A Girl Called Rosie (25 page)

‘He’s given me a wonderful opportunity. A year ago, I was keeping house for my family with no prospect at all of a job.’

‘And you found this job yourself?’

‘Well, not
this
job exactly. I started in the rose fields …’

There was a movement in the small knot of people to their right and visitors surged towards them as the cordon of white rope was removed.

‘We must continue this conversation …’

He strode off to catch up with the small party as it continued on its way to the next point on their itinerary.

An hour later, a stiff white envelope was delivered to Rosie containing a single sheet. She read the brief message twice.

She didn’t need to study the signature, she simply looked at the piece of paper and the messenger who stood waiting. She
was
free tonight. She might be free every night, but she couldn’t be sure. If a problem occurred she might need to go up to the rose fields herself so that she and Billy could sort it out together.

She took a pencil from her pocket, turned over the sheet of paper and scribbled a message. As Granda would have said, ‘Sure there’s no time like the present.’

‘It
was
good of you to come. From what I could see you were on your feet all day. I’m surprised you’re able to look so fresh.’

Rosie smiled at him and sat down gratefully, her back aching gently. She hadn’t looked fresh when she’d arrived back in Lizzie’s lovely room, but a bath and a whole pot of tea had done wonders. So
had Granda’s dress, the red one he’d bought for her in Kerry. She’d brought it with her, just in case, as she’d had no opportunity to wear it again since his funeral.

‘When I first started in the rose fields, I was exhausted by lunchtime, but I got used to it quite quickly. And the last weeks have been so busy, I think I must be getting fitter. Actually, I did have an hour’s rest this evening. When we closed, there was nothing that needed to be done. Later in the week, there’ll have to be replacements.’

‘You mean in your arrangements?’

‘Yes, the centre of the big side panels are done with rosebuds set in damp moss. They’ll start to bloom with the heat and spoil the design.’

‘And can you just put fresh ones in?’

‘Yes, that bit’s quite easy. The difficult bit is picking buds at the right moment back in the fields, so they’ll be ready for me next day, but my friend Billy has been doing this many, many years.’

‘How long will this one last?’

He nodded down at the buttonhole she had given him that morning.

‘You’ve had that in water?’

‘Yes, while I was working in my office, but I wore it for several hours when I was conducting visitors.’

‘Two, maybe three days, if you keep resting it. I’ll give you a new one when it fades.’

He paused, scanned the menu rapidly, consulted her and ordered their main course.

‘You chose Patience. Was that significant?’

She laughed.

‘We have great hopes for Patience at the National Rose Show, but I picked it to go with your suit.’

The large dining room was quiet on a Monday evening, the sound of cutlery and china absorbed by the heavy velvet curtains and the thick carpet. The meal was served promptly and Rosie discovered how hungry she was. They ate in companionable silence, until coffee arrived and he poured for them both.

‘To continue where we left off …’

He asked most carefully about her job, how exactly she’d found it, how her brothers and sisters and friends had tried to find employment. She answered his questions freely and told him as much as she could, especially about each member of her own family, and about Lizzie and Hugh and their plan to open a shop in Richhill.

‘You’ve been most helpful, Rose, if I may call you Rose.’

She nodded and smiled.

‘We have some very difficult problems ahead of us. Young people like yourself not able to get further training or apprenticeships. Talented ones like your sister Emily leaving, because wages are so very low.
What you’ve provided me with is a case study, if you like, but I suspect when I make further enquiries I shall find what you’ve told me repeated all over the province. I’ve no idea what’s to be done, but finding out the existing situation is a good place to start, don’t you agree?’

‘Yes, yes, I do.’

She paused and then ventured to ask him about his own family and whether or not they’d been able to help him with his research.

‘I’ve just one son, at university in England,’ he replied, as openly as she had done to his own questions. ‘His future is quite secure. He wants to do engineering and fortunately I can afford to support him till he’s qualified.’

He paused, looking round the almost empty dining room as if looking for someone he knew. As her own mind filled with questions, she wondered if he was going to say something more.

‘I’m out of touch in some ways, because I’ve been abroad for many years. In Australia. I’ve followed the political situation here, but I only came back last year when the new government began to find its feet. I have one or two friends in office now who think my experience overseas in various industries might be useful here.’

‘So you came back because of the job?’

‘That’s what I’ve been telling myself.’

She waited, a sense of tension growing as she sipped her coffee and tried to be patient.

‘Have you ever heard of Annacramp?’

She laughed.

‘Of course, I’ve heard of Annacramp. When I was little I thought everyone in the world knew about Annacramp because Uncle Alex met Great Uncle Sam in Canada, in some strange place called German Township, and that’s what they started to talk about. That was why Uncle Alex came to Ireland to look for his family. He was an orphan, you see, but when Great Uncle Sam mentioned the name, it must have rung a bell. So he set out to find the Hamiltons with nothing but the name of a townland and his own name.’

‘And what was his name?’

‘Why, Hamilton, of course. Alex Hamilton,’ she went on, laughing at herself for not making it plain to him. ‘I’m sorry, it’s one of those family stories you hear so often you forget to put in the details. Uncle Alex was an orphan, sent to Canada when he was only a little boy. He worked on farms from the time he was nine. He met Sam at some sort of trade union meeting. Sam was like Aunt Sarah, always thinking what could be done to help working people. Anyway, the two of them got talking, Sam made some remark about Alex’s good Ulster name and the next thing Alex was saving up to come to Annacramp.’

‘And did he come?’

‘Oh yes, he did. Someone in Annacramp sent him to Thomas Scott’s forge in Salter’s Grange, and Thomas sent him on to Granda and Granny at Ballydown to see if Granda could get him a job in one of the mills. When Granda saw him he said he was the very image of
his
father and that was that. He’s been Uncle Alex as long as I remember. He and Granda worked together. And last year, when he and Emily had their little boy, they called him John. So there’s still a John Hamilton at Ballydown.’

He’d listened to the story with a smile on his face, but at the mention of Ballydown the smile faded. He dropped his eyes and studied the pattern on the damask tablecloth as if trying to memorise it.

‘Would that all such family stories ended so happily.’

‘Do you know Ballydown?

‘Yes.’

‘And Annacramp?’

‘Yes.’

‘And J is for James?’

‘Yes.’

There was a moment of complete silence. ‘Would you like some more coffee?’ he asked politely.

She took a deep breath as if the decision was more than she could manage. ‘Yes, please.’

‘How did you guess?’

‘Last year when Bobby and I were carrying buckets of water for the cows, he told me I didn’t have the Hamilton shoulders. He said it was lucky because I was a girl. And when I told you just now about Alex I suddenly remembered what Bobby had said.
You
have the Hamilton shoulders and your forehead is just like Da’s, if it wasn’t for the colour of your hair.’

‘Great Uncle Sam,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘Granny’s red-headed little brother. Is he still with us?’ She shook her head.

‘He was killed by a stray bullet in Dublin in 1916. He was trying to help one of our cousins escape from the College of Surgeons.’

‘And the cousin?’

‘Brendan Doherty,’ she nodded. ‘He survived. Went to America. He and his cousin, Sean McGinley, have both been very kind to Emily.’

‘I had no idea how I was going to tell you, but you’ve saved me the trouble. The question now is what to do. Would that I could arrive like Alex and be welcomed, but I don’t deserve that. I behaved appallingly. I turned my back on my family for the most selfish of reasons when my parents had been extremely generous to me. Unlike
your
brothers, I had an apprenticeship and went into management. I was rather successful in business. Less successful in my private life. My wife died soon after our son
was born, but by then any feeling we’d had for each other had gone. My son was brought up by her family, the Slaters, with whom I went into business for a time, hence my name. I’m about to resume James, regardless of what might happen here.’

‘What age were you then?’

‘When?’

‘When you rejected your family?’

‘Nineteen. Twenty, perhaps.’

‘But that is a long time ago, isn’t it?’

For some reason, the only thing Rosie could think of was seedlings. Billy said that after you’d grown enough spindly ones that had to be thrown away, you’d be able to spot a grower when it was no bigger than your thumb. She pushed the thought out of mind, because she couldn’t see what on earth it had to do with the matter in hand.

‘Yes, it is a long time ago. But surely that makes matters worse and not better?’

She wondered what he could have been like in his twenties, but she could make no connection between the confident and considerate man that sat opposite her and the young man who’d rejected his family.

‘But why? I think Da would be delighted to have you back.’

‘And could forgive me for the hurt I caused? Especially to your granny, whom he always loved so dearly.’

‘Da’s a Quaker now. They’re very good on forgiveness.’

A small smile touched his lips.

‘And your grandmother?’

For a few moments she hesitated. She went back over the evening she’d shown Granny James’s business card. At the time, she’d said nothing, but there’d been a sudden moment of quiet before they moved on to speak of other things. That was what was significant now.

‘Uncle James, I showed Granny your business card early last month. I think she’s worked it out already. She’s just waiting till the time seems right.’

There was heavy rain in Belfast on Monday night. Rosie woke, heard it drumming on the roof but was so tired she fell asleep again without having time to worry about any consequences it might have. All it did was freshen the streets of the city. Next morning, the air was clear and bright and when her colleagues arrived from Portadown they replied to her anxious questions about the rain with laughter. They’d had no rain at all.

The dry, settled weather seemed like a good omen and the days that followed were rewarding and enjoyable. On Tuesday, a busload of ladies from the Armagh Group of Women’s Institutes arrived to visit the fair, among them Miss Wilson, Mrs Mackay and Mary Braithwaite. They were tremendously impressed with the stand and what the staff were wearing and delighted by the colour postcards of roses they were invited to choose. On Wednesday, Dr Stewart arrived with Aunt Elizabeth and her grandmother. They confessed they’d kept their visit
a surprise because they didn’t want to upset any plans she might have made.

‘Norman Lambert, perhaps? What do you think, Rosie?’

She nodded at Mary, a shy country girl, who in the short space of time since Monday was now cheerfully choosing buttonholes for the gentlemen visitors as if she’d been doing it for years. She watched, delighted, as Mary carefully pinned the rose on Dr Stewart’s lapel.

‘That smells wonderful, Mary. Do I have to buy a whole bushfull now?’

‘No, sir, just tell everyone where you got it, please.’

‘I will do that with great pleasure, my dear. Thank you
very
much.’

‘And ladies can choose colour postcards,’ Rosie said, giving both her aunt and her grandmother a quick hug.

‘Rosie, these are really lovely,’ said Elizabeth, casting her eye over the selection spread out before her. ‘Will your father manage to get up to Belfast this week?’

‘Yes. Friday afternoon. Bobby and Charlie too. They’ve all managed a half day off.’

‘Richard is hoping to come up tomorrow. He arrived home this morning looking ghastly. Apparently it was a rough crossing and after that
they lost his luggage,’ she went on, raising her eyebrows.

‘But I thought it was to be the
end
of June.’

‘So did I, but we all forgot there’s a fortnight’s holiday included in his year’s contract.’

Elizabeth moved away and crossed the stand to join her husband, Dr Stewart, who was deep in conversation with Brian Singleton and at the same time casting his eye down his lists very intently.

Rosie turned to her grandmother and found her gazing at the publicity photographs taken on Monday.

‘This is a splendid photograph, Rosie. Pity it’s not in colour. Were these the Americans we’ve heard about?’ she asked, examining the other images in the display Brian had added to the stand the previous day. ‘Very good of Mr Sam. Good of Slater Hamilton too,’ she said thoughtfully, running her finger along the large black and white print and pausing at his tall figure.

‘I had dinner with him on Monday.’

‘Oh, you did, did you?’

She could see her grandmother was pleased and would have said more, but as another group of visitors began to swirl around them there was no opportunity.

‘Would you have a pencil and an envelope?’ her grandmother asked.

Rosie produced a pencil from her pocket and gave it to her, but an envelope was more difficult. She left her choosing a postcard and went across to ask Brian if he had one. All he could offer was one that bore the address of the Portadown showroom printed on it, but she took it and thanked him. She knew it wouldn’t matter.

‘I’ve just written a short message,’ her grandmother said, as she slipped the postcard into the envelope and sealed it. ‘But it may make it easier.’

‘I’ll see he gets it.’

‘Oh, I mustn’t forget what I have to tell you. Helen is engaged.’

For one long, distressing moment, Rosie felt herself go rigid with anxiety.

‘I’ve forgotten the young man’s name, but Richard P. says he’s a good chap. Another doctor, I gather.’

She gave Rosie a small, secret smile, squeezed her arm and said they must see each other soon, they had rather a lot to talk about. Then with a wave, she went to join Elizabeth and Richard, who had just finished ordering some new roses for their front garden.

An hour later, Rosie turned to find a familiar, tall figure smiling down at her.

‘Mr Hamilton,’ she said politely, the stand still crowded with colleagues and visitors.

‘I can see how busy you are, but I thought you’d like to see this. We can make arrangements another time.’

He handed her the reply-paid envelope on which she’d written his name and waited patiently while she read the short message several times over.

‘Lizzie, I have such wonderful news,’ Rosie said, as she pushed open the door of their room sometime after six, her arms full of roses, still lovely and full of fragrance, but already beginning to be overblown.

Lizzie was lying on the sofa, a hot-water bottle clutched to her stomach. She was very pale and looked as if she might have been crying.

‘Oh my poor dear, what’s wrong?’

She dropped the roses on the nearest single bed, came over and took her friend’s hand. ‘I feel awful.’

‘Is it your monthly? Has it just started?’ Lizzie nodded, bending over, clutching the hot-water bottle fiercely against her stomach.

‘You don’t normally have much trouble, do you?’

Rosie bit her lip. It was perfectly obvious
something was not right, but Lizzie wasn’t doing much to tell her how she felt. While she was still thinking what to do next, Lizzie gave a little cry.

‘I think I’ve wet myself.’

She attempted to stand up, but had to sit down again, crying out in horror as she saw blood trickle down her bare legs and make small puddles on the worn carpet.

‘I’m goin’ to die,’ she moaned. ‘Somethin’ awful’s happenin’ to me. An’ what’s poor Hugh going to do without me?’

She burst into tears and sobbed as if her heart would break.

‘No, you’re not. No one dies of a heavy period. Here, stick this between your legs and we’ll get you sorted out.’

Rosie picked up the neatly folded hand towel beside her own bed, put her arm round her and helped her remove her saturated knickers. There was indeed an awful lot of blood. She was concerned at the amount and its appearance.

‘What was last month’s like? Was it very light?’

She shook her head.

‘It didn’t come at all last month.’

‘Does that often happen?

‘No. It’s never happened before. Rosie, I’m goin’ to bleed to death. I know I am.’

‘No you
are
not.’

Rosie racked her brains trying to think of what might help. She knew perfectly well what a missing period meant. If Lizzie and Hugh were married, there’d be no puzzle at all, but she was certain Lizzie had never made love with Hugh. This was the girl who had never even seen a boy peeing in a hedge until the day she’d met him in the strawberry field.

‘
Sure them one’s could pick it up off the grass
.’

Suddenly, she remembered overhearing her mother and one of her neighbours fulminating about some girls who were ‘always falling pregnant’. From what she’d been able to grasp, it seemed they were so fertile that even a kiss and cuddle behind a haystack could have an unfortunate outcome.

‘Lizzie dear, now I don’t want you to be upset with me, but I need to know. Have you and Hugh been cuddling together without your clothes on?’

‘An’ what if we have?’ she replied crossly, a little colour mitigating the ghastly pallor of her face. ‘I’ve never done what you’re not supposed to do. I know better than that.’

Rosie took a deep breath.

‘But have you ever got damp?’

‘Yes, well,’ she said, tossing her head. ‘But sure what does that matter? I told you we’ve never done anythin’ wrong. Hugh knows all about that. He’s explained it all to me, but he’d never do that. It
would be trouble for me and he loves me far too much for that.’

Rosie gave a sigh of relief. She’d no idea what she was going to do next, but at least she could reassure Lizzie she wasn’t going to bleed to death.

‘Lizzie dear, I know you’ve done nothing
wrong
, but I think there may have been an accident.’

‘You mean I’m in the family way?’ she demanded, her eyes wide, a look of absolute horror on her face.

‘Well, you were, at least I think you were, but you’re certainly not now. That’s what the bleeding’s about. That’s why you’re going to have to see a doctor.’

She shook her head vigorously.

‘If I see a doctor then Auntie will know and she’ll tell Da. He’ll go mad. I can’t do that.’

‘I suppose you’d rather die?’

‘Ach, Rosie, don’t be cross with me,’ she said, bursting into tears again.

Rosie put her arms round her and comforted her.

‘I do know
one
doctor who wouldn’t tell anyone. If I can get him to come, would that be all right?’

‘That nice old man, the one you call Uncle Richard?’

Rosie nodded. That nice old man, as Lizzie called him, had driven to Belfast this morning, spent the day tramping round the trade fair and was probably now having a well-earned nap after his supper, but
at least she could talk to him, or Aunt Elizabeth, and they would know what it was best to do. Granny would know too, but the chances were she was still with them at Dromore. She often stayed the night if they’d been out together all day.

‘I can’t telephone from here, can I? Your aunt might hear.’

‘You’re in luck. She’s away over t’ see m’ cousin and won’t be back till after nine.’

‘Right. Now you promise not to frighten yourself while I’m gone. You’re
not
going to die. Got that? Here’s another towel. You might need it. I’ll clean you up when I come back.’

She picked up the phone and a crisp voice said, ‘Number please?’

‘Dromore six.’

‘I’m trying to connect you.’

At least she had no difficulty remembering the Stewart’s number, it was one of the first telephones in Dromore. She listened to the small noises coming through the earpiece on the heavy handset and wondered if she might have been cut off. Then she heard the fierce ring of a bell at the other end.

‘Doctor Stewart’s practice. Can I help you?’

For a moment, she was so taken aback at the sound of Richard P.’s voice that she completely forgot what she was going to say. She listened helplessly as he patiently repeated what he’d said.

‘Richard, I’m so sorry … it’s Rosie. I wasn’t expecting to hear you.’

‘Rosie!’

His tone was a mixture of surprise and joy. ‘Rosie, is everything all right? Are
you
all right?’

‘Yes, yes. I’m fine.’

There was no missing either the concern or the tenderness in his voice.

‘I was hoping to see you tomorrow, even if just briefly,’ he went on quickly. ‘Mother says you’re very busy, but I thought we might meet at the weekend.’

‘Richard, that would be lovely, but I need to ask you some urgent doctor questions right now. I’m staying with Lizzie and she’s bleeding. I need to know what to do.’

‘Right. Tell me what you can.’

His tone of voice had changed instantly.

She told him about what had happened so far, explained about the missing period and Lizzie’s innocence about the possibility of her having conceived.

‘Yes, it certainly sounds like a miscarriage,’ he agreed. ‘I’ll come right away, but I’d better tell you what happens next in case I’m delayed. I know where you are. What’s the number of the house?’

She gave him the number, then listened carefully as he explained about the release of the conception sac which was bulbous and could be painful.

‘Richard, we might have Lizzie’s aunt to deal with. Could we say it’s appendicitis, or we think it is?’

‘Yes, of course. One often gets false alarms with appendicitis. Don’t worry if there’s a lot more blood. It always looks far more than it really is. I’ll be as quick as I can.’

Even allowing for the empty roads and the fact that Richard had borrowed his father’s more powerful motor, Rosie was amazed at how quickly he managed the journey from Dromore.

Less than an hour after her telephone call, she heard a motor stop outside. Looking down from the bay window, she saw him jump out, snatch his bag out of the back seat and stride towards the front door. She ran down to let him in.

‘How is she?’

‘She seems in good spirits. I think it’s me that’s flagging.’

‘What about the conception sac?’

‘About half an hour ago. It
was
painful, but I told her it was good practice for having a baby. It didn’t go on for terribly long.’

‘Hello Lizzie. I’m Richard,’ he said holding out his hand. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Awful. But I don’t think I’m dyin’ any more.’

‘No, we’re not having that,’ he said briskly.

He took her pulse and looked around, fixing his
eyes on a clean towel that covered a pile of stained cloths. He raised an eyebrow at Rosie who nodded and brought the relevant one for him to examine.

‘You’ve been lucky that you had Rosie here. There’s no harm done and you’ll be all right in a day or two. The only thing we need is to avoid infection. A bath tonight when you’re feeling a little better. Regular washing and clean linen. I’ve brought some antiseptic you can use and if you’re in any doubt at all you can ring me.’

Lizzie looked up at him and smiled.

‘Neither Rosie nor me’s had any supper. All that blood would put ye off. But I’m starvin’. D’ye think the pair of ye could make some scrambled egg and toast? There’s always plenty of eggs in the kitchen, but not much else. I’ll be all right for a while now,’ she added firmly, looking from one to the other. ‘I’ll maybe go to sleep for a bit,’ she added, dipping her eyelids.

The boarder’s kitchen was clean and bare, but rather dim and miserable. Even at midsummer, little sunlight ever penetrated its north-facing window and when it did, it was absorbed immediately by the dark wood of the cupboards and by the brown and cream linoleum on the floor. There was a permanent smell of Jeyes Fluid and unburnt gas.