Rebel Sisters (28 page)

‘I'm fine and dandy, but a little shaken.'

‘It is a bit of a bone-rattler,' he admitted with a grin as they made their way through the village. She needed to stretch her long legs a bit, so they walked for three quarters of an hour before sitting down at a table in the tea-room.

As he put his helmet and goggles down, it struck Grace that Joe was different from any of the men she had known. He was excited, explaining to her about engines and telling her that he was building a wireless radio.

‘You must come up to Larkfield and see it sometime.'

‘I always presumed that you were only interested in poetry and plays, and words and politics,' she mused as the waitress brought them a pot of tea. ‘But you are like my brother Ernest, good with machines and mechanical things.'

‘The world is changing faster than we know, with all kinds of new inventions. It's exciting, don't you think?'

‘Yes.' Grace hadn't given it much thought, but his enthusiasm was infectious.

‘It seems strange talking about such things when there is the war which is bloody and awful and they invent new weapons, new gases capable of such carnage. For some, this unfortunately is what science has come to.'

‘My brother is with the expeditionary forces in France,' she said quietly.

‘One of my good friends, Frank O'Carroll, was killed in August,' he said, struggling to control his emotions. ‘He was only twenty-one. We also lost George, one of my relations, at Gallipoli.'

‘Oh Joe, I'm sorry. It must be hard on you.'

‘The war is hard on everyone,' he said, passing her a slice of rich, treacly ginger cake, Grace, noticing that he had five or six rings on his fingers while she had none.

‘This ring I bought at a market in Algeria. It is a special stone and is said to bring luck and protection,' he said, deliberately lightening the conversation. ‘This gold one used to be my grandfather's,' he said, turning his hand. ‘This one is said to date back two hundred years and is a family heirloom. This one is for my poetry book
The Circle and the Sword
, and this last one I got on my birthday. It has two beautiful sapphires.'

He looked at her bare hands, touching her fingers.

‘With painting and drawing I have a tendency to lose things,' she explained.

‘Some day you will wear fine rings and gold and diamonds on those pretty fingers,' he said solemnly.

‘I'm not sure that I ever will,' she sighed.

They sat for an hour or two, talking about everything. Grace told Joe about her large family, her passion for art and about attending the Slade art school in London. He told her of his childhood, how he had been sent away to warmer climes because of illness and had gone to schools in France, Ireland and England.

His mother had often been away, leaving him and his brothers and sisters to fend for themselves in their large country house with hardly any food or money, his father often too caught up in his work to notice.

‘Poor you – it all sounds very different from my mother, who always wants to know everything we do and keeps tight control of our household. She even used to design and make our dresses and hats when we were younger.'

‘Ma would be far too busy for that and would never worry about such details as new clothes that would actually fit us, or about food or money.' He shrugged. ‘My sisters and brothers and I were often left to our own devices, so we had to find our own way.'

‘What parents we had!'

‘They meant well,' he said. ‘Besides, they encouraged us to be independent.'

They talked about religion, which surprised her, for he was deeply spiritual. Because his health had been bad, he had travelled a great deal, visiting Africa, America and most of Europe, and he had the ability to speak many languages.

‘That's how I met MacDonagh,' he laughed. ‘I wanted to learn my own native tongue, Gaelic.'

Joe Plunkett might seem showy and dramatic, and cosseted by his upbringing and family background, but it was very clear that he cared deeply for his country and longed for it to be free of British rule.

‘The time is coming for change,' he said fervently.

‘You mean Home Rule when the war is over? My parents and brothers are all opposed to any break from the crown and Britain.'

‘I am not sure such promises to Redmond will ever be kept by a British parliament, so perhaps Irish men will have no choice but to take what is rightfully theirs.'

His eyes were serious, and she could see a vein throb in his neck. He might be tall and lanky and thin, but there was a huge gravity and strength to him that few possessed. He was the type of person who said exactly what he meant.

The waitress hovered about them, clearing away their tea things.

‘We must go,' he said abruptly, standing up and going over to pay the bill.

He touched her hand as she climbed into the side-car and she felt as if a spark of that new electricity was running through her. His eyes met hers, both startled.

At home, he helped her out of the side-car, holding her as she steadied herself. He thanked her for coming. She hesitated, not wanting to go inside.

‘I do hope you will agree to come for a ride with me again?'

She moistened her upper lip.

‘When?' she blurted out.

He looked momentarily surprised, fiddling with his glasses.

‘Next week, if that suits you, Grace?'

‘Yes,' she smiled. ‘It most definitely would.'

‘Perhaps if the weather is clement we might take a picnic …'

Stepping inside the house, she watched as Joe Plunkett rode off on his noisy motorcycle. It was strange: they had known each other for years and yet only now was she discovering that he was the most interesting, exciting and complex man she had ever met.

JOE BROUGHT HER
out on his motorcycle again. This time they went to Killiney, where they sat on a rug and shared some sandwiches overlooking the sweeping seascape of Dublin Bay. He kissed her and she enjoyed it, so he kissed her again and again. His eagerness and passion surprised her, and on her own part she returned them. She soon found herself counting the hours and days between seeing him.

They went to the theatre and to ceili dances together, and to dinner. Joe wrote her letter after letter and poems too. She sat curled up on the window seat reading them. She had never been wooed in such a fashion and to her surprise she found she liked it. When she wrote back she often attached silly drawings to her words.

‘I see the poor postman is being kept busy again,' teased Nellie as another letter from Joe arrived.

‘I do hope that you are not getting yourself too involved with that young Plunkett man, Grace. It is clear he has a poor constitution and I hear rumours that he was in a sanatorium a few years ago,' warned Mother.

‘That was when he was much younger. He is well again now,' she replied hotly, wishing that her mother would stop interfering in her life.

‘No young woman wants to bind herself to an invalid,' Isabella warned dramatically.

As the weather became colder Joe collected her in his motor car, which she had to admit was far more comfortable. He took her on romantic drives up around Stepaside and Dublin's pine forest.

‘Grace, I'll teach you to drive,' he laughed one day, stopping suddenly on a quiet country road.

‘I'm afraid, Joe,' she protested in alarm. ‘I don't know how to work a mechanical engine.'

Joe slipped out of the car and made her slide across into the driver's seat and take the wheel, while he sat beside her on the passenger side. Terrified, she felt the car shudder and start, then it began to move. He made her drive for about two miles, one moment the car going slow and the next thing speeding up alarmingly as Grace tried to concentrate on keeping hold of the wheel and steering, which was much harder than it looked … But suddenly she began to get the hang of it and Joe insisted that she keep driving for another few miles until they came to a fork in the road. Laughing and nervous, Grace felt exhilarated, realizing that her life with Joe would never be boring or dull. He was a risk-taker and would always be at the centre of things, ready for something new.

‘Now I think it's best I do the rest of the driving,' he teased as she moved back into the passenger seat and they motored on towards a little place in Kilmacanogue where they would have lunch.

They would sit for hours and talk – talk about poetry. Grace was moved by many of his poems. Her particular favourite was ‘I See His Blood Upon the Rose', and he would explain it to her, along with its spiritual significance. Books were another passion, and they discussed the sad realism of James Joyce's
Dubliners
. They enjoyed arguing about art, both classical and modern, or talking about theatre and cinema, or discussing life and death, spirituality, religion and the existence of an afterlife. Joe was a passionate, highly intelligent man and when they were together Grace was never bored. He made her think.

When he took her hand as he looked into her eyes, Grace knew without any doubt that already she was beginning to fall in love with Joe Plunkett – and somehow it scared her a little to realize how important he had become in her life and how much she was growing to care for him.

Coming out of Clerys, having delivered the finished design work for advertising a new soap and cologne, Grace found herself suddenly drawn to go to visit the church that Joe always talked about, St Mary's, the Pro-Cathedral. It was situated right in the heart of the city, just off Sackville Street and close to the Abbey Theatre and Liberty Hall. She often passed it but had never even considered going into the Catholic church, which looked like a tall Grecian temple situated on a narrow Dublin street.

Joe's religion was deeply important to him, and Grace was curious to see if the cathedral lived up to his fulsome praise. As she went through the heavy doors she suddenly became conscious of the absolute quiet and stillness inside. It was almost empty except for two or three people praying. Grace sat down and looked around her. It was a beautiful old building, ornate compared to their church, with a high marble pulpit and statues and carvings. It had a Roman feel to it; she knew that the main high altar with its angels had been carved by Peter Turnerelli, a Dublin-based sculptor with Italian parents.

Sunlight filtered through the tall stained-glass windows depicting Mary and the Irish saints Kevin and Laurence O'Toole. The high dome and windows ensured the church was bright. She instantly liked it. After only a few minutes she forgot that Sackville Street with its trams, hotels and shops was so close by. She felt strangely cloistered here. It truly was a place of prayer and she knelt down in silence. Joe was right – it was a very special church.

She watched as an old beggar man shuffled down from one of the front pews, her nose wrinkling at the sour smell as he passed. He would not even have been let into her church, let alone allowed to sit up at the front. A young mother with small children slipped into a pew a few rows ahead of her, lost in momentary prayer, her baby in her arms. So this was the house of God, the house of prayer. Bowing her head, Grace prayed too.

As she was leaving the church the young mother was also going.

‘Excuse me, but a friend told me that the choir sings here sometimes,' said Grace.

‘The Palestrina choir sings at mass here on a Sunday,' the sharp-faced young woman confirmed. ‘'Tis like listening to the angels. You should come along, miss, though the church gets very crowded at times.'

Grace vowed to return.

GRACE'S RELATIONSHIP WITH
Joe was changing and becoming more serious.

Over dinner in Sibley's one night Grace was excited, chatting and laughing as she made plans for next year, wondering where it would bring them, when she realized that Joe seemed cool, detached and uninterested.

‘What about your programme for the theatre next year?' she pressed, trying to lighten his mood.

‘Who knows?' he shrugged.

Perhaps he was already bored by it … bored by her … Joe seemed suddenly non-committal. Hurt, she drew back.

Later, sitting in her bedroom reading his letters and poems, Grace felt strangely bereft. Perhaps he had just come into her life like some kind of storm and would now disappear out of it again. Maybe Mother was right – she and someone like Joe Plunkett were not destined to be together.

The next day, however, she received a letter from Joe declaring that he loved her and wanted to marry her. Overcome, she read it again – then her heart sang as she read it over and over again.

Joe loved her and wanted to marry her. It was a proposal of marriage!

Grace scoured every single word of his letter, her heart and mind racing. She laughed at his postscript declaring himself a beggar with no income or earnings and implying there were other reasons no one should marry him. He could be such an idiot sometimes!

A few hours later another letter came, this time apologizing for behaving like a fool, telling her that he loved only her. ‘I love you a million million times …'

Grabbing her pen, Grace immediately wrote back: ‘Yes, yes, yes …'

She didn't care about what objections her parents or his parents might make to their marriage. She was going to marry the man she loved – Joseph Plunkett.

The Plunkett family were somewhat shocked by the unexpected announcement of their engagement. Count and Countess Plunkett and Joe's sisters and brothers were surprised that Grace was suddenly going to become his wife and part of their well-known family. Joe, however, assured her that his mother, who was away in America, was delighted with the news.

His sister Geraldine, to whom he was very close, had recently become engaged to Tommy Dillon.

‘Maybe we should make it a double ceremony,' suggested Joe happily. ‘A Plunkett family double celebration!'