Mother’s Only Child

‘Nothing,’ Maria said. ‘It’s not that important. Well, I mean it is to me. I got this today,’ and she handed Barney the letter.

Barney had known about Maria taking the exam for the Academy and hadn’t been pleased. He was a handsome, well-set-up young man, and most girls and young women were falling over themselves to be noticed by him. But Maria, the one he wanted, seemed not a bit impressed by him. He had no desire for her to be spirited away to Dublin and snapped up by another, but he sensed that to say so wasn’t the way to play this and so he congratulated her warmly.

‘Why, that’s tremendous, so it is, Maria,’ he said, taking the paper from her hand. ‘D’you see this?’ he said to Seamus, pointing at it. ‘Our Maria here has won a scholarship to a fancy academy, in Dublin no less.’

Seamus murmured his congratulations. Barney knew his brother thought him mad to hanker after the unattainable. Their parents had died when Barney was ten, but his father hadn’t worked for years before that. The family had lived on charity. Barney was left in the doubtful care of his elder brother, who’d then been twenty-one. He had often gone hungry and Seamus was not averse to giving him the odd clout, or even a thrashing a time or two. The priest had been called out once by worried neighbours and yet Barney perversely loved his brother.

‘Plenty more fish in the sea,’ Seamus had said, when he first saw the lustful glances Barney was giving Maria Foley. ‘She’s not for the likes of you and guarded well. Anyway, you know what you are like. If you got her you’d likely not want her, because it’s how you are with everything.’

‘This,’ maintained Barney, ‘is different.’

And now here she was before him. Greatly daring, Barney put his two arms around Maria’s waist, and drew her close.

Maria submitted to the embrace willingly, though usually would not have allowed such familiarity. She put it down to the man being so pleased for her. Certainly she found the kiss he planted on her full lips very pleasant indeed.

Seamus shook his head over his young brother. Willie, watching from the doorway, felt prickles of alarm down his spine. He could have told many a tale about the young man, like the fact Barney was too fond of drinking the afternoon away while he played a hand or two of cards with his brother and like-minded fellows and took little notice of Willie if he tried to take him to task about it.

Willie had said nothing to Sam because he could do little, away in Derry all the day. He’d never worry Sarah about such things. It wasn’t as if they were overburdened with work now that the fishing fleet had had to be disbanded.

Maria broke away from Barney’s embrace, and ran over to tell Willie the news. He was as delighted for her as Maria had known he would be. His lined face beamed and his blue eyes became moist with the emotion of it all.

As he put his arms around her, his words of congratulations held a note of relief, though Maria wasn’t aware of it. A new life beckoned Maria, Willie thought, and quite right too, well away from the clutches of people like Barney McPhearson. Really, he thought, it couldn’t come soon enough.

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_0c4b69c9-9962-5083-9178-8433841c2a3f)

All who came in the shop that day were told of Maria’s success. Though they all congratulated her, Maria knew by their faces that many thought it a disgraceful thing for her to leave her mother. Some actually said this.

‘I mean,’ said one woman. ‘It’s hard right enough when you have just the one. Have you thought this through, Maria? Your mother will undoubtedly miss you.’ and then added, ‘Especially the way she is.’

‘The way she is?’ Maria asked. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, she’s not very strong, is she?’ the woman went on. ‘And nervy, like. Not been right since she lost the baby and that was years ago.’

‘She’s fine,’ Maria protested. ‘She’s grand now.’

The woman’s face was grave. ‘Funny things, nerves. Never really recover, if you have a tendency to nerves.’

Maria, who had been brought up to have respect for her elders and betters, could hardly be rude to customers, but by the time she was ready to leave for the day she was worn down by the disapproval many had shown her.

Maria wanted to let her Uncle Sean know the result of the exam, but he was no longer able to visit them so often because in January, Maria’s Granddad Tierney had been diagnosed with a tumour in his stomach. Since April he’d been needing round-the-clock nursing. Sean took it in turn with Agatha, while he also did the work on the farm and Agatha the work in the house.

Maria was so insistent that her uncle should be told her news that Sam went with her to visit him by bus and train on Saturday, 26 July. Bella gladly gave her the day off, knowing how much she loved her uncle. Sean’s praise and congratulations were genuine, and the welcome they both got was warm. Only Sam read the weariness in Sean’s eyes.

As Sean hugged the girl’s slight frame and told her how proud he was, he realised how like her mother she was, though her hair was the colour of deep mahogany, and her eyes vivid green, with long black eyelashes. But Maria had Sarah’s slight frame and elfin face. Sean saw that his niece was shedding her childhood and becoming a stunningly beautiful young lady. He wondered if she’d make the two years at the academy before some young Dublin swain claimed her.

But, he reminded himself, the girl was focused on a new life for herself and so far had never let her head be turned. He was saddened that now he’d see even less of her. He knew he’d done the right thing encouraging Sarah to let her daughter try for the scholarship, although all their lives would be poorer when Maria moved out of the village.

Sarah, who’d prayed earnestly for Maria to fail the exam, now redoubled her efforts to stop Maria leaving home. To this end she had a Mass said, lit numerous candles, began a novena and attended every service at the chapel. Always she pleaded the same thing; ‘Please God, Jesus, the Holy Ghost and Mary who has tasted sorrow herself, stop this. Let something happen to prevent my girl from leaving home.’ The same beseeching plea was made as she knelt before her bed at night, and in the morning as soon as she woke.

Maria was unaware of this, but she was fully aware of her mother’s sighs and reproachful looks. Though she was a model daughter, as the summer wore on, it began to wear her down and she wished the days could speed by.

She was due to go up on 9 September, although the term didn’t start until a few days after that. It was to give the girls time to get to know each other and familiarise themselves with a city that would be their home for two years. Even to think about it sent a thrill running all through Maria.

Sarah and Sam threw a party on the night of 7 September to mark Maria’s departure. As people hugged her, patted her on the back and wished her Godspeed, she realised how she’d miss them. She’d known most of them all her life and she felt tears stinging her eyes.

‘Don’t start being homesick before you’ve even left the place,’ Sam said suddenly at her elbow.

Maria flashed him a watery smile. ‘I’ll try not to,’ she said.

Sam patted her on the arm. ‘That’s my girl.’

All the evening, Sam watched his daughter, already aching with the loss of her. He could easily have resented Philomena Clarke for putting such odd notions in a young girl’s head, but he knew she’d had only Maria’s best interests at heart when she’d had made the suggestion. What sort of a father would he be if he didn’t allow his daughter the chance of a better future?

Sam had loved Sarah since the moment he’d seen her, and loved her still, though her once blonde hair now had streaks of grey in it. His was the same, of course, though it had once been as dark as Maria’s. His eyes, though, were a indeterminate grey, not vibrant green like his daughter’s. Maria had been the icing on the cake for the pair of them. He knew when she left, a lot of the joy would go out of his life.

Sam recognised that Sean felt the same, for his deep brown eyes were full of sadness. His father was too ill for him to be away from the farm for long and it was still light when he left. Sam watched the stooped, dejected stance of him as he strode towards The Square and the bus into Derry. He remembered how straight and upright Sean had once been.

Now he was tied to a farm he had no love for, tended by the dour, sour-faced Agatha, and watching his father sink daily. He’d had no chance of a life of his own, no loving wife to greet him and warm his bed at night, no child to climb onto his knee and gladden his heart. Sam knew Sean would feel the loss of Maria almost as keenly as her parents would.

Eventually, the party drew to a close. There would be more than one thick head in the village the following morning. Sam felt a little that way himself, if he was honest. He’d drank far more than was customary for him and he had work in the morning.

He followed his wife and daughter to bed, but once there, despite the tiredness stinging his eyes and the beer consumed, he lay wide-eyed and restless for hours before utter weariness claimed him.

The following evening the truck stood ready and waiting to take the men home. Yet Sam was loath to leave the docks, despite it being Maria’s last evening in Moville for some time.

‘How important is the frigate? he asked the lieutenant. ‘There’s still a fault in the engine room and it can’t go out tomorrow the way it is.’

‘It’s part of the convoy scheduled to leave at dawn.’

‘Well, I’ll stay to finish it,’ Sam said. ‘Con will give me a hand. There’s no need to keep the others. More than two will not fit in that small space anyway. But how will we get back home when we’ve finished? I don’t fancy walking.’

‘I’ll see if I can rustle up a couple of bicycles,’ the lieutenant said. ‘You can pile them in the truck in the morning. Will that do?’

‘Aye,’ Sam said with a chuckle, ‘though it’s years since I was astride a bike. I’ll more than likely have a sore backside in the morning.’

The lieutenant smiled. He liked both Sam and Con, and knew them to be first-rate workers, the sort who’d get on with the job in hand and not need the whip cracked over them.

‘I’m grateful, Sam,’ he said. He hesitated a moment and then went on, ‘There’s something else. Keep your eyes peeled, will you? There’s a rumour circulating the IRA are planning something.’

‘They’ll never get in here,’ Sam said. ‘Haven’t you the place as tight as a drum?’

‘They might, if they had help from inside.’

‘Who’d do that?’ Sam said and then as the man said nothing, burst out, ‘It’ll not be one of my men. I hope you’re not suggesting—’

‘No, no, I’m not. They came on your surety and that’s good enough for me, but I’m convinced if the IRA break in here, they’ll do it because someone from the inside will have helped them.’

‘They could cause havoc,’ Sam said. ‘Buggering up the boats could leave the merchant ships unprotected. Don’t they think of that?’