beauty, and not just beauty alone, a sort of allure that seemed to draw people to her?
However, while Bridie might have been unaware of the interest of those in the town, she was more than aware of the astonishment of her family as she and Ellen turned into the yard later that afternoon.
They were all there waiting for her: Jimmy and Sarah, Mary with Mickey in her arms, and Jamie standing at her feet. No one spoke because no one could think of words to say. Bridie’s gleaming hair bounced on her shoulders, the only restraint two sparkling combs in either side. The effect was to make her eyes look larger, even clouded with apprehension as they were now. Her mouth was strained a little as she awaited their verdict on what she’d done, what she’d allowed Aunt Ellen to do.
Mary recovered first. She went forward, handed the baby to her father and put her arms around her sister. ‘You look gorgeous,’ she said. ‘Your hair really suits you like that.’
‘Wait till you see the dress,’ Ellen said. ‘She’ll look even better with the whole rig-out on.’
Later, alone in her room, Bridie tried on her new things. When she had pulled the dress on and had fastened it up, and fitted her feet into the dainty little boots, she turned to look at herself and was astounded at the reflection that stared back. Bridie had always thought Mary was the beautiful one in the family with her raven black hair, flawless skin and vivid green eyes. Now, though, she saw she had something special herself and she was quite unnerved by it.
Mary came into the room and stood in open-mouthed admiration. ‘God, Bridie,’ she said, ‘you look fantastic!’
‘It’s all Aunt Ellen’s doing,’ Bridie said proudly. ‘She said she was fed up seeing me in breeches and shirt. But these clothes, Mary, I’m not really sure, and she’s spent a small fortune.’
Mary could tell that: you didn’t get clothes like that for pennies. Yet she didn’t resent the money Ellen had spent on her sister; Ellen was a generous woman and she’d had plenty of help from her herself. ‘Are you going to show Mammy and Daddy?’
‘D’you think I should? I mean what if Mammy doesn’t like it?’
‘Why shouldn’t she?’
‘Well, you know,’ Bridie said. ‘It’s so low. Won’t she give out?’
Mary laughed. ‘She won’t dare. It was Aunt Ellen’s choice, don’t forget. Tell her you’ll keep the stole wrapped around your shoulders all evening.’
Sarah was inclined to say plenty when she saw her daughter come out of the room, but any misgivings she had were forestalled by the cries of admiration from Jimmy. Because Bridie was so small and because her shape had been hidden for so long – for even the few dresses she had already did little to flatter her – he’d not believed she’d changed much from the wee girl who used to trail after him. Now, it was as if the caterpillar had turned into a butterfly before his eyes.
Jimmy wasn’t usually given to much praise of how a person looked: he and Sarah always believed it led to a person thinking too much of themselves. But now Jimmy crossed the room and put his hands on Bridie’s shoulders and said softly, ‘Darling child, you look so lovely.’ His gaze took in all around as he asked, ‘Did you ever see anything so beautiful?’
‘Thank you, Daddy,’ Bridie said, relieved he wasn’t shocked, disgusted even, at the cut of the dress. She stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek and he put his arms around her. She met Ellen and Mary’s eyes across the room and they all knew, with Jimmy’s open approval, Sarah would say nothing detrimental about the outfit.
Bridie was sorry to see her sister and aunt leave, and not just because they had shared the burden of work, allowing her free time to get to know and play with her nephews, but also because of their cheerful company.
But she was too busy to miss them for long, as the hay was ready to be cut and stacked in the barns for the winter feed. Francis and Frank came to help as they did every year and Jimmy and Bridie would then help them in return at their farm, Delia keeping them well supplied with sandwiches and tea as Sarah wasn’t able to.
As she toiled alongside the men, slicing through the hay with her scythe, Bridie couldn’t help recollecting the harvest time when she was small. She remembered what fun Uncle Francis he’d been then. His good humour and stock of jokes seemed to take some of the ache from bent backs and threshing arms. He’d always seemed tireless himself. Even after a day’s work, he would think nothing of tossing Bridie and Rosalyn up on top of the stacks.
Bridie remembered the smell of newly mown hay, the thrill of fear as they slid down the sides of the stack and the way the bits of hay went up her nose and in between her clothes, tickling her. She was often tired, hot and dusty, yet she’d enjoyed the harvest then and had to admit most of that enjoyment had come from her uncle Francis. Now, she kept as far from him as possible and knew she’d be glad when it was over and she wouldn’t have to work near him at all.
After the harvest was safely in, they all visited the peat bog together. Again, Bridie remembered her trips as a child, with her and Rosalyn thrown into the back of the cart, with her father and Francis up in front, and Terry and Frank walking behind. Uncle Francis would sing rebel songs all the way there, his voice rising in the mist of an autumn morning.
Bridie had always loved the damp mossy smell of the bog and the way the spade slid so effortlessly into the peat. Usually black sludge would seep along it, squeezing between her bare toes and slapping up her legs. She liked the feel of it and never minded the icy coldness. She remembered how her mother would often give out when they arrived home and have her stand in a basin of warm water to be washed down before any of them were given a meal. It was part of her childhood; the time she thought would go on for ever with no change.
Now she walked alongside Frank and there wasn’t the hint of a song from her often morose uncle. The fun had gone out of it as it had gone out of a lot of things. These were now just chores to be done in order to get by for another year.
However, at last, the day of the Harvest Dance arrived. Frank was to take them up to it and bring them home afterwards, but at the last minute he went down with flu and wasn’t able to. ‘We can go ourselves,’ Bridie insisted. ‘Haven’t we often enough for the socials?’
‘Not tonight,’ Sarah said. ‘Some of these young fellows will have the drink on them. Lord knows what they’ll be up to once the night’s over.’
‘Well, sure I’ll take them up,’ Jimmy said, ‘and go to collect them.’
‘Aye, but you’ll not know when it might be finishing,’ Sarah said. ‘Ask Francis. He often goes up to the dance himself.’
Bridie wanted desperately to protest. She wanted to say she’d have anyone but Francis, but remained silent, afraid of what her uncle might say if she spoke aloud her fears. She resolved to stick to Rosalyn and her friends like glue.
Later, when her uncle Francis called for her, he stood speechless in the yard, wondering if Bridie had any idea how tempting she looked dressed in her finery as she stood framed in the doorway with the lamp behind her. Her eyes were sparkling and her face aglow with excitement at the thought of going to her first real dance and her dark brown hair, which she had rinsed in rain water earlier that day, shone as it bounced on her shoulders.
The blood coursed through Francis’s veins as he stared at her. He caught a glimpse of one bare shoulder as she adjusted the beautiful stole about her and picked up her bag where she
