Authors: Jessica Stirling
Shamrock Green (56 page)
When they reached the ropes, however, her father passed Sean to Mam, pushed hard behind her and gripped her arm tightly.
She sensed his tension and suspected that it had more to do with the letters than with his brothers' return from prison. She wondered if he was thinking of her, of the woman â Rebecca â who had written those love letters or if he was still caught up in the war. So far he had refused to speak about it â wouldn't talk, wouldn't tell â as if the war were his secret, the war and the woman he had met there, one small secret contained within the larger.
They were cheering wildly now, those on board and those on shore.
Some lads had lit a pine torch and were waving it about, spattering globules of blood-red fire on to the sleety quay. Then the cheering turned to chanting: an anthem, a hymn, so wonderfully joyful that Maeve felt it in the pit of her stomach like an ache.
Ropes were coiled and flung out and fastened to bollards. The steamer creaked against the quay, shuddering. Bow-legged quay-masters and pursers of the shipping line rolled out the gangways while the peelers watched impassively, big and whiskery most of them, pompous in their uniforms.
The passengers were piling against the deck rail, fighting to be first down the gangway. Maeve heard the cries of the women in the crowd, the yelling of the men on deck, names and prayers and joyful tears all entangled in the celebratory whoop of the steamer's whistle and the gritty black smoke that billowed from her funnel. She pushed forward, searching for Charlie, Peter, for Turk. She didn't even know if he would be on the Liverpool boat. Might be on the train, or still in Fishguard or Rosslare. Might be seated at home in Wexford stuffing his lovely big face with bacon and eggs.
Then she caught sight of him, tall above the press, taller than ever, she thought, bigger than ever, clean-shaven now but just as wild and woolly as he had ever been, bouncing up and down and waving his hat.
Uncle Charlie and Peter clung to Turk's coat tails; Peter, scrawny and crabby, scowling down at the crowd as if he hated them all.
She had no eyes for Peter or Charlie.
She raised herself on tiptoe and yelled at the pitch of her voice,
âTurk, Turk. I'm here. Here I am. Here.'
She felt her father's hand tighten on her arm.
She turned and looked up at him, questioningly.
âShe was a nurse,' he said.
âWhat?'
âThe woman who wrote me those letters â she was a nurse.'
âWas she in love with you?'
âYes.'
âAn' were you in love with her?'
He didn't answer, not then, not ever.
Maeve's question drifted in the still brown air then melted away, like a fleck of sleet on wet flannel, as Turk came jolting down the gangway.
She could see him now, see that he had found her, could hear him shouting, as he rushed towards the rope with arms wide open,
âMaeve, Maeve. By Gad, ay-hay, my sweetheart. I'm home. I'm bloody home.'
She felt Gowry's hand close on her arm once more.
He held her only for a moment, though.
And then he let her go.
By the same author
THE SPOILED EARTH
THE HIRING FAIR
THE DARK PASTURE
THE DEEP WELL AT NOON
THE BLUE EVENING GONE
THE GATES OF MIDNIGHT
TREASURES ON EARTH
CREATURE COMFORTS
HEARTS OF GOLD
THE GOOD PROVIDER
THE ASKING PRICE
THE WISE CHILD
THE WELCOME LIGHT
A LANTERN FOR THE DARK
SHADOWS ON THE SHORE
THE PENNY WEDDING
THE MARRYING KIND
THE WORKHOUSE GIRL
PRIZED POSSESSIONS
THE PIPER'S TUNE
THE ISLAND WIFE
THE WIND FROM THE HILLS
THE STRAWBERRY SEASON
As Caroline Crosby
THE HALDANES
SHAMROCK GREEN
. Copyright © 2002 by Jessica Stirling. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
First published in Great Britain by Hodder and Stoughton
A division of Hodder Headline
First U.S. Edition: August 2003
eISBN 9781466866515
First eBook edition: February 2014