The Hawthorns Bloom in May (9 page)

Rose insisted on making tea and was pleased to see both her visitors settle comfortably by the fire. Alexander Hamilton, she noted, was looking round the room, taking in its every detail, while Ned Wylie was extracting a well-wrapped parcel from the bag he’d been carrying. He set it down carefully on the corner of the kitchen table.

So amazed and intrigued was she by her unexpected callers, Rose discovered she had the greatest difficulty keeping her mind on the simple business of making tea.

‘Ned, it’s a beautiful motor,’ she said, glancing through the open door as she lifted a fruitcake from its tin, cut generous slices and arranged them on a cakeplate.

‘She is indeed, Missus Hamilton. I wish she were mine,’ he said laughing. ‘I work for Loudan’s in Armagh. Weddings, funerals and visitors wi’ plenty o’ money. He lets me have the motor for the odd day when I’ve had a lot of extra work an’ we go a bit slack. I keep her runnin’ ye see, an’ I tell him she sometimes needs a real old run to keep her in good heart. It’s true all right, but Peggy says I’m the crafty one tellin’ him that an’ gettin’ the car for the day,’ he went on happily, his blue eyes moving between Rose and the plate of fruitcake.

‘
This one has them all beaten for guile
.’

Rose smiled to herself. She was back in the kitchen of the house opposite the forge, making tea for his mother, her dear friend, Mary. She’d been feeding him and had put him down on the bed to sleep, but she wasn’t hopeful. Waving her arms with fingers crossed on both hands she’d come back out of the bedroom, waiting for his usual outburst, but on that day young Ned
had
slept.

‘Yes, I know about motors, Ned. You have to in this house,’ she explained, turning towards the stranger. ‘My husband’s been mad about motors since ever I’ve known him,’ she went on. ‘Sam, my son, is just as bad. Even Sarah, my daughter, can fix her own if it gives her trouble and her father’s not about,’ she went on, coming between them to the stove to make the tea.

‘How is Peggy? I owe her a letter,’ said Rose,
glancing down at Ned as she put the lid back on the teapot.

Every time she looked at him now, she could see his mother. It was quite disconcerting. This was the child Mary had thrown through the window of the runaway excursion train a few minutes before she herself was killed in the crash that followed. Ned had been found, unmarked, in the middle of a bush. His two older brothers lay with Mary in the shadow of the church at Salter’s Grange.

‘She’s well. An’ Da too. An’ my wee sister’s gettin’ married next month,’ Ned went on with a grin. ‘That’s us all married now.’

Rose asked one or two more questions and Ned chatted on happily, filling in the latest news from the Wylie family while the tea brewed, but then, concerned he might feel neglected, she turned to speak to Alexander Hamilton.

To her surprise, before she had opened her mouth, he immediately got to his feet.

‘You come here, ma’am, to your own chair, opposite Ned. I’ll sit over here.’

Without the slightest fuss, he drew a kitchen chair from under the table and settled himself between them as if the only thing he wanted to do was share their enjoyment in their talk.

Apart from pausing briefly to demolish his cake in generous mouthfuls, Ned moved on from the Wylie family to tell Rose the news from Annacramp 
and Salter’s Grange. He passed on good wishes from old neighbours and particularly from Selina and Thomas Scott, who were hoping to see them again soon. It was some time before he paused and remembered the parcel sitting on the table.

‘Peggy gave me this last year when Jeannie and I got married,’ he said with a sideways look. ‘She said it might come in handy. An’ indeed it won’t be long now. Jeannie’s expecting next month,’ he said, colouring slightly, as he handed her the parcel and waited while she opened it.

‘She said she wasn’t sure, but she had a good idea that it was you made that. I’d made up me mind to come an’ ask you, even before yer man here turned up,’ he said slowly, casting a quick glance at Alexander, before turning back to watch Rose closely as she unfold the christening robe she’d once made to thank Mary for all the help she’d given her with the children after Granny Sarah had died.

‘
Shure
he’ll look like a wee Prince
.’

Rose spread out the delicate fabric on her knee. Her eyes misted as she recognised the pattern of flowers she had scattered across it. She nodded at Ned, an uncomfortable lump in her throat.

‘That’s a beautiful thing ma’am.’

Rose was almost startled at the softness and unexpectedness of Alexander Hamilton’s comment. She turned to him and saw he was holding out his hands towards her.

‘May I?’

‘Yes, of course,’ she said, touched by the gentleness of the request and the way he handled the fabric, as if it were infinitely more delicate than it actually was.

There were several moments of absolute silence, when even the irrepressible Ned said nothing. Then Alexander, who had studied each tiny flower individually, handed her back the robe.

‘You’re a lucky man, Ned,’ he said soberly, looking Ned full in the face. ‘That’s a beautiful thing ma’am,’ he repeated, as if it was a matter of great importance to him.

‘Well then, Alexander, I’m dying to know what’s brought you all the way from Canada to Annacramp. What part of Canada do you come from?’

Rose saw a sudden flicker of anxiety in Alexander’s dark eyes, but it was so fleeting she wondered if perhaps she was mistaken.

‘I’ve moved about a bit,’ he said, easily enough. ‘I was in Canada a long time, but my last place was in Pennsylvania, a place called German Township, in Lafayette County. That’s where I met your brother, ma’am, Mister Sam McGinley. About two years ago.’

‘You met Sam?’ Rose cried, delighted and amazed they should have met in this unknown
place, so far away. ‘How extraordinary. But how did you meet him?’

‘Well, it was a meeting of farm labourers he was addressing. You probably know, ma’am, farm workers don’t get very well paid. Some get nothing much beyond their keep. And poor food and a bed in the straw at that.’

‘Yes, Sam’s told me all about it. Did you know he’s come back to Ireland?’

‘No, ma’am, I didn’t. I just met him the once after the meeting,’ he said, looking slightly startled. ‘That’s when he mentioned Annacramp.’

Rose looked puzzled, but said nothing.

‘When I went to ask him some questions, I told him my name and he said, ‘
That’s a good Ulster name. My sister Rose is married to a Hamilton from Annacramp
.’ And I asked him where that was and he told me it was about three miles outside of Armagh on the Loughgall Road. So I knew where to go.’

‘But what made you come?’

Rose watched his face, trying to grasp the difficulty he was having in finding words.

‘My mother once said that my grandfather had come from Ireland. I’m nearly sure she said Annacramp, for I kinda knew the name when your brother said it, but I was only a wee thing when she died.’

‘And your father?’ Rose prompted gently.

‘My mother was a widow. I don’t know what happened him at all,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘I can hardly remember my mother.’

‘And what happened you when your mother died?’

‘I was put in an orphanage till I was old enough to go to work.’

‘And what age was that?’ asked Rose, who couldn’t bear not to know the rest of Alexander’s story.

‘I was big for my age, so they let me go at nine. Though ten’s the age, I’m told,’ he said, in the same matter-of-fact tone in which he’d answered almost all of her questions.

Rose put her hands to her face and thought of her own children. Even Sam, who was taller now than Alexander and had shoulders just as broad, was only a wee thing when he was nine, still liable to shed tears when he was upset and to climb on her lap to be comforted.

‘So you decided to come and find your family?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said awkwardly. ‘And I’m not sorry,’ he went on more firmly. ‘I’ve had more kindness since I stepped off the boat in Belfast than I’ve ever had before. I’ll not forget that, whatever happens me now,’ he said, smiling unexpectedly.

Rose was completely taken aback. She had never before seen a face so utterly transformed by a smile. At this moment he seemed so full of warmth
and liveliness that she found it almost impossible to imagine his former sombre appearance.

‘Are you going to stay?’ she asked tentatively.

‘I’d like to stay ma’am, but I need to find a job. Ned here took me to Thomas Scott and he said he’d be happy to have me if there was more work, but he and young Robert have only enough to keep them both going. It was he suggested I come and speak to your good man,’ he said looking at her quite directly. ‘I don’t want to impose on your kindness but I’m a good worker and I’ll not let him down if he can find me a place in one of his mills.’

‘Aye, he’s as strong as an ox,’ said Ned, his sudden intervention and easy manner lightening the tension Rose was feeling.

‘Sure when Peggy said he could stay with her a day or two and look round him, there was no stoppin’ him. The place doesn’t know what’s hit it. Forby mending the reaper and the harrow.’

Rose felt her heart lift and a great wave of relief envelop her. Even before she asked the question shaping in her mind, she had a marvellous sense that she knew what the answer would be.

‘What is your line of work, Alexander?’

‘I was trained up to farm work, but down in Lafayette I worked with a blacksmith and he let me mend machines. I like machines,’ he said simply, with a glimmer of a smile.

Rose was surprised at how easy John appeared to be when he walked into the kitchen and found a totally unknown young man sitting by the fire absorbed in the pages of one of Sarah’s picture albums.

‘John dear, this is Alexander Hamilton,’ she began, hurrying in from the dairy. ‘Ned Wylie brought him over from Annacramp and our friend Thomas sent you a message with him,’ she went on. ‘He says
he’d like fine to have him but his loss might be your gain
.’

Alexander stood up and the two men shook hands warmly.

‘And how would that be?’ John asked, nodding with pleasure at the mention of Thomas.

‘I need a job, sir,’ said Alexander quietly, ‘and Thomas said you might be able to find me something in one of your mills.’

‘Now sit down to your supper, both of you,’ Rose interrupted before either of them could say another word. ‘There’s the whole evening to talk about jobs and I’m sure you’re hungry.’

Rose had had to think quickly as to what she had in the house that would make a supper when there was an unexpected guest. As she served champ with a well for butter and crisp slices of bacon to garnish it, she was delighted to see John’s eyes brighten and the young man’s face break into a broad grin.

‘My goodness, ma’am, this smells good,’ Alexander said, as he picked up his fork.

‘Aye, she’s a great cook,’ said John, making vigorous inroads into his own meal.

It was when John paused to take a long drink of water from his glass that he suddenly looked at Alexander.

‘Did I hear right that yer name’s Hamilton?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Alexander replied, nodding, his mouth full.

John looked across at Rose to see what he was to make of this.

‘It looks as if Alexander might be the grandson of one of your brothers, John,’ she began, smiling at him reassuringly. ‘He was born in Canada and his mother mentioned Annacramp to him when he was a wee boy, but sadly both his grandfather and his parents are dead.’

‘Ach dear, that’s a hard thing,’ said John kindly.
‘What age were ye when ye lost them, Alexander?’

‘I think I was about seven when my mother died, but I’ve no great memory,’ he began awkwardly. ‘I never knew my father at all.’

Rose noticed his faltering tone and the anxious look that returned when John asked his question, but he just nodded sympathetically at the thought of the young man’s loss. What he said next took Rose completely by surprise.

‘Well, there’s one thing for sure, you have the Hamilton shoulders. Both m’ brothers had shoulders broader than mine. An’ yer dark forby, ye look just like m’ father in his prime,’ he said matter-of-factly, as he handed his plate to Rose, the first time he’d asked for a second helping in months.

Next morning, Rose watched the two of them walk down the garden path together, Alexander wearing a pair of John’s dungarees, the legs turned up at the hem until she had time to shorten them, the shoulders showing signs of strain.

When they arrived back for lunch, it was hard to tell which of them was the more pleased.

‘I’ve got m’self a new helper,’ John said, beaming at her, as he bent to give her a kiss.

Alexander’s eyes were bright and his smile had become an almost permanent feature as they settled to eat bread and cheese with small pieces of cold bacon.

‘Is it a big change from farm equipment, Alexander?’ Rose asked, as she cut slices of
new-baked
wheaten for them all.

‘It is in one way, ma’am,’ he said, looking up at her. ‘The textile machines are more complicated, but they run on the same principles. They’re more interesting to work with,’ he said, pausing as he spread butter very thinly on his bread.

‘Aye, he has the measure of it, Rose,’ said John warmly. ‘Far better than I had when I first worked with Hugh.’

‘Did you meet Sarah, Alexander?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘Ach, it was a quick word, Rose, for Sarah had the motor out,’ John explained. ‘She was goin’ over to Elizabeth and Richard to see about this new scheme for medical examinations. ‘There’ll be plenty of time for them to get t’ know other now all’s settled,’ he added reassuringly.

September, which began with anxiety over John’s health, now moved on in a glow of sunlit autumn weather that would have brought delight to the whole family had the political situation in Ulster not stirred up a whole set of new anxieties.

Encouraged by the activists in the Orange Order and by Sir Edward Carson in particular, the 28th of September had been designated Ulster Day. On that day, after church services to appeal for the
help of the Almighty, all true born Ulstermen were expected to sign the Solemn League and Covenant, committing themselves to use all means which may be found necessary to defeat the present conspiracy to set up a Home Rule Parliament in Ireland.

After the recent changes to the power of the House of Lords, everyone knew they could no longer veto bills passed by the House of Commons and there was every likelihood that the Home Rule Bill would pass. With two opposing volunteer forces recruiting and training vigorously, what would happen next lay like a dark shadow on many a household beyond that of the Hamilton’s and their friends.

Along with every other place of work, the mills were forced to close on the day. In city, town and village, locations were set up where men could sign the covenant and their women folk add their support by adding their names to the accompanying declaration. All over the province, there were queues outside Orange halls and Temperance halls, church halls and school halls. Beyond Ulster, covenant sheets had been distributed abroad as far away as China so that no mark, or signature would be lost in the effort to register the unity and magnitude of Ulster’s hostility.

Neither Sarah, nor Rose, nor John, signed the relevant document, but they did go to the church service in Holy Trinity. While they could not be
forced to sign the documents, their neighbours would have found it very strange indeed if they had not appeared at a church service which purported to ask for God’s blessing on Ulster. In the event, not unexpectedly, they were dismayed by the tone of the minister’s address, his references to the idolatry of the Church of Rome, or his harping upon the threats to religious freedom should an Irish parliament ever sit in Dublin.

Sarah found the whole business utterly depressing. The newspapers fulminated about the wicked English government, who could even consider allowing a situation to come about in which Catholic farmers would have the power to dictate to the loyal Protestant industrialists of the North, who by their wisdom and hard work had made the province so prosperous. She had heard it all before and wished she might never hear it again.

A few days after the great signing itself, she arrived at Millbrook to be greeted once again by silence. She felt such a reluctance to cope with yet one more problem that she had the greatest desire to turn the motor in front of the main doors, accelerate up the slope and never come back. But she knew her father was working at Ballievy. Even if Tom had telephoned to ask him to come, he probably couldn’t just leave what he and Alex were dismantling or repairing. She pushed aside the thought, took a deep breath, parked the motor
alongside Tom’s and made her way into the office.

Tom looked up from a document he’d been trying to read, his face moving from anxiety to relief.

‘What is it this time, Tom?’

He shook his head and let out a great sigh.

‘Some Catholic women were saying that the blood for signing the covenant wasn’t the only blood there’d be after Home Rule.’

Sarah looked puzzled.

‘A lot o’ the men that signed, in Belfast particularly, cut their fingers and signed in their own blood,’ he explained flatly. ‘There’s no use at all me goin’ to talk to Catholic women, for they’ll just say I’m a Protestant and as bad as the rest of them,’ he said, shaking his head angrily. ‘I sent yer man the trade unionist. He’s always goin’ on about the bosses usin’ sectarianism to divide the workforce. We’ll just have to see what
he
can do to get them together.’

Sarah dropped down in the nearest chair.

‘In this country even the atheists are Catholic or Protestant,’ she said bitterly. ‘How long’s he been gone?’

‘About half an hour. I told him to come back here as soon as he had any word.’

Before he had finished speaking there was a perfunctory knock on the door and the man Sarah had last seen recommending strike action on the platform of the recreation hall stood in front of them.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Sarah, standing up. ‘You know my name but I don’t know yours.’

‘I’m John Joseph Shiels, Missus Sinton, and I don’t approve of this stoppage whatever you might think,’ he said irritably.

‘I don’t think anything, John Joseph, till I know what’s going on. I hope you’re going to tell me what’s the issue,’ she said calmly.

‘Flags and party tokens,’ he said sharply. ‘There’s portraits of Carson and Orange symbols on some of the looms and Emmett and Tone, and O’Donovan Rossa on the others.’

‘Is there any reason why we shouldn’t remove them?’ Sarah asked, looking him straight in the eye.

‘It would cause bad feeling,’ he said cautiously.

‘Haven’t we got bad feeling already? Would it make it any worse?’

‘I don’t know, Missus Sinton. I wouldn’t want to be the one to do it.’

‘All right then, I’ll do it,’ she said wearily. ‘But you can both come and help me,’ she went on, swinging round to include Tom. ‘We remove
everything
, put all the bits in a basket and leave them to be collected with the wages on Friday. All right? I’ll speak to the other directors tomorrow. I think what we need is an agreement that we employ neither Catholics nor Protestants in this firm, only men and women,’ she said severely. ‘I hope you think that’s acceptable, John Joseph.’

‘Yes, I do,’ he said, more enthusiastically than she’d expected. ‘But I shou’d warn you Missus Sinton, there’s those few on both sides that won’t lissen to a word I say. I can only promise you I’ll do m’ best. You’re tryin’ to be fair, but there’s some that won’t have it no matter what ye’d say.’

‘Thank you, Michael, I appreciate that,’ she replied with a bleak smile. ‘Let’s go and get it over with. Is the power off, or is it only the individual frames?’ she asked, as Tom opened the door and she walked ahead of them out into the silent mill.

There were no signs of life at Ballydown as Sarah drove home. The front door was shut, which meant her mother had gone into Banbridge. When she closed the door of the motor house and came into the kitchen, Rathdrum was silent too. No sign of Mrs Beatty and no sound from the workshop. Her father and Alex must still be down at Ballievy.

She looked disconsolately out of the kitchen window as she waited for the kettle to boil. She wasn’t sure about this Alex, as everyone now called him. He was courteous enough and clearly a good worker. Both her parents seemed delighted by his advent and there was no doubt, whatever, her father was a different person now he had someone to help with the repairs and to assess the new technology that kept appearing.

‘If they’re happy, shouldn’t I be happy for them?’ she asked herself.

She wondered if perhaps she was envious. Her father had found a friend to help him and Rose clearly enjoyed the young man’s company and the stories he told her about working on farms in New Brunswick and Pennsylvania. Her mother had suggested to John that they have Alex to stay at Ballydown as they had three empty rooms. Her father had said no, but only because he thought a young man should get away from his work. He needed to get out and meet other young people, not spend his time with them. Everyone seemed delighted when Mrs Jackson at the foot of the hill offered to have him as a lodger, now all their sons were gone and only their young niece, who had lost both her parents, now lived with them.

The kettle was rattling its lid before Sarah turned from the window and her thoughts. She made a pot of tea and looked out again over the broad cobbled space in front of the workshop while she waited for it to draw.

Often, in the morning, while she was still tidying the bedroom, she’d see the two of them arrive for work, walking companionably side by side across the yard. Suddenly, Sarah found tears trickling down her face. Side by side. That was it. Alex walking with John. Keeping John company. No wonder her father looked better. No wonder the pains in his
chest had vanished. Something, someone, had come to fill the aching space of Hugh’s loss, but nothing had come to help her, only the hurt and vexations of the work she tried to keep up for his sake.

‘Stop it, Sarah. There’s no way forward through self pity,’ she reminded herself angrily, but the tears would not stop. She went upstairs and lay on the bed and cried till they were spent.

When Mrs Beatty arrived back from Jackson’s with the week’s supply of eggs and butter, she wondered why there was a full pot of tea, still slightly warm, but untouched, on the draining board. She drained the tealeaves, rinsed the pot and put it away. Kind woman that she was, she had long since learnt when not to notice things that seemed awry.

It was some weeks later, a day or two before her brother Sam’s birthday that Sarah decided she must make up her mind about Alex Hamilton. She knew she’d been rather cool with him. Not unfriendly, but certainly not as welcoming as her parents and the Jacksons and all their neighbours.

As she looked down from her bedroom window that morning, she saw him once again striding along beside her father, the two of them deep in conversation, but while Alex wore his new dungarees, still almost unmarked by oil or grease, her father wore a suit. She smiled to herself. Poor
Da. He’d have to leave shortly to see the bank manager or the accountant. He was no longer anxious about such matters, but she knew where he’d prefer to be.

‘Cup of tea, ma’am?’

When Mrs Beatty put her head round the dining room door at half past ten, Sarah nodded.

‘Could you put Alex’s mug on the tray, Mrs Beatty, and tell him I’m in the conservatory. We don’t seem to have exchanged two words all week, we’ve both been so busy.’