to forget Aggie ever existed.’

‘Well, you must try, lad,’ Biddy said sharply. ‘And that goes for all of you,’ she added, glaring at her family as they sat staring at her. ‘She has run away from this family to God knows where, so therefore she no longer deserves to be part of it. Her name is never to be mentioned again and it’s no good looking over our shoulders all the days of our lives expecting her to come in at the door.’

Tom knew she would never do that, but he could hardly bear it. The sister he had known all his life was gone forever. He knew if he allowed himself to dwell on that thought, the tears would start in his eyes and that would never do. No one said a word, not even his father. They sat in stunned silence, even little Finn, who had picked up the charged atmosphere. But then, in God’s truth, knowing as little as they did, what was there to say?

Suddenly, the Sunday dinner that Tom looked forward to all week tasted like sawdust, and he pushed his plate away, leaving the food half eaten. His mother hated waste and, normally, would have given out to him, but that day she took his plate away without a word.

‘Daddy, would you mind if I took a wee walk out?’

It was an unusual request. Tom had scant free time and even on Sunday there were jobs aplenty for him to do. However, Thomas John knew that the knot of worry he had for his daughter was shared by Tom and so he said gently, ‘Aye, Tom. See if the fresh air can help you any.’

Outside, the day was overcast and there was a hint of moisture in the air. Tom saw not another soul out and about like himself, though he went nearly as far as the town.

Philomena saw him standing on the hill above the shop. Her heart went out to him and she suddenly thought she had to talk to the dejected boy, try to help him in some way. Calling to her elder two children to mind the others for a while, she followed him.

Tom was glad he met no one because he knew he would be poor company that day. What McAllister had done filled his mind. As if abusing and raping his sister and causing her to flee from her home were not enough, he had had the barefaced cheek to commiserate with his father that morning. ‘One heart you can be sure of,’ he’d said. That man’s heart would be as black as pitch, Tom thought.

And then, as if his thought had conjured him up, he saw McAllister riding down the country lane below him. He knew he was bound for the O’Learys’ cottage, whose farm abutted the Sullivans’. Tim O’Leary told him that morning at Mass that he had a fiddle lesson with McAllister that afternoon. Tom had thought at the time that he was glad he had given up the music.

After the attack on Aggie and the house laid low with measles, McAllister wasn’t that keen on visiting. When everyone was better, Tom had declared that he didn’t want to continue with the music lessons. Thomas John, weakened by the measles, was quite glad of this at the time and Joe gave up too, but then he had never been as keen, or as good at it as Tom.

Tom was just glad that the man had no occasion to come to the house any more. He couldn’t have borne it. But others, being unaware of what McAllister was capable of, treated him as they always had. Tom imagined him being fêted and praised at the O’Leary house, for the O’Learys, like most people in the town, thought McAllister a grand chap.

No really knowing why, Tom descended to the lane and walked the route McAllister had taken, with no plan in his head until he came to trees on either side of the road followed almost immediately by a left-hand fork. An idea began to take shape. If he were to stretch a rope of some sort between the trees, McAllister wouldn’t see it until he was virtually on top of it and neither would the horse. Tom felt that he would have struck a blow for Aggie if he were to injure the man in some way. He tore home as fast as he could, to find a suitable line.

Philomena watched him go and wondered what had sent him home in such haste. She hadn’t long to find out, for the Sullivans’ place was no distance across the fields. Though Tom proceeded stealthily, once he got near the farm all was quiet. He knew the bale of metal twine they used for mending fences was in the barn and he chopped a sizeable bit from the bale with the axe before heading back.

Philomena saw immediately what Tom was about and went down to stop him. She reached him as he was tying the last knot to the second tree. He was startled and frightened when he saw Philomena but she set out to reassure him.

‘Don’t worry, Tom. I know what you are trying to do and why, and though I understand, this isn’t the way.’

‘You don’t know what he has done.’

‘I can have a good guess,’ Philomena said. ‘Is this something to do with your sister’s disappearance?’

Tom stared at her, his mouth agape, more unnerved than ever. Then in a horrified voice, little more than a whisper, he said, ‘How did you know?’

‘I didn’t,’ Philomena said. ‘That is, well, I knew he had a fancy for her, but I didn’t think, never dreamed … Tom, is she expecting his baby?’

Tom nodded miserably, knowing there was no longer any need to deny it, to Philomena at least.

‘And do you know where she has gone?’

‘To Birmingham, to his sister.’

‘Where she will get rid of it?’

‘That was the plan,’ Tom said. ‘None of this was Aggie’s fault, you know. He had her filled full of poteen. She could barely stand when she came home. God knows how she had got so far. She was in a state and he had the dress near ripped from her back.’

‘Was that the night your mother was helping out at Sadie Lannigan’s?’ Philomena asked.

‘Aye, and my father was in Buncrana,’ Tom said. ‘You may be sure that this would have come out long ago if either or both of them had been in. It’s a wonder he didn’t think of that.’

‘He thinks of nothing but satisfying his desires when he is that way inclined, if you know what I mean,’ Philomena commented glumly. ‘I know that to my own cost. He never thinks of the consequences of his actions.’

‘Aggie would have done all in her power to keep what happened that night a secret, anyway,’ Tom said, ‘if she could have. I mean, if she hadn’t been expecting.’

‘Aye,’ Philomena agreed with a grim smile, ‘pregnancy is one thing that no one can hide for long.’

‘He told her he would say she came on to him, offering it on a plate, as it were. Aggie thought everyone, even possibly our own parents, would believe him over her.’

‘Poor girl,’ Philomena said with feeling. ‘And the devil of it is she is right. The man is usually believed first in any case, and Bernie can be charming when he wants. I mean, I fell for his charm and I am not a stupid woman. He has this ability to make people think he’s just such a grand man altogether.’

‘I know,’ Tom said. ‘And it’s all bloody false. You should see how he went on to my father this morning.’

‘I did, and I saw your reaction. Then I knew my earlier misgivings were right,’ Philomena said. ‘And that is why I followed you and came to try and stop you.’

‘Why?’ Tom demanded. ‘He is worth nothing.’

‘You’re right,’ Philomena said, ‘and I tell you now that he if was on fire in the gutter I wouldn’t spit on him. I do agree that he needs teaching a lesson, but not by you. I don’t want you getting into trouble.’

‘I won’t unless I’m caught. Or you tell on me.’

‘Haven’t you listened to a word I’ve said?’ Philomena replied. ‘I would never tell on you. I hate the man and wish to God he was not the father of my children and that I was not married to him for the rest of my life, but I am and that’s that. But honest to God, Tom, haven’t your family suffered enough?’