Tom to the cowshed.
Molly had already got the Mass clothes ready for them all for the following morning and cleaned the shoes as her grandmother had bade. Now, as she emerged in the door after the milking that evening, Biddy said, ‘Time you had a bath, girl.’
Molly, used to an indoor bathroom, had wondered about that. Her grandfather had had no bathroom either, and had told Molly that he, Phoebe and Ted too, before he was married, would bath in front of the fire. Molly had presumed she would have to do the same here, and this was proved when Biddy ordered Tom to fetch the bath in from the barn while a large pot of water was put over the fire to heat.
The galvanised bath Tom brought in looked neither large, nor very comfortable, but Molly was less concerned about that than she was about where Tom would go, for she had no intention of taking one stitch of clothing off in front of him. Fortunately, he stayed only long enough to mix the hot water and cold water together before leaving to tramp the hills while Molly washed herself.
Despite the fairly primitive conditions, Molly would have enjoyed her bath, if it hadn’t been for the presence of her grandmother, sitting in the chair watching her. She wondered at the ability the woman had of changing the atmosphere of a room just by being in it, and so she had no intention of lingering over her wash, which was just as well because she had barely rinsed the soap off before her grandmother was urging her to hurry up.
She was, however, dressed in her pyjamas and slippers and her towelled hair in plaits before Tom put in an appearance. Then he emptied the bath into the gutter in the yard, despite Biddy telling him to leave it to Molly.
‘She is too slight for this, Mammy,’ he told her. ‘She will do herself an injury. Besides, what sort of a man would it make me to sit idly by and see a child struggle? Molly is worn out. Anyone with half an eye can see it. She needs to seek her bed.’
Molly looked at Tom gratefully, as her grandmother said, ‘I will say when she goes to bed.’
‘Is that so?’ Tom snapped, suddenly and uncharacteristically angry as he faced his mother across the room. ‘No one is any use to me who is sluggish through lack of sleep. They are more a liability than anything.’
‘I told you, if Molly doesn’t work then—’
‘She doesn’t eat,’ Tom finished. ‘Don’t start on about that again.’
‘But I do work,’ Molly protested. ‘I do the very best I can.’
Tom nodded in agreement. ‘You do, Molly, but if you are to continue to help me effectively on the farm, then you need proper rest and good food. Surely, Mammy, you can see that yourself?’
Molly was grateful and surprised at her uncle’s intervention but, she noted, not as surprised as her grandmother, whose eyes were narrowed in discontent.
Biddy was almost astounded. Tom had never gone against her before; he always had been easily cowed. She knew what had changed him, however. It was all the fault of that girl. He couldn’t see what a troublemaker she was.
In a way his mother was right, for Tom had only challenged her because of pity for Molly.
He was glad, though, that his mother didn’t know how his legs were shaking and his heart thumping almost painfully against his chest. He had always secretly been afraid of her and he was annoyed and a little ashamed of himself for feeling that way because he was a grown man.
Biddy hadn’t spoken and Tom said, ‘Well, Mammy? What about it?’
‘She hasn’t even said the rosary yet,’ Biddy said.
Tom answered, ‘I’m sure God will understand the one night.’ And then he turned to Molly and said, ‘Get yourself to bed. You look all in.’
Molly gave a sigh of relief. She knew that for her grandmother this issue was not resolved and that she might suffer for it in the morning. That was another day, however, and not one that she was going to worry her head over.
She lay in bed and realised she was ridiculously excited to be going to Mass in the morning. For one thing, she would wear a dress, and then she would leave the farm, which was starting to feel a little like prison, and meet other people. Her toes curled in pleasurable anticipation of it.
Everyone at the church was interested in seeing Molly Maguire the next day. They had known she was coming. It was too small a place for anyone to keep anything secret for long. With the guards at the door of the cottage, and then the sending and receiving of telegrams, the whole community knew of the death of Nuala née Sullivan and her husband, and of the grandmother off to see to things.
When Tom had told Nellie McEvoy, the postmistress, his mother would be returning, first with both children and then just the girl, she had been amazed. Other women that she told felt the same way and a collection of townswomen had gathered in the post office to discuss it.
‘Didn’t think she’d be that bothered about any child of Nuala’s,’ Nellie said.
‘Well, no. I mean, she never even sent a scribe to her since her man died that time.’
‘Aye, and before that wouldn’t you have thought the sun shone out of young Nuala?’
‘You would,’ one said emphatically, and added, ‘Spoiling is good for neither man nor beast, and she had the child ruined altogether.’
‘Aye,’ another commented. ‘I own that she was a pretty enough wee thing and so kind and thoughtful, almost despite Biddy and all, but—’
‘It wasn’t the child’s fault,’ Nellie said. ‘She was a lovely wee thing, like a little doll, but you’d think there wasn’t another child in the universe to hear the mother talk.’
‘That’s right,’ agreed the first woman. ‘Blowing on about her all the time, till she would make a body sick.’
‘That’s why she took it so bad, likely, when the girl went off and married a Proddy, as Joe was after telling me before he took off for the States,’ another woman said. ‘Further to fall, see.’
The others nodded sagely and then Nellie commented, ‘Maybe that is why she taking the child in. Making it up to her, like.’
‘D’you think that she feels sorry for the way she went on – is that what you are saying?’ one woman asked, adding, ‘From what I know of Biddy, feeling sorry for something she does or says is not part of her make-up at all.’
‘Aye,’ Nellie said, ‘but this is death. Very final, is death, and that changes a lot of things.’
‘And,’ said the first woman, ‘she has taken the child in, there is no getting away from that.’
There were nods and murmurs of agreement.
‘So let’s all wait and see, and not have her tried by judge and jury beforehand,’ Nellie said.
‘Aye, you’re right,’ said another of the women. ‘Let’s all wait and see.’
And they did see, that first Sunday morning. Everyone saw, in fact. Those who could remember Nuala saw the resemblance to her in Molly, and they also were soon well aware, from the malice-ridden eyes Biddy turned on the girl and the brusque way she spoke to her,
