Martha's Girls (21 page)

‘It’s no problem, Mrs Goulding, no problem at all. I may be a master baker by trade, but I’ve helped out in my uncle’s butcher’s shop since I was twelve years old.’

‘But Mr Ferguson, you’re all dressed up. Were you on your way out somewhere?’

Harry was already removing his jacket, but didn’t miss a trick. ‘To tell you the truth, Mrs Goulding, I was hoping to ask your permission to take Peggy to a Christmas Eve dance tonight.’

Martha took the jacket and held out her hand for the tie that quickly followed.

‘Oh, is that right? Peggy didn’t mention it.’

Harry rolled up his sleeves. ‘Now then, lead me to the beast.’

The Goulding women stood in silence in the kitchen listening to the noise of claws scrabbling on a cast iron bath and the flapping of wings against walls. Then suddenly all was silent. The door opened slowly and Harry Ferguson, looking very handsome with his dark hair falling over his eyes, poked his head out.

‘I’ll be needing a very sharp knife, some string and as much newspaper as you can lay your hands on, if that’s all right, Mrs Goulding.’

‘Of course it is, Mr Ferguson. I’ll fetch it right away.’

Half an hour later, he emerged and put a newspaper parcel on the table. ‘That can all be thrown out.’ A second parcel followed. ‘That’s your giblets; good for making gravy.’ Then the turkey plucked and trussed was on the table. ‘All sorted now, just needs stuffing and it’s ready for the oven.’

‘You’re a life saver, so you are!’ Martha was delighted. She looked from him to the turkey then back again. That’s when she noticed his shirt. ‘Oh no, it’s ruined, or it will be if you don’t get it in cold water right away. Quickly, get it off you,’ she ordered. Martha filled the sink with cold water liberally sprinkled with salt. ‘The best remedy for blood stains,’ she assured him and plunged his shirt in the sink. Only then did she turn around and, with a jolt of surprise, saw a young man stripped to the waist in her kitchen and her four daughters wide eyed and mesmerised by the sight.

An hour later wearing Robert’s only decent shirt, albeit a little tight around the collar, Harry Ferguson left Joanmount Gardens in his borrowed sports car with Peggy at his side on their way to a dance and her entire family waving them off.

Harry had promised to have Peggy back before midnight and Martha had surprised herself by believing him. Of course she decided to wait up for her, but she passed the time, not by worrying, but by adding the final touches to the girls’ presents. She sewed the buttons on their new jumpers and wrapped them up. Hanging from the fireplace were four ‘stockings’, each filled with an orange, some nuts and a different coloured comb for each daughter. Just before midnight, Martha heard the back door open. Peggy bustled in flushed and smiling.

‘Well,’ said Martha, ‘did you have a good time?’

‘Oh yes, yes. First of all we had some supper at a restaurant on Chichester Street, very nice, Harry knew the owner.’ Peggy didn’t mention the glass of champagne she’d drunk, the amazing bubbles and the lightness in her head. ‘Then we went to the Plaza Ballroom. There was a full orchestra, can you believe it, and singers. It was wonderful and the dancing …’ She could tell no more, there was too much going on in her head, image after image, moment after moment. She searched for words to explain. ‘Oh Mammy, it was wonderful!’ was all she could manage.

Later as she lay in bed waiting for sleep to come, she heard again the rich sound of an orchestra and felt Harry’s arms around her as they danced; no baby grand or angry boss to contend with this time. She remembered how he had leaned down to whisper in her ear; she looked up at him wondering if she had heard him right and saw again his smiling eyes as he kissed her.

It was after one o’clock when Martha checked on her daughters. She laid the orange sari, redeemed from the pawn broker’s, over Irene’s bed. Next door, on Sheila’s side of the dressing table she left a small box wrapped in Christmas paper with a tag that said, ‘For Sheila, who has the most beautiful ears.’ At last Martha climbed into bed weary, but content. Since she was a child she had believed Christmas Eves were full of magic. As she got older that belief never changed, but each year brought a different kind of magic and this Christmas Eve had been one of the strangest ever. It seemed that Robert had been with her all day, had given her permission to pawn their ring. No ordinary wedding ring, Robert had explained that Christmas Eve long ago when he had placed it on her finger, but a ring of rubies. Even the turkey came from Knocknagoney where she and Robert used to walk out together on warm Sunday afternoons. And nothing seemed more unexpectedly natural than to lend Harry Ferguson Robert’s best shirt to take their daughter to a Christmas Eve dance.

*

Christmas Day dawned with a sharp frost. Martha was first downstairs to get the oven on to start the turkey. Next she lit the fire in the sitting room, so it would be warm when the girls came down to empty their stockings and share the opening of the presents. Finally, she put the porridge on. Irene was first up and came in the kitchen all smiles and hugs.

‘Thank you so much for my sari. I never thought I’d see it again. How did you … ’ Irene’s eyes were brimming with tears.

‘That’s all right, love. It means a lot to you doesn’t it?’

Irene nodded, unable to express the sadness she had felt at the thought of losing it.

Pat and Peggy quickly followed and all were sitting at the table chatting and eating porridge when Sheila came into the kitchen. She posed in front of them, turning her head from side to side to show the pearl in each ear lobe.

‘Thank you so much for my earrings. They’re the best present I’ve ever had. Are they from you, Mammy?’

‘They’re from all of us, Sheila. You deserve them.’ If the other sisters were surprised at the fact they were the givers of such a beautiful present, they didn’t show it. Instead each marvelled at the appropriateness of the gift and the stunning effect the earrings had on Sheila’s appearance.

The sharing of gifts was a simple, but organised, ritual. Each in turn would give out their gifts and in turn they were opened, exclaimed upon and thanks given. That way everyone shared in the opening of every gift and consequently each gift and giver received its fair attention.

Soon it was time to leave for church, with everyone well wrapped up against the chill wind blowing from the east and each Goulding girl in a cosy new jumper. The carols were sung with gusto by all, but the sermon brought the whole congregation back to the reality of a Christmas at war. The Reverend Lynas took as his theme the people of Europe united against evil.

Christmas dinner was a huge success and at the centre of it all was the now infamous Knocknagoney turkey. The parsnips, roasted as suggested by the McCrackens, were pronounced delicious. Finally, Martha’s simple version of the plum pudding served with custard was thought to be an improvement on every pudding they’d ever eaten. Pat and Irene volunteered to wash the huge pile of dishes, provided Peggy and Sheila did the same on Boxing Day when the whole meal would be repeated.

Martha, after all her culinary efforts, was relaxing in the front room enjoying a cup of tea when she was surprised to see Goldstein’s car draw up outside. As she watched, he jumped out and hurried to the passenger’s door to help someone out. Martha caught her breath at the sight of the figure that emerged: a frail looking young woman with unkempt hair, wearing just a thin cotton dress. Her face, as she turned towards the house, struck Martha to her core. The girl’s eyes were wide and staring, her face grey and drawn.

‘Mercy me,’ whispered Martha as she watched Goldstein support the girl in taking hesitant steps as though she had only lately gained the use of her legs. Sheila, who had been sitting on the rug in front of the fire cracking nuts, heard the horror in her mother’s voice and joined her at the window.

‘Who is it, Mammy?’

But Martha was already out the door, having paused only to shout upstairs, ‘Peggy, come quickly!’

Martha ran to the girl’s side and supported her, so that between them she and Goldstein practically carried her into the house. Peggy was in the hallway as they helped the girl over the threshold.

‘What’s happened, Mammy?’ Then in a moment her eyes took in Goldstein and the weight he and her mother were carrying.

‘Mr Goldstein, is this—’

‘Yes, Peggy, this is Esther.’

Instinctively, they took her into the kitchen and settled her in Robert’s chair close to the warm range. Irene drew up a chair close to Esther and held her hand, all the time speaking softly to her, explaining where she was and introducing everyone, knowing that Esther understood little of what was said, but hoping she might sense the kindness surrounding her. Meanwhile, Pat made tea and prepared a plate of turkey sandwiches. Peggy went off to look for a warm dress and cardigan. Sheila sat opposite Esther and smiled their welcome.

In the sitting room Goldstein was as close to tears as Martha had ever seen a man. ‘Forgive me, Mrs Goulding, I did not know what to do. I am her uncle, but it is not enough … I could not …’ He stopped wringing his hands and held them open. ‘I brought her to you.’

‘Of course, of course,’ said Martha. ‘It was the right thing to do. We’ll see to her, don’t worry.’

‘She arrived in Belfast early this morning off the Liverpool boat. Some passengers, a business man and his wife I believe, had become concerned for her, because of the state she was in. She had no luggage and didn’t respond to their questions, so they took her to the harbour police. She had a scrap of paper with my address on it in her hand.’ He paused then as though remembering the sequence of events. ‘The police arrived at my house and asked me to identify her. I do not know … I could see the suspicion in their eyes. I tried to explain she was probably my niece. I have never seen Esther, you understand, I left Poland many years before she was born. And of course, to the policemen my accent sounded, you know …’ He struggled to explain. ‘I could have been a German for all they knew. I told them right away that I was Polish, but…’ His voice trailed off again.

‘But they must know your shop and you’ve papers, I’m sure,’ said Martha.

‘Oh, yes, but at seven in the morning with two policemen in my house and a young woman in a distressed state … I don’t know … I became confused.’ He paused and shook his head as if to rid his mind of what could have happened if at that moment the young woman had not lifted her head, looked at him through eyes that were identical to his sister’s and whispered ‘Shalom’.

‘She is my niece, I told them. They were kind men at heart and maybe they understood something of what she had been through. Since then she has not said a word. I did not know what to do. Then I thought of you and your girls.’

Just then Pat put her head round the door. ‘Excuse me, Mammy, I’ve made her something to eat and a drink of tea, but she won’t touch them and I’m sure she’s starving.’

Goldstein stood up. ‘I think I know why.’

In the kitchen, Goldstein spoke to her in Polish. At the mention of the word ‘Kosher’ she looked quickly at her uncle. He nodded and Esther brought the turkey sandwich to her mouth and began to eat.

Meanwhile, Peggy ran her a bath adding some of the Yardley freesia bath salts Irene had given her for Christmas. She laid out towels and hung a blue flannel dress of Sheila’s (guessing she was closer to Sheila’s size than any of the other sisters) and a beige cardigan of her own on the hook behind the door. When Esther emerged from the bathroom she was certainly cleaner, her cheeks had regained a little colour, but Sheila’s dress was hanging loosely on her and still she said nothing

‘I think she probably wants to sleep. I’ll take her upstairs and she can lie on my bed.’ Peggy returned five minutes later. ‘Fast asleep, I don’t think she’s slept properly for days.’

‘Mr Goldstein, why don’t you leave her here, she’ll probably sleep for hours,’ said Martha. ‘You could get a bit of sleep yourself. Come back later.’

Goldstein knew that Esther couldn’t be anywhere better than under Martha Goulding’s roof. So, with much shaking of hands and thanks he took himself back up the Antrim Road.

*

As twilight fell there was a rap at the kitchen window and Jack and Betty came in to wish their neighbours a Merry Christmas.

‘How was your dinner?’ Betty asked.

‘Very good,’ said Martha, ‘especially the excellent vegetables!’

‘There’ll plenty more where they came from in future,’ said Jack lighting his pipe. He said no more until he had sucked and sucked so that the tobacco in the bowl began to glow and the room filled with the aromatic mix of Old Holborn. ‘I’ve decided to dig up my garden to grow my own vegetables. Mind you, I’m likely to have that many carrots, potatoes and the rest, that I’ll need the help of a few neighbours to make sure they don’t go to waste, if you get my drift.’

Betty smiled encouragement at her husband. ‘Tell them about your other idea, Jack.’

Jack checked his pipe, risked pressing the tobacco a little tighter and puffed again to make it catch. ‘I’ve a mind to get a few chickens too.’ He smiled his pleasure.