Patricia Falvey (28 page)

When I could stand it no more, I braced myself and marched to the front.

“Let me pass,” I demanded. “I’m late for work.”

The fellow leading the protest, the foxy oul’ Charlie Fagan who had taken over James’s job, laughed.

“Will you listen to her, boys? ‘I’ll be late for work.’” He mimicked me in a high-pitched voice. “And where is your fine husband? He’s not here to protect you now, is he?”

The picketers were all men.

“He has better things to do than fight with the likes of you,” I shouted. “You should be ashamed of yourselves trying to put the fear of God into innocent women.”

“Innocent, is it?” His grimy face was inches from mine. “Well, maybe some of them are, but not you, my girl. From what I hear, you’ve been in the thick of it.”

“Leave it alone, Eileen.” I heard Theresa’s voice behind me. “We’ll go home and leave the police to sort it out.”

I was rigid with anger. “We’re coming in,” I said to Fagan. “And if you as much as lay a hand on us, you’ll not only have the police to answer to, but James Conlon’s men as well!”

He backed away. I could see he had not expected any of us to put up a fight. There was a murmuring among the other men. One by one, they put down their signs. I turned to the women behind me.

“C’mon,” I said. “We’ll be docked for the lost time as it is. No sense losing any more money on account of these ignorant louts. Come on, Theresa.”

Theresa linked her arm in mine. She was shaking. She looked back at the others, and one by one they linked with one another and walked past the picket line. The men backed off, but they yelled curses at us.

“Dirty papists! You’ve no right to our jobs.”

I held my head high and marched in the gate with the rest of the women behind me. As I punched my card in the time clock, I saw Shields snooping from his office door. Bloody coward, I thought.

The police arrived that afternoon. Lot of good they’ll do now, I thought. They asked me questions and I answered them. I gave them the names of every man on the picket line, making sure to point out that Fagan was their leader. The other women nodded at my statements, but only Theresa was brave enough to give her account as well. After the police left, cheering broke out among the women.

“They’ll get what’s coming to them now,” they said.

“Wait till my Eamonn hears about this.”

“We’ll have peace now. They’ll not try again.”

Their camaraderie was infectious. Mary Crowley started singing the Republican national anthem, and the rest joined in. The threads were left spinning loose on the spindles, and the bobbins dropped as they joined hands. Shields came roaring out of his office, his face red as a rooster. He banged on a table, but with little effect. He glared at me.

“See what you started?” he muttered.

I wanted to remind him it wasn’t me that started it at all. But what good would it have done? I was going to be blamed no matter what. And the sad thing was that not one of the women thanked me for taking a stand.

That night, I went over in my mind what had happened. Was I wise to do what I did? Well, it was too late now, and besides, somebody had to do it, or they would not stop until we all quit. I felt a small sense of triumph. The old passion was back. I realized how much I had missed the action of the fight, the churning in my stomach as we set up the ambushes, the close calls, the flames licking the sky, the torrid lovemaking afterward. And not that I wanted to be called a hero, but I was raging that not one of the girls said thank you. Not even Theresa. I supposed they were all either suspicious of me or afraid to be seen talking to me. I was becoming like those untouchable women in India I’d read about in one of P.J.’s books. A pariah—was that the word? At least I could show James that I had not lost my nerve. He was not the only one in the family who could stand up to the oppressors.

“WHAT THE FECK
did you think you were doing?”

James stood over me, shaking with anger. He had arrived at the back door in the early hours of the morning. For once I was really delighted to see him. I couldn’t wait to tell him my news. But as soon as I began, he held up his hand. He had already heard about it. I should not have been surprised the way news like that traveled around the country. I was more shocked at his reaction. I stared at him with my mouth open.

“What d’you mean? Sure wasn’t I standing up for our rights the way you do yourself?”

James shook his head in disbelief. “You stupid woman,” he cried, “don’t we have enough troubles without you drawing attention to yourself?”

James had never called me stupid before, and his words stung.

“And what would you have had me do?” I yelled. “Lie down and let them walk all over us? Or run home with my tail between my legs like the rest of the women?”

James let out a sigh. “Do you not see,” he said quietly as if talking to a child. “It’s your name is on the complaint, now. And it will go to the Sheridans. And besides getting the label of a troublemaker, you could lose your job, and the police will be watching the house more than before.”

“Complaint? What complaint?”

“Fagan and his crew have lodged a complaint with the mill and the police stating you threatened them with bodily harm.”

I laughed out loud. “Bodily harm? Sure there’s no one in their right minds would believe that. And the Sheridans should be happy I stood up to them, otherwise they would have lost a day’s work from all of the women.”

James shook his head, exasperated. “Do I have to spell it out? Do you think that Fagan, who hasn’t the brains he was born with, came up with this idea on his own? Do you not think it was the Sheridans put him up to it? They don’t want to get the reputation of sacking Catholics. They know they’d have to answer to us if they did. But if they allow the pressure to be brought on us to quit, then they can still keep their holier-than-thou Quaker reputation intact.”

“That’s nonsense,” I said. “Who would do the work if we all quit?”

“There’s plenty of Protestants would be glad of the jobs. Some of the other mills have closed. There’s plenty of people out of work between here and Belfast.”

I said nothing in reply. I sat down and stirred the fire, mulling over what James had said.

“The Sheridans would not do that,” I said at last. “They’re good people.”

James stared at me. His face was dark. “Is that so?” he said. “Why don’t you ask your fancy friend Owen? Push comes to shove he’ll not be protecting you. Blood’s thicker than water.”

I felt a flush rising on my cheeks. Had he heard that Owen was at the house?

“You’re dreaming,” I said. “I’m no more friendly with Owen Sheridan than the man in the moon.”

“That’s not what I hear.”

After James left, I sank down on my knees. James had betrayed me again. He had turned on me as if I were the enemy. He had accused me of things that were not true. And he had called me stupid. I blinked back tears before they could fall. Stupid, is it? James Conlon would regret the day he ever called me that. The anger powered through me, and I got up. The energy was enough to get myself and Aoife dressed and out the door. But it faded as I made my way over to the mill. All I could think of was another scar somewhere on my poor heart, another place that could never be touched.

JAMES’S THIRD BETRAYAL
followed swiftly. On the Saturday morning following the incident at the mill, I stood in the line as usual to collect my pay packet. As always, the mood was light, the women joking back and forth with one another, making plans for their Saturday night out. When it was my turn to sign for my pay, Shields pulled me aside. The look on his face was hard to describe. Satisfaction? Triumph? A cold feeling washed over me.

“Make this one count, lassie,” he growled. “It’s your last.”

My hand froze on the envelope.

The women stopped laughing and looked at me, but they said nothing. Mary Galway stood prim as ever behind Shields’s shoulder. She waved a bony hand at me.

“Move along now,” she said without addressing me by name. “You’re holding up the line.”

For once in my life, I had no words. Sacked! I’d been sacked! For all my brave talk, I had never really believed it could happen. I looked down at the envelope in my hand and clutched it like a drowning man. A shove behind me knocked me forward. Then a fire roared through my legs and I ran as fast as I could out of the mill, across the courtyard, out of the gate, and down the hill. I thought I heard Theresa’s voice calling behind me, but I paid no heed. I had to get away. Shame blanketed me. My face was hot and red. I jumped in front of the Newry tram just as it was pulling out, and the conductor caught my arm.

“Where’s the fire, lassie?” he called.

I ignored him and slumped down on the wooden seat. I could not think. My life passed before me as if I were drowning. What was I to do? What about Aoife? What would James say? I got off the tram at the Newry station and ran to the post office. I had no idea what I was going to do there. I could not deposit the money in my pay envelope. I needed it for me and Aoife. I had not made a deposit in weeks. I didn’t even have my passbook with me. A tight spiral wound through my gut, and I could hardly breathe. Somehow I had to know what I had in the post office was safe. I had to know my dream was still protected.

A guard stood at the door as I rushed in. “We’re closing in five minutes, missus,” he said. “You’d better make it quick.”

The room was filled with last-minute customers buying stamps and cashing money orders. The buzz of conversation and laughter and the clank of the clerks’ machines swarmed in my ears. I heard the clack of screens as one clerk after another closed their windows. I raced to the far end of the long counter to the savings window. Mary Dunn, the clerk, stood there talking to a big fellow who was wearing an overcoat and a hat. She was flirting with him, her fat country face lit by a stupid smile. I never liked the girl. She had a crafty way about her. But at least she was in no hurry to shut down. I still had time. And then I slid to a halt. I had caught the sly look in Mary’s eyes, and instantly I knew all. The man was James. And he had taken my money!

I threw myself on James and wrenched the small red savings book from his hand. I touched its frayed edges and rubbed my fingers across the faded lettering on its cover. Tears blurred my vision. My fingers shook as I rifled through the pages, and there, on the last page, was what I knew I would find: “Balance, October 16, 1920, Five Shillings and No Pence.”

James watched me silently. I lifted my eyes to his face.

“Five shillings?” I blurted out. “How can it be five shillings? I had over four hundred pounds in there. How?”

Even though I knew well how it had happened, I turned on Mary Dunn.

“Why did you give it to him?” I shouted. “You had no right.”

She shrugged her plump shoulders and gave me a cunning look. “Mr. Conlon is your husband,” she said, her tone mocking me with its sweetness, “and besides, he had your passbook.”

James spoke up. “The Cause is desperate for money just now, Eileen. I’ll pay it back. That’s why I left the five shillings to keep the account open. And anyway”—he put his hand on my arm and grinned—“it’s not as if it was that much.”

A red fire burned in front of my eyes. I tore at James’s sleeves, scratching the rough cloth with my fingernails. He took me by the shoulders and tried to push me away, but I clawed at him more, scratching small furrows of blood down the skin on the backs of his hands.

“Not that fecking much?” I screamed. “It was all I fecking had. It was every penny I’ve been scraping together for the last eight years!” I choked back the bile that had risen up from my belly. “It was for the Yellow House,” I whimpered. “You know it was. Och, James, how could you do it?”

A pair of hands grabbed my shoulders from behind. “Come on, now, missus,” said the guard. “You’re causing a bit of a scene.”

I shook him off and lunged at Mary Dunn, who was trying to bring down the screen on her window. I grabbed the screen and pushed it up again.

“You feckin’ eejit,” I screamed at her. “D’you know what you’ve done?”

Her small eyes grew wide with fear. Gone were the slyness and the smugness.