Where Old Ghosts Meet (14 page)

There was a slim black dress for her mother, very simple except for a wide band of blue and green beadwork that ran all around the neckline and formed a shimmering heart at one shoulder. Mrs. Molloy held the dress against her body. “Well, take me to Garbo,” she murmured to herself, admiring her reflection in the long mirror on the back of the wardrobe door.

“You look beautiful, Mammy.”

Mrs. Molloy touched her hair, turning slightly to one side as she draped the dress across her slim body. Gently she ran her hand over the soft fabric, smoothing it over her flat stomach and nipping it in at the waist. Her head came back as she drew her knee slightly upward, the toe of her shoe brushing the floor. “Look at me now and the day you got me. Hit me now and the child in me arms!” She laughed outright with delight.

Maureen, catching the drama of the scene, began to mimic her mother's actions.

“Don't be bold, Maureen, and stop that cod actin'. Your daddy will be home in a minute and he'll settle you.” She folded the dress, set it aside, and picked a roll of green satin ribbon from amongst the treasures. “Look here, girls, bows for your hair, three inches wide!” She ran the ribbon off the roll, measuring from hand to hand pale lengths of apple-green satin. “Three quarters of a yard makes a perfect bow so there's plenty here for two each. You'll be great style altogether for Patrick's Day.”

“Wait till Da sees this. Won't he be surprised?” Nora jumped about, clapping her hands in delight.

“You'll not breathe a word, not to a soul. You hear me now, not a word, not to your father or anyone outside of this room. She looked from one to the other. I'll talk to your father in due course.”

“Can we have a couple of the comics now, just a couple?” Maureen begged. “I'll hide them under the bed where he won't see them.”

“All right then, just a couple, but remember, not a word to a soul.”

But Maureen had told. She had blabbed it all a couple of days later. Sitting in a pew at the back of the church following choir practice, she could keep her secret no longer. She had leaned over and whispered the news in Helen Duffy's ear, and had made her promise not to tell a soul. Soon the whole town knew and there was hell to pay.

Nora smiled now at the memory. Years later it came to her that maybe the parcel had indeed come from her grandfather or that he'd had a hand in it somehow. She liked the idea that he had thought of them but she also knew that her father had felt quite differently when he found out. The parcel was never mentioned again, her mother never wore the dress, and the ribbons disappeared. Every so often the couple of comics under the mattress made an appearance. They had been read and reread and then had been returned to their hiding place.

This and the letters were her only real connection to her grandfather, and even the parcel was pure speculation but the letters were real enough; she had them here in her handbag. She reached for the bag and removed the discoloured envelopes. She chose the one addressed to her father and put the other away safely. She could now picture the man who had written this letter and the woman who stood close by, urging him on. Carefully she drew out the single folded sheet.
My dear Eamon
. She began to read again the now familiar words. Where do feelings come from when one writes such a letter? A heart nourished by fantasy and fragmented memories? Did he retain a visual image of his abandoned child? Could he recall how his hair felt beneath his hand, the look in his eyes or the sound of his voice? She continued to read the words again and again, trying to connect with the man who had written this letter.
I have found a
degree of happiness and contentment in my life for which I am grateful.
She read this last sentence again. The words seemed to fly right off the page:
a degree of happiness
. Was this the sum total of his feelings for Peg and the life they had shared? Was that it:
a degree of happiness
? Nora slipped the letter back in the envelope and returned it to her bag. Maybe a cold rejection from his son was all he deserved.

12

Nora
shivered as she hopped into the car, her cheeks pinched, her hair whipped into an unruly mass by the wind. “It's turned chilly all of a sudden.” She was breathless, having sprinted the last hundred yards to the car. “One minute it's a beautiful sunny day and the next it's freezing.”

“Look!” Peg pointed towards the lighthouse where a thick bank of grey fog had appeared on the horizon and was slowly creeping towards the land. “That's the way with the weather around here. It can turn quick as an eel in a barrel.”

Nora shivered again. “That's a truly wonderful place out there. It's nature at its very best. I can't believe I had it all to myself, just me and the birds. The isolation is part of the magic.” A light mist had begun to settle on the windshield. She smiled and turned to Peg. “I'd never have ventured out here without you. I'm so glad we came. Now, where is Golden Bay where you used to go with your father? Can we drive there?”

“No dear, you have to walk across the barrens or take a boat.”

“How far to walk?”

“Oh, two or three hours, I suppose. You don't want to be at that now. It's a shame you'll not be around a while. Pat would be glad to take you on the boat, but maybe you'll come see us another time. I'd like that.”

“So would I.”

Nora put the key in the ignition but as she was about to turn it, she stopped. “When I was sitting out there all alone I thought about him, my grandfather. Tell me, Peg, was he a generous man? Would he have been the type who'd take the trouble to send gifts to people he didn't really know?” She sat back, leaving the key dangling. “We had a parcel one time from America. We didn't really know who sent it. The story was that it came from cousins, and to tell the truth I didn't care one way or the other, but later on I wondered if he had anything to do with it. Would he bother with the like of that?”

“Yes, he would. He never came home empty-handed. There was always something, no matter how small.”

“But to strangers? Did he ever mention anything to you about sending a parcel to us?”

“No, I never heard tell of it. He wasn't the kind to talk about the like of that. He'd just do it. Was there nothing to say where it came from?”

“I don't know. My parents never said.”

A long wail sounded from the lighthouse as the fog slowly crept inland. The tip of Bird Rock disappeared into the mist.

“We should be getting back.” Nora was beginning to feel apprehensive, even a little frightened by this sudden change in the weather. They were terribly isolated and not a soul knew where they were.

“He wasn't a selfish man.” Peg was oblivious to Nora's concern. “He was good-hearted, you have to understand that. It was more of a thoughtless way he had.” She sounded slightly exasperated. “Most times he just didn't know what was needed of him. He didn't know what to do.” She dragged out the last word for emphasis. “Life and living comes easy to some. It just follows along one day after the next, but for others, it's just an endless struggle.” She was looking downwards, rubbing her swollen knuckles.

“You must think I haven't been listening to you, that I haven't tried to understand what you are saying, but I have,” Nora said, feeling a little hurt. “You see, until now I've always seen him in a poor light, as someone who didn't care about anyone or anything, so it's not easy to suddenly turn around and think of him kindly. You had a different experience, you saw his good side.” She glanced nervously in the direction of the advancing fog.

“I saw all sides,” Peg insisted.

Light rain covered the windshield like a fine gauze. “We'd better go.” Nora turned the key in the ignition.

“I had a child to care for when Matt returned that second time.

The keys clanged against the shaft of the steering wheel.

“Not my own child,” she added quickly. “My sister's child. She died having little Sheila. Her husband had two others to care for and couldn't manage everything on his own, so I took the new baby to raise. She was a dear little baby, but Matt would have nothin' to do with her. I could understand that. After all, she was nothin' to him, but just the same it's hard for most to resist a little motherless child.”

Not for him, Nora thought. He resisted his own, no problem. But she kept quiet. The engine hummed patiently. She needed to move, to at least get back again on the main road, but she couldn't brush aside this startling revelation, not even temporarily, and besides, Peg obviously had no intention of quitting and she needed to give driving her full attention.

“By and by, Nora, I noticed him watching me when I'd be talkin' to the little one, you know, goin' on with old nonsense to make her smile. He was takin' it all in but I pretended I was paying no heed.” She gave a long sigh. “One day I came on him. He was leaning over the side of the cradle, his hand stretched out above the child's face. I couldn't think what he was doin'. He stayed like that and not a budge out of him for the longest while. My God, I thought, what's he at, at all? He'd take his hand away and then bring it right back to the same spot.” She made the motion with her hand. “By and by he put his hand to the child's head and began stroking her little cap of hair. The baby never stirred. He touched her cheek and ran his finger along to the point of her little chin. I could tell it was all a wonder to him. He was just trying his hand at something new.”

She looked straight at Nora, making sure that what she said was being understood. Satisfied, she decided to continue.

“I remember at the time thinking about my father, how when he'd get home after days on the water, he'd pick me up in his arms and hold me to him. There'd be the smell of the day's work on him, sweat and fish, and I'd bury my face in it all, breathin' it in, 'til I'd have to break away burstin' for a breath of air. It was a wonderful comforting feeling. We all need the comfort of another human being sometimes.”

Inside the car it was very quiet, all fears and apprehensions set aside for now.

“This may sound foolish to you, Nora, but I decided one night that it might be a good idea for him to try his hand at holding the child.”

“Isn't she a picture,” Peg said proudly, holding her out for him to see. He had watched furtively as she bathed the infant at the kitchen table and got her ready for bed, and now, he came forward tentatively. He reached to touch the little outstretched hand. Right away, the baby latched on to his finger with a firm grip. Taken aback, he looked at Peg, unbelieving, certain that something remarkable had just happened. She nodded encouragement, and indicated that he should take the baby. He fumbled around with the blanket for a moment, and then, awkwardly, took hold of the bundle. Immediately, the baby began to scream, arms and legs thrashing about, furious at being disturbed. Straight away, he thrust her back into Peg's arms and stepped back, convinced that he had done something terribly wrong.

“She's just tired and needs her sleep,” Peg assured him, as she expertly tucked the child against her shoulder and took her off to bed. When she returned to the kitchen a few minutes later, he was sitting by the fire with his head in his hands.

“I have no way with children. I don't know what to do with them,” he said without preamble.

“It'll come to you, you'll see. All you need is a bit of practice. It's just like anything!”

He wrung his hands pitifully and stared into the fire. “I saw a young child one time, maybe four or five years old, running after his dog down the lane by his house. He fell hard onto the rough ground. His knees and hands were all scratched and bleeding. I was just a few yards from him. I never moved, never went to him, just stood there listening to him cry, watching, fascinated, as a ball of white snot pumped in and out of his left nostril. Funny the things we remember, isn't it? It was the dog that came to the rescue. It came bounding back over the path, fussing and whimpering around the boy, and then settled down beside him and began to lick his bleeding knee. The dog knew better than me what to do.” He shook his head, confused. “Why couldn't I help the little lad?”

“Don't go payin' no heed to the like of that.” She looked in his direction and decided to take her time before trying again. The following evening, however, he appeared at the kitchen door, all cleaned up and looking like he was ready to go out somewhere.

“You're going out?”

“No.”

“Oh!”

“I thought I might have a try with the child again.”

“Oh! Right. Well, you've come at a good time, she's just about asleep. Come and sit here in Father's big chair and I'll settle her.”

He crossed the room and sat on the edge of the seat.

“Just take it easy now. Sit back in the chair and make a crook with your arm, like this, see. That's it.” Firmly, but with great care, she laid the sleeping child in the cradle of his arm.

He stared for a long time in disbelief. Then he looked up into Peg's face. “I can feel her warmth,” he said softly.

“I'll never forget the picture of the two of them that night, Nora. He sitting there so still, his long fingers, splayed out so protectively around the tiny body. He had a little poem he used say sometimes to put her asleep. I heard it that night for the first time.”

“Do you remember it?”

“I don't know if I can remember all of it but it was something like this:
House, be still, and ye little grey mice, / Lie close tonight in your
hidden lairs. / Moths on the window, fold your wings, / Little black
chafers, silence your humming. /Things of the mountain that wake in the
night-time, / Do not stir tonight until the daylight whitens!

“I can't remember no more but he could say it so beautiful. Sheila loved that poem best of all. No matter what stories he had to tell, she'd still go on to him, ‘Say the one about the mice!' He got to care for that youngster in his own way, and she for him.”