Strawberry Fields (62 page)
Sara was crying. Now that it had come to it, she was realising how much she’d miss the Strawb, the other staff, the children. And though she longed to be Brogan’s wife, she hadn’t really thought that they would have to go off to the United States of America as soon as the knot was tied. But things were difficult, she acknowledged that. Folk were so tight-lipped, so disapproving of their union, as though the fact that Sara was a Salvationist and Brogan a Catholic should have made their love – and their marriage – unthinkable.
‘Sara, me love, we’d be very uncomfortable livin’ in the centre of Liverpool, wit’ such strong disapproval all around us, to say nothin’ of bricks t’rough the winders an kids shoutin’ in the street,’ Brogan had said when he had told her they would be having their honeymoon aboard a transatlantic liner bound for the port of New York ‘I took you home once, and Mammy wasn’t kind to you. And when the babies come, what d’you t’ink folk will say then, eh? We’re best out of it.’
‘But what’ll we live on, until we find work?’ Sara had said, stalling desperately. ‘Can’t we just try it here first, Brog?’
‘We’ll live on my wages as an engineer,’ Brogan said, trying not to sound proud with a total lack of success. ‘I’ve got a job to go to, alanna. I had me certificates copied in a fair hand and I listed all me experience, got some good references, and I sent the whole lot off to Niall. He got me a job wit’ a railroad company, starting two weeks after we land. So what about that, eh?’
She had had to say it was wonderful, that he was wonderful, and it
was.
But America was a long way away and she was giving up her career, her home . . .
was.
But America was a long way away and she was giving up her career, her home . . .
‘The Army’s waiting for you across the water,’ the brigadier said comfortingly when Sara tried to explain how she felt. ‘You can go on with your career over there if you wish to do so, or you can simply continue to worship with your fellow Salvationists. My poor child, you won’t be lonely or left out, not if you go to the nearest citadel and tell them you’re an Army lass.’
But it was a big step, and one that Sara was reluctant to take whilst Brogan and his mother were still at odds with one another. So yesterday she had telephoned to the crossing cottage and spoken to Peader.
‘We’re going so far away, Mr O’Brady,’ she had said. ‘Can’t you persuade your wife to come along, just to bid us goodbye? Brogan can’t believe she’ll let him down when she’s been such a wonderful mother to him.’
But Peader had told her that he’d been forced to agree that Deirdre should stay at home.
‘Better that than spoilin’ your weddin’ wit’ a long face,’ he’d said heavily. ‘I’m disappointed in Mrs O’Brady, I am indeed. But the rest of us will be there to wish you well.’
So be thankful for small mercies and stop behaving like a spoilt baby, Sara scolded herself, carefully wiping her tears away on a small linen handkerchief. Grace will be here any moment and I don’t want to show her a long face. She really would tell me off, since I’m the happiest, luckiest person on earth today!
And presently Grace came knocking on the door, resplendent in a smart pink coat with a black velvet collar, a lovely furry muff and patent leather strap shoes. Sara, eyeing her appreciatively, thought her a far cry from the draggly, raggedy orphan-child who, only months before, had been begging outside the Great Mersey public house.
‘You look lovely, Miss Cordwainer,’ Grace said shyly, coming fully into the room. ‘Wharrabout me, eh? Awright, am I?’
‘You’re a picture, Grace,’ Sara said warmly. ‘Is it time to go down yet?’
‘I reckon. The brig called out the car’s ’ere, anyroad.’
‘Right.’ Sara took one last, long look at herself in her mirror. She saw a slender, pale young woman in a cream-coloured dress with a leaf-green coat over it. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a coronet of dark curls and she was carrying a bouquet of spring flowers. ‘Off we go then, Grace!’
Polly found the wedding service disappointing, but then Daddy had warned her it wouldn’t be like a proper church wedding. Still, it didn’t take long, that was one advantage, and afterwards they went back to the Strawb for a bit of a hooley and then it was into the cars and down to the docks. Polly had watched Grace being a bridesmaid enviously and as soon as the ceremony was over the two girls got together and started chattering for all the world, Peader said, as though they’d known each other for ever.
‘You must come and stay wit’ us at our cottage out in the country, alanna,’ he said to Grace. ‘Our Polleen would like that, wouldn’t you, Poll? And then you can talk until the cows come home.’
Polly said she would like that and Grace, her whole face brightening, said it would be prime. ‘I ain’t never been in the country, norrin the ’ole of me life,’ she told Polly. ‘But I reckon I’ll like it more’n any old city. I could ’elp Mr O’Brady in your garden – I’m a dab ’and at gardenin’ thanks to Brogan.’
And when the party made its way down to the docks the two girls stood together, both with hands plunged into their coat pockets so that they could bombard the bride and groom with confetti as they arrived to board the ship. Polly was wildly excited but she knew tears were not far distant, and she saw that Grace was similarly affected. Oh, I suppose she loves Miss Cordwainer – Sara – like I love Brogan, Polly thought to herself. And poor Grace must hate the thought of her going off, perhaps for ever, to another country, like I hate Brogan leaving. It was all very well for her daddy to say Polly could go and visit him there, but that was what they said about Tad and it hadn’t happened; she doubted that it ever would.
And then the bride and groom arrived, and the confetti was thrown and there were huggings and kissings and quite a lot of crying. And then Brogan, with his arm round Sara, led her up the gangplank and on to the ship and the O’Bradys stood and waved and waved and Polly felt tears begin to slide down her cheeks and saw, beside her, that Grace was crying too.
Deirdre had told Peader that she would take care of his crossing for him, so she was rather indignant when a tall young man with very pale skin and bright ginger hair turned up about half an hour after the party had left and informed her that he was her husband’s standin.
‘I’m to stay until the weddin’ party gets home,’ he said. ‘Mr O’Brady said there would be a dinner standin’ by the oven waitin’ to be popped inside, an’ I’ve gorra list of all the trains. So any time you like to leave, Mrs O’Brady . . .’
I couldn’t stay, after that, Deirdre told herself, changing hastily into her best coat and hat and putting on her smartest shoes. I might as well just walk down to the village, I might do a bit of shopping, wait and meet the train . . .
Lime Street station is an enormous, echoing place when you’re by yourself, but by now, Deirdre had acknowledged that she would go down to the docks. She would make sure no one saw her, but she would watch Brogan and that stuck-up little madam going off on the liner. And later she’d find Peader and the others and perhaps, because she had journeyed this far, Peader would stop being tight-lipped over her behaviour.
Because I’m right, I know I am, Deirdre told herself, emerging from Lime Street and gazing across at St George’s Plain. ’Tis a wrong thing for a Catholic to marry someone who isn’t, and they can’t say different. Why, even the Army folk must be disappointed that the girl hasn’t found herself a feller in their ranks.
Having crossed the busy roadway, Deirdre found herself by the statue of a huge black horse with an old-fashioned-looking woman on its back. Close to the statue taxi cabs stood waiting for fares and on impulse, Deirdre jumped into the nearest. The driver slid back the glass pane which separated them and asked her where she wanted to go. His accent, to Deirdre’s pleasure, was warmly Irish.
‘Me son’s off to America this afternoon, I’m not sure . . .’ she began, but apparently this was enough.
‘The docks, right? Sure and I’ll take you as near as I can get you, missus.’ He drove for a short way through the bustling streets, then half-turned to say conversationally, ‘Your son’ll be on the
SS Europa,
I daresay? We’ll ’ave to make it snappy, she sails on the tide.’
SS Europa,
I daresay? We’ll ’ave to make it snappy, she sails on the tide.’
Sara got out of the taxi and crossed the dock to the gangplank which she would presently ascend, then turned to the wedding party, who, unencumbered by luggage, had arrived at the quayside first. She kissed her brand-new father-in-law, her brothers-in-law and her pretty little sister-in-law and told them she would write often. Then she hugged Grace and thanked her for being such an excellent bridesmaid, and thanked Clarrie for giving her away – lacking a relative wishing to do the job she had appealed to Clarrie and her friend had obliged. Then she shook hands with the other staff members who had come to see her off, and took Brogan’s hand. There was a great bustle aboard the ship which, she assumed, meant that they should be aboard so with a final round of goodbyes she and Brogan began to ascend the gangplank. Halfway up Sara had an urge to change her mind to return to the quayside, but Brogan, apparently guessing how she felt, slid a strong arm about her waist, his calm, loving presence reassuring her that she was doing the right thing.
They reached the deck.
‘I told the family not to come aboard, I said parting once was bad enough,’ Brogan whispered in her ear. ‘Daddy’s goin’ to get them all back to the Strawb, where Matron’s goin’ to give them a supper before they get their train. We’ll go below presently and take a look at our cabin, but not until we’ve waved them off.’
The two of them stood by the rail and waved until their family and friends had all gone, then Brogan turned to her. He smiled and squeezed her hand.
‘Come on, let’s find the cabin.’
It was a nice cabin, an outside one, which meant that they could look down on to the quay, far below. Brogan took off his heavy coat and hung it in the tiny wardrobe, then put a cautious hand on the bed.
‘Nice and soft,’ he said. ‘We’re all right there!’
Sara knew she should have laughed, made some joking reply, but she felt silly, unsure. Deep in the bowels of the ship the engines were rumbling, and the huge craft was beginning to sway slightly. It would not be long now before they sailed, she supposed, and felt vulnerable, uneasily aware that her whole life had now changed. She was in Brogan’s charge and he was in hers. Oh, dear God, let us make a success of this strange thing called marriage, she prayed confusedly as she took off her coat and hat. She hung them up, then wandered over to the mirror. Standing before it, she smoothed her hair with shaking hands, then began to fiddle with the string of beads round her throat. Trying to keep her voice steady she said as brightly as she could: ‘Are we about to sail, Brog? Should we go on deck?’
‘I thought you might prefer a quiet . . .’ Brogan began, then nodded, with so much loving understanding in his eyes that Sara could have wept all over again, except that she was determined to do no such thing. ‘Yes, why not? Come on then, Mrs O’Brady!’
They left the cabin, climbed the companionway and crossed the crowded deck. They managed to find a spot by the rail and Brogan put his arm around her as though it belonged there. His head was so close to hers that she could feel his breath on her cheek, stirring her hair.
‘All right, sweetheart? Are you goin’ to give the old Liver birds a wave, then, to say goodbye? Any moment now the gangplank will be wound in and they’ll cast off and – ’ He broke off. ‘Mary Mother of Jesus . . . what’s goin’ on?’
Someone was running up the gangplank, they could see it bouncing from where they stood. There were shouts from the deck – the sailors had been hurrying about, clearly intending to cast off – but the figure continued to come doggedly on.
‘Someone nearly missed the boat,’ Sara said, trying to make a joke of it. ‘Oh, Brogan, it looks like . . .’
‘Mammy!’ Brogan said. He seized Sara exuberantly round the waist and almost carried her towards where his mother was arguing animatedly with the seamen at the top of the gangplank. ‘She’s come after all so she has!’
They reached the gangplank breathless, beaming. Deirdre took one look at them and then suddenly she was in Brogan’s arms, reaching out a hand, pulling Sara, too, into her embrace.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t make the weddin’,’ Deirdre panted. ‘I – I just wanted to say goodbye and to wish you happy!’ And before either Sara or Brogan could say a word she had reached up and kissed her daughter-in-law heartily on the cheek. ‘Now be good to me son,’ she instructed, her voice tear-filled but determined. ‘Sure an’ you’ll make him a broth of a wife so you will!’
‘Madam, are you a passenger on this ship?’ The officer who had spoken took Deirdre’s arm in a firm grip. ‘You really must go, visitors were asked to leave some while ago, we’re about to set sail, you know.’
‘It’s all right, officer, I’ll go quietly now I’ve said goodbye to me son and his new wife,’ Deirdre said soothingly. She turned back to Sara and gave her, for the first time ever, a clear-eyed glance and a gentle, affectionate smile. ‘Take care of him, me dear girl,’ she said softly. ‘And may God bless you both.’
When they could see no land, when the bounding ocean lay all around them, Brogan and Sara returned to their cabin and walked straight into each other’s arms. For a moment they just hugged, wordlessly, tightly, then Brogan held her back from him and kissed her brow, her eyelids, her tear-wet cheeks.
‘Darlin’ Sara, ’tis a big step we’re takin’, but we’re takin’ it together and it’s an adventure, so it is. All right?’
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