The Girl Who Came Home - a Titanic Novel (37 page)
Grace chuckled. ‘Probably,’ she agreed. ‘Quite probably.’
A silence fell across the porch then as the two sat in silent thought and watched the cat chase a bee among the camellia bushes.
Grace’s mother gave her absolute blessing for Grace to travel with Jimmy to Ireland. She’d been putting it off and putting it off, worried about her mom’s reaction, wondering whether she would be OK about the prospect of being in the house on her own.
‘
I think it’s a wonderful idea love,’ she said. ‘And I’m delighted that you and Jimmy are finally patching things up. He’s a good kid, I always liked him – and your father was fond of him too. Anyway, I’m gonna have to get used to being here without you when you go back to college in September. Imagine, all that laundry I
won’t
have to do – what ever will I do with myself?!’
Grace and Jimmy spoke every day on the phone, the love she felt for him growing stronger and stronger every day. Within a matter of weeks the travel arrangements were made and the flights were booked.
It was over a cup of tea and a slice of Mississippi Mud Pie in the Blossom Tree Café that Maggie made her announcement. ‘By the way, I was wondering if you kids wouldn’t mind too much if I came to Ireland with you.’
‘
What?!’ Grace exclaimed, bursting out laughing. ‘You’re not serious?’ She looked across the table at Maggie and sensed that she was deadly serious. ‘Are you?’
‘
Of course you can come with us,’ Jimmy interjected. ‘It would certainly be our honour to escort you back there, wouldn’t it Grace,’ he continued, kicking her under the table.
Grace was stunned. ‘Well, yes, of course, but….well, are you sure you’d be up to it Maggie? It’s a really long flight to Europe and there’d be lots of travelling once we arrived in Ireland.’
‘
Well, I figure I’d only have to sit in an airplane seat the same as I sit in that old chair of mine at home and I don’t reckon you’d be asking me to do any of the driving – so what’s the difference – apart from a few hours here and there with the time of day?’
Jimmy and Grace stared at the old woman in shock.
‘
Seriously
,’ Grace asked one more time. ‘You
really
want to come?’
‘
I’ve never been more serious,’ Maggie replied. ‘I know, I’m nearly ninety-years-old and I don’t really like to leave the house too much and I’ve never been on a plane before and all the other reasons why it sounds like absolute nonsense, but ever since you two got back together and decided to go to Ireland, I’ve been thinking about coming with you. I’ve tried to forget about Ireland all these years, but it won’t leave me. I’m part of it you know and I think I’m ready to go back now, after all these years. I doubt there’ll be another chance and I’ll admit I would like to see the old place again, before it’s too late. So, I figured, why not? Maybe it’s time for me to finally go home.’
‘
Well, I think that’s fantastic Maggie, really fantastic and we’d love to take you back to your home. But, are you absolutely sure? It won’t be too upsetting will it?’
‘
Hmmm, probably. But I figure you don’t get to be a ‘nearly-ninety-year-old’ woman without being able to cope with a bit of upset now and again. I think it will do me good to see that place again, see the faces of the people who live there now. Sure, they’re never going to give a hoot about some little old lady snooping about are they? I can travel back to Chicago with you Grace while Jimmy goes off exploring Europe. If an old lady won’t cramp your style too much, I’d really like to come with you.’
It was settled. Maggie would travel with them to Ireland, back to Ballysheen. The girl who had left all those years ago was coming home.
As the plane thundered down the runway and took off, Maggie closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation of speed and of being pushed back into her seat. She felt alive. More alive than she had done in years and she smiled as she looked down at the patchwork of fields below, the land she had called her home for most of her life, fading into obscurity behind the clouds as they climbed higher and higher. She patted the pocket of her coat which was carefully folded up on her lap. Yes, it was still there. The packet of letters was still there.
CHAPTER 37
– Ballysheen, Ireland, 1982
The journey took a lot out of Maggie. She was exhausted by the time they landed at Shannon airport, and was glad that Grace had insisted they stay overnight in a local hotel before continuing their journey north to County Mayo the following day. She barely noticed the nice hotel carpet and the pleasing décor before falling into a deep sleep.
Sitting in the passenger seat of the hire car the next day, she watched, mesmerised as the Irish countryside flashed past the window. Her mind wandered back to the train journey she had taken all those years ago from Castlebar, the great whistle of the engine startling her as they’d pulled out of the station with a groan and a jolt, slowly building up pace down the track towards Claremorris and from there to Limerick and then Cork. Eight or nine hours they’d travelled before they finally reached Queenstown. The salty sea-air of that town had made her feel queasy – she remembered it now as if it were yesterday.
Jimmy drove through small town after small town, stopping here and there so they could have a cup of tea of a bowl of soup and some homemade soda bread. The vivid colours of the houses and shop fronts delighted them all, the smoke from the fires burning in the grates of the houses snaked skywards from narrow chimney pots, filling the air with the smell of peat. It was a smell which Maggie recognised immediately and one which transported her right back to the kitchen of the small cottage she’d lived in with her aunt.
They drove out then into open countryside, past lush, green fields, dry stone walls and crops of wheat and barley. Maggie already felt oddly at home, at ease; at peace. It was dusk as they approached the familiar landscape of County Mayo and Maggie sat in mesmerised silence as she surveyed the scenery around her.
And then she saw it. The majestic, distinctive shape of Nephin Mor. It was still lightly snow-capped from the harsh winter there’d been that year. A few fluffy clouds passed lazily across the sky. She could see the fields where she’d watched the men gather the potatoes at harvest time.
She recalled herself as a young girl staring at another failed harvest, at the blighted crops, and her mother telling her how she remembered those fields lush and green with healthy crops, all the food they could wish to eat silently bursting into life in the dark earth through the winter, the tender green tops pushing through the ground in the springtime. It thrilled Maggie to see those same fields
lush and green again; bursting with life and with food to feed the community ten times over
.
Everything rushed back at her, memory after memory, season after season spent among this countryside; conversations, laughter, tears, heartache – it was all still here, all still hidden among these timeless stone walls and the enduring topography of the landscape.
She asked Jimmy to take her to the lake first.
It was exactly as she remembered it, as if she was looking at a snapshot taken seventy years ago. Nothing had changed from the morning when she and her thirteen fellow travellers had departed – it was as if time had stood still, as if these fields, mountains and lakes had been waiting for her to return.
Jimmy and Grace waited in the car as Maggie picked her way steadily through the long grass, brushing the jinny joes from her skirt, using her stick for balance where the ground undulated beneath her. She stood at the edge of the lake, lost in a lifetime. Breathing in the fresh, clean air, filling her lungs with the goodness and life contained within it. She watched the water, as the breeze sent a flurry of ripples skidding across its surface. Snippets of past conversations skipped through her mind; Peggy and Katie laughing about life in America, Séamus asking her to dance, her aunt telling her in clipped, purposeful tones that she was bringing her to a better life in America. She felt her own hesitancy and sense of dread as she’d climbed up into the trap; she sensed his presence, felt him standing next to her, his arm slung casually, protectively around her shoulders.
After a while, Grace and Jimmy joined her and they sat for a time by the lakeside on the coats which Jimmy had brought out of the car, listening to Maggie’s memories, the young couple entirely entranced by the silence and beauty of the place.
‘
For seventeen years I called these hills and fields home,’ Maggie told them, wistfully. ‘For seventy more I’ve called somewhere else home, but this is where I belong. Now, I am truly home.’
A single cloud drifted momentarily across the sun, casting a shadow over the ground. As it passed, Maggie closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation of warmth flooding her body. She felt in her coat pocket for the small bundle of letters held together with a frayed piece of string and smiled.
‘
Are you ready to go into the village?’ Grace asked, helping Maggie to her feet.
‘
As ready as I’ll ever be,’ she replied, smiling.
Grace noticed her wipe a tear from her cheek – she looked vulnerable. She could almost see the seventeen-year-old girl she had been when she’d last set eyes on this place.
Jimmy parked the car and they strolled together then up the village main street, the locals going about their business, laughing and chatting outside the post office and the butchers, unaware of the significance of the old lady walking amongst them.
The parish church of St. Patrick’s looked just as it had all those years ago with its high, arched windows and soaring spire. The cool, hushed interior was a welcome relief from the bustle and noise outside and Maggie stepped forward to light a candle at the high altar. Jimmy and Grace waited towards the back of the church, giving her some privacy in her thoughts and prayers.
‘
Hey Grace, look at this,’ Jimmy whispered, pulling her towards an engraving on a stone slab set into the wall by the door. The two of them stood and stared, amazed by what they saw.
Dedicated to the memory of all those who left this parish on 10
th
April 1912 to sail on the Titanic’s maiden voyage to a new world and who perished when she sank in the Atlantic ocean on 15
th
April 1912. We will never forget them. And to the only known survivors Maggie Murphy and Peggy Madden. We welcome you home. Always.
‘
Oh my goodness,’ Grace whispered. ‘They remembered them. They remembered them all. This is what she always wondered. Whether they were known and remembered. She’ll be so pleased.’
When Maggie finished praying, they took her to the inscription. She stood silently reading all the names of those she had travelled with and loved, reaching out to feel the lettering etched into the cold slab of stone, running her fingers across each name as if she were running her hand across the cheek of the person it belonged to.
Kathleen Murphy, 44 years
Ellen Joyce, 33 years,
Katie Kenny, 24 years
Patrick Brogan, 22 years
Maura Brennan, 35 years
Jack Brennan, 37 years
Eileen Brennan, 32 years
Michael Kelly, 17 years
Mary Brogan, 29 years
Bridget Moloney, 23 years
Maria Cusack, 22 years
Margaret Daly, 26 years
The Priest, who had been watching their interest in the plaque for some time, wandered over to tell them something of its history. He explained that for several years the loss of life on Titanic from the area was not talked about, but that over the years, descendants of the travellers had felt it right and proper to acknowledge the event and remember those who lost their lives every year on April 15
th
. He pointed then in the direction of a grassed area to the right of the church where he informed them stood a bell which was rung once every minute, for fourteen minutes, on 15th April at 2.20am to mark the moment when Titanic sank.
Maggie didn’t tell him who she was, preferring to remain as he imagined her to be, nothing more significant than a passing American tourist.
They walked then, through the village. Much had changed; the shops were new, the road was tarmacked and the cars and diesel farm machinery hummed past them, blowing out their choking exhaust fumes. Yet many things were reassuringly unchanged; the pub, the stone bridge, the old school building – albeit now converted into somebody’s home. What struck Maggie most was that there were only two blossom trees standing; park benches and flower beds now in the place where the other trees once stood.
‘
But there used to be fourteen,’ she exclaimed. ‘Why ever would they have chopped them all down? They were so beautiful in the springtime.’ She walked to one of the two trees still standing, the blossom finished for the season, the vivid green foliage casting a pleasant shade on the pavement underneath. ‘I’d just like to take a moment,’ she announced, touching the bark of the trunk of one of the trees with her hand, circling it and glancing up through the dappled shade to the branches above. She sighed. And then she noticed an inscription, carved into the wood.
MM SD
Saying nothing to Grace or Jimmy, she smiled as she recognised her and Séamus’s initials. ‘You romantic old fool,’ she chuckled under her breath.