Dreams Can Come True (14 page)

Maggie prayed she would never see him in one again, at least not until he was ninety. The thought of Jack dying made her heart do a somersault. She hadn’t realised the strength of her love until this sorry time.

Mother Immaculata came to see them off, smiling sweetly as Maggie handed a sovereign to her. Bella waved from an upstairs window, then the pony set off at Sister Agatha’s command.

The wagon bumped along the narrow road that led to Ballina. Jack appeared to be sleeping, at least his eyes were closed. Maggie and Hannah spoke in hushed tones while they decided what they would do when they got there. It was rather early in the morning to expect the landlord of the hotel to let them in, even though Sister Agatha assured them that he would do. Maybe they could help the nun at the market and take it in turns to keep an eye on Jack?

They crossed over the stone bridge at Meelik.

“Not long now,” Sister Agatha told them. “We’ve just gone over the River Moy.”

Maggie’s heart soared when she heard this information. The River Moy. That was the name of the river that flowed past the hamlet where she was born.

“Look, Hannah. It’s only a narrow stream here, but further on it gets wider and wider, like the estuary at Neston does. Then the Moy meets the Atlantic Ocean at Killala Bay. Just think that is where your father and I lived. Jack, oh Jack can yer hear me, we’ve just gone over the River Moy!”

Jack’s eyelids flickered for a moment and his body did a little shudder, then he relaxed back into sleep again. Maggie and Hannah held their breath. Perhaps he had understood something of what she’d said.

“Along here are the Ox mountains and further on are the Oweniny hills,” Maggie explained to Hannah. “See the peat beds between the forests? That’s what we used in our cabins to make ourselves a fire. Every May, when the weather started getting warmer, me father and the other men of the hamlet would take their slanes – that’s like a thin spade – and cut hundreds of squares of peat sods nearby. Then they were stored under sacking to keep out the rain. The drier the sods got, the better the fire. It was like a day out fer them all. Oh, look, there’s some men over there working on their peat beds already. Usually we lifted ours a bit later in May.”

“It’s going to be a lovely day,” remarked Sister Agatha. “I’m sure you’ll remember though, if we started off with a good summer, it usually rained in July. But I can tell from the formation of the clouds that it will be hot by dinner time. That means I’ll have this lot sold much quicker. Not many people like to venture out when it rains.”

“Is it always your job to come to market, Sister Agatha?” asked Hannah. “You seem such a busy person, working in the infirmary, dashing off to prayers and looking after the women in the Baby House as well.”

“As they say, Satan finds things fer idle hands to do, Hannah,” the nun replied, chuckling. “But there’s not many of us at the convent and plenty of work to go round. No, it’s usually me and I’m glad of it, though sometimes another sister will accompany me if she can be spared. Oh, look, we’re nearing Ballina already, I can see the ruined castle in the distance. Look over there on the hill.”

Jack felt as if he was floating… Yes, that was what he was doing… floating along on a slow moving tide. The tide was taking him nearer… To what, his mind kept asking? Was he travelling through a mist or had a fog come eerily down? He could hear voices; gentle, caring voices, concerned voices, voices of loved ones, but who he didn’t know. Now they had gone, there was nothing; just a silence, but he felt warm and comfortable; drowsy. Happy to be lying there in a world without a sound.

“So, what are yer plans now?” asked Sister Agatha, as she stopped the wagon outside the Heaney Hotel. “Will yer be staying fer one night, two? Bridget, me sister, will have to know.”

“Probably two nights, Sister. Then we’ll have to make arrangements to get over to Sligo. We’ll sail back to England from there. It’ll be easier than travelling back to Dublin overland.”

“Just wait with the wagon then for a moment while I nip in the back door. They’ll be in the kitchen having breakfast. I can ask Bridget’s husband, Francis, to come and help us with Jack.”

The nun scurried off and a little later came back with a big mountain of a man who introduced himself as Frank.

“
Cead Mile Failte
,” he said. “ Welcome to our humble hotel. I take it yer’ll be wantin’ a double and a single. Well, that’s all we have anyway, so I hope they’ll suit.”

“Yes, thank you, it’s very kind of yer to take us. You will have noticed by now that me husband isn’t very well, but he’ll be no problem. We’ll take care of him between ourselves.”

“Sister Aggie here has told us a little; poor man has got me sympathy. But this is a quiet law abiding town, where they’ll be no trouble. Not anymore anyway, not since 1798.”

Frank began to roar with laughter, then he picked Jack up as if he was a baby and began to carry him through the front door of the small hotel.

Maggie, Hannah and the nun looked at each other quizzically. Then Sister Agatha shrugged her shoulders and said she must be on her way.

“We’ll come down to help on your market stall later,” said Hannah. “If that’s all right with you, Mother, and you’ll be bound to know the way?”

“You can, Hannah, but I’d like to stay with yer Father. I’ll say goodbye now Sister Agatha, and I’d like ter thank yer for all yer care.”

“God bless yer Maggie and yer little family. We’ll be saying our prayers for yer husband at the convent. Perhaps yer could let us know of his recovery. Write to us when yer get home.”

She began to drive off down the high street and Maggie and Hannah waved until she rounded the bend.

“Do come in. I’ve made enough for you to share in our breakfast.”

Bridget Heaney, the nun’s sister, stood on the hotel doorstep. She was similar in looks to Agatha, but had a bit more weight on and her dark brown hair had a few streaks of silver in it. Not that anyone had seen Sister Agatha’s hair colour; it was presumed it was dark brown because of her black eyebrows. The woman could have been in her forties or fifties as her face was unwrinkled; just laughter lines around her eyes.

“I heard that dote of my husband mentioning the siege of Ballina. He does that to all our guests, likes to appear knowledgeable about the town’s history and covers up the fact that he’s a shy old thing at heart. It’s through here. Come and sit down and make yourselves comfortable. Frank will be back in a minute and I’ll get him to take your trunk up as well.”

“We had our breakfast at the convent, Mrs. Heaney, but I’m sure we’d both be grateful fer a cup of tea. But before yer pour it, do yer think yer could take me up to me husband? I’d like ter see him settled then I’ll come back down again.”

“Oh, what am I thinking of. You’ll be wanting to see your rooms. And call me Bridget, everyone else does. Do forgive me. I just get carried away with myself, don’t I Frank?” she said, as her husband came into the room.

Frank nodded. He looked rather sad and his eyes were full of compassion. These two had a hard field to plough before their man came back into the living world again.

Hannah walked along the street a little later, keeping a lookout for the road that would take her down to the River Moy. Her mother had said that the market was held on some open land in the middle of the two bridges. She would see “The Font” on the corner, a right, then a left would take her through the town. Hannah looked with interest at the shops she was passing. There was a haberdashery, a chemist and a small dressmaker’s with a window display of pretty little christening gowns. Her heart gave a thud as she saw them. She had forgotten all about her possible condition. In nine months time her baby might be wearing one of those! Oh God, what was she going to do if her courses didn’t start again? Jeremy was miles away in some steamy tropical jungle and probably wouldn’t be home again until the child was almost five. What a rat he was; an uncaring rat. No, not even a rat; a dirty horrible toad. Bella was right. She had filled her head with romantic, fanciful piffle, wanting to believe that what Jeremy had said that night had been the truth. But he probably wouldn’t have done it with Catherine Lydiate, her inner voice came to her in mockery. She would have kept herself chaste for marriage, which is what
you
failed to do.

Hannah found herself down beside the river. She looked to the right of her and could see the salmon weirs. To the left was a big stone bridge and in the distance she could see a ruined castle and another stone bridge nearly facing a cathedral or a large church. There were many people walking along the riverbank and she realised that must be where the market lay.

“Hannah! Over here, Hannah.”

It was Sister Agatha calling from her stall. It looked to be fairly busy as housewives milled around, handling the cabbages, feeling the firmness of the potatoes then handing over the coins if they were satisfied.

“Put this apron on, will yer? I could do with a breather; thank heavens yer came along. I haven’t got any scales for weighing on. Let people pick what they want, they usually bring a bag. A cabbage is a penny, about six large potatoes, two, and the turnips are two for thruppence. I’ll be over there getting a drink of tea if yer need me. Thank God yer’ve come, I’m parched.”

Hannah did as she was told and found she was really enjoying herself, especially as the customers she served were a cheerful lot, with lots of banter and repartee.

“Ee, thanks fer that,” said the nun gratefully when she came back a bit later to join Hannah. “Pity you can’t help me every week. The customers must have taken to yer, judging by all the money in the bag.”

“Oh, I enjoyed it. Now I know what I will do for a living. I will find something to sell from a market stall. We have a market in Neston, that’s on the Wirral, near Liverpool, that’s where we come from,”

“Tut, tut. I don’t think a girl like you will have to work fer a living. Me old eyes tell me that yer from a refined background.”

“I’m sure there’s a saying, Sister Agatha, about not judging a book by its cover, or something of that nature. I have a feeling that it won’t be too long before I will be taking responsibility for myself.”

Hannah left the nun feeling a little puzzled, but that was how she usually felt around young people. They were complicated souls; full of perplexities and hornswoggle. Lots of phases they had to go through before they found their inner self.

Maggie sat with Frank and Bridget eating lunch of buttered soda bread and a chunk of yellow crumbly cheese. Maggie and Hannah were the couple’s only guests and Maggie had turned down their request to eat lunch in their dining room.

“So, Maggie, what are yer plans?” asked Frank chewing his bread hungrily and taking big slurps from his mug of local black beer. “Your husband seems to be in no condition to take in the sights, but what about yerself? I’ll keep an eye to him if yer want ter look around.”

“We came from round here, Frank,” said Maggie sadly. “This was meant to be a trip down memory lane. Show Hannah her roots and make sense of the life that we have carved out fer ourselves. You know, close the chapter on our past, that sort of thing. But now that Jack seems to have lost his senses, it’s all a waste of time. Though I suppose I can take Hannah down to Killala, she can share
my
memories, if not her father’s. The doctor at the convent said it may do Jack good to see the old places, but it’s how to get him there. It’s a bit far to walk, though when we were younger we walked to Ballina often. In fact, Jack worked at the quarry so he walked it every day.”

“I can sort yer transport out, Maggie,” Frank replied eagerly. “If yer don’t mind handling our stubborn old donkey, yer can take Bertha. There’s enough room in the cart fer three people and as long as yer firm with her, she’ll get yer there and back again.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” Maggie said gratefully. “Hannah’s the one that is good with animals, she has a pony of her own back home. If yer sure, I’ll be grateful for the lend of it. Though I don’t think Bertha would be able to get us as far as Sligo. I think we’ll head back to England the day after tomorrow. Is there someone who could take us to Sligo? Of course we’re willing to pay.”

“I’ll ask around. Sometimes people journey over to Sligo to visit their relatives at the weekend. Or I could ask Billy McDermott. He has a carriage that he hires out, but it might cost a pretty penny fer him to drive yer there. It’s over thirty miles.

“Where did yer actually live in Killala, Maggie?” broke in Bridget. “I have a cousin who lived near the harbour. Yer know the road that goes down to the quay?”

“We didn’t live near the village, in fact we lived nearer to Ballina, than Killala, but fer some reason the hamlet we lived in was called that. You know the headland that juts out over near Moyne Abbey? Well, it was about a ten-minute walk from there. We overlooked the place where the River Moy joined up with the sea at Killala Bay. Me parents never seemed to take me in that direction when I was small; we always came over this way. I worked fer a farmer with the name of Filbey fer a couple of years – that was, until the potatoes failed and you’ll know the rest if yer came from round here.”