Anne Bennett 3-Book Collection: A Sister’s Promise, A Daughter’s Secret, A Mother’s Spirit. Anne Bennett
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with a wave to the other two girls, she led the way.
‘This sort of goes back the way we came,’ Cathy said. And we will go a little bit along here to show you and then make for home. All right?’
‘You bet.’
‘We have to go across Castle Bridge, which you can see in front of you now. It spans the Crana River where the town got its name from.’
‘And what’s that wall on the other side of it?’
‘Part of the grounds of the castle, which you will see once you are on the bridge.’
As they stepped off the bridge, to the side was a crumbling tower, which Cathy said was called O’Dohery’s Keep, dating back to the Middle Ages, but the building that Cathy had referred to as a castle was just a three-storeyed, slate-roofed house. It was made of brick and had a protruding wing on either end of it. Wide steps led up to the front door with ornamental railings either side, but it still wasn’t Molly’s idea of a castle.
‘Well, I know,’ Cathy said. ‘Not officially, it isn’t. I meant it was only built in seventeen something, but it’s a sort of custom in Ireland to call large houses castles. Now, if we take this pathway through here, then we can get to the Swilly and there is a walkway that we can take.’
The path was overhung with trees, heavy with leaves and blossom, and the hedgerows alive with flowers. Molly felt very much at peace with the world as she followed behind her new friend. And then the Lough was before them, shimmering like gold in the waning sun.
‘Let’s see if we can get as far as the fort before we turn back,’ Cathy suggested. ‘We can do it if we put a spurt on.’
They hurried on, greeting those they met, but not stopping to chat, and in no time at all they had passed the boathouse where the lifeboat was kept, and then the fort.
‘Built in Napoleonic times,’ Cathy said as they surveyed the massive structure. But they had no time to linger, for the sun had sunk lower still. They retraced their steps and were soon on Main Street again.
‘Plenty of pubs along here,’ Cathy said as they climbed the hill, ‘and they have all been here as long as I can remember, so they obviously do good enough trade, but then,’ she said, wrinkling her nose, ‘as Mammy said, any number of pubs would do good trade in Ireland, the only business where you would be sure to make money.’ And then she laughed and said, ‘Daddy goes to the pub sometimes – Grant’s Bar usually – and he says he goes not as often as he would like, yet far too often in my mother’s opinion.’
‘Do they argue over it?’
‘No,’ Cathy said with a smile. ‘It’s just an ongoing theme, you know? Anyway, here we are home again and I hope your uncle isn’t cross if he has had to wait ages.’
‘Oh, Uncle Tom won’t be cross,’ Molly said with confidence. ‘He never is.’
Tom and Jack were sitting chatting and drinking deeply of the malt whiskey that Jack had produced. Molly had never seen her uncle drink anything but tea, water or buttermilk before. She had thought maybe he didn’t care for alcohol and she asked him about it as they walked back together.
‘Oh, I suppose I like a beer as well as the next man, and I love a drop of whiskey now and then,’ Tom said after a minute or two’s thought. ‘But it all costs money, and apart from that, when I have done a full day’s work, I am not up to trudging over to Buncrana, especially when I have to get up early for the milking. Sunday is the one day when I take things easier. What about you? What sort of a day have you had?’
‘Wonderful,’ Molly said, and even in the dusk, Tom saw a light behind Molly’s eyes that he had never seen before and he vowed he would do all in his power to keep it there at least once a week. ‘I really like Cathy,’ Molly told her uncle, ‘and I wish I had been let go to school.’
‘So do I,’ Tom said. ‘And Mammy would be in big trouble if the authorities got to hear about it. I can’t do anything about that, but you can still be friends with Cathy. How would you like to go to the McEvoys’ for tea next Sunday too?’
‘I would love it if I am asked, but your mother—’
‘Leave my mother to me,’ Tom said. ‘Nellie and Jack said you are welcome every Sunday evening. You made quite an impression, and I will come over to fetch you home.’
‘There is no need,’ Molly said.
‘There’s every need,’ Tom maintained. ‘Anyway, the walk will do me no harm at all and give me the chance to sink a few pints with Jack in Grant’s Bar while I wait for you. It will do me good as well to get out and meet people. A person can be too much on their own and this will be a fine opportunity for the pair of us.’
The following day at tea-time, Tom saw that Molly was exhausted. He had done what he could to help her that wash day, hanging around the cottage, doing jobs near at hand so that he could help bring any water she needed from the well. Later, he had helped her turn the mangle and put up with his mother’s sneering comments that he was turning into a sissy, doing women’s work.
He knew, however, that his mother had been particularly vicious that day and rightly guessed that it was her attitude that had worn Molly down so badly. While Molly had sort of expected some backlash for her visit to Cathy, she soon found that expecting such censure and dealing with it all day were two very different things.
In the end, while they were eating the last bowl of porridge before bed, she suddenly felt as if she had stood more than enough and she looked at her grandmother and asked candidly, ‘Why are you always so horrid? I sort of expect you now to find fault with everything I do, but you have been worse than ever today.’
Biddy was astounded and outraged. She had never been questioned in this way before. ‘How dare you?’ she burst out. ‘I have no need to explain myself to you, miss.’
Molly showed no fear, though her stomach was tied in knots. ‘I need to know, if I am on the receiving end of it. The point is, I can’t see that I have done that much wrong today anyway.’
Tom hid his slight amusement as he watched his mother open and shut her mouth soundlessly for a few seconds, too stunned and taken unawares to make any sort of reply. He was absolutely astounded himself at Molly’s temerity.
‘Are you going to sit there like a deaf mute and let this brazen besom talk to me like this, Tom?’ Biddy screeched, turning her malevolent eyes on her son. ‘What manner of man are you at all?’
Listening to his mother’s disdainful whine, it was suddenly clear to Tom why Molly could speak with such assurance and courage and that was because of the confidence she had in herself. He would guess that that confidence was gained by being loved and valued by her parents, while he, on the other hand, had been verbally and physically abused almost since he had drawn his first breath and so now he said, ‘I am the manner of man that you made me, Mammy, and as for Molly, she has not been disrespectful to you in any way.’
‘I will act as I see fit in my own house,’ Biddy said mutinously. ‘No one has the right to refute anything I say.’
‘Dad used to say if everyone was able to do just as they liked, we would have something called anarchy and those who were more powerful or violent would rule over the others.’
‘God, I wish I still had my stick,’ Biddy ground out. ‘You would find the sting of it this day.’
‘That would just prove the point, though, wouldn’t it?’ Molly said.
‘It’s not right for a young girl to be speaking in such a way – and especially not to her elders and betters,’ Biddy snapped. ‘I only took you in because there was no one else suitable, but I dislike you intensely, and have done since the day we met.’