Till the Sun Shines Through (27 page)

‘The gypsies used to stay all summer. They did every year, but that particular year, Daddy noticed Francis seemed to have a lot of business in the town which kept him going in, night after night. Auntie Delia used to complain about it. She was getting over a miscarriage at the time and Francis told Daddy it was his way of coping. He said he'd been broken up by Robert and Nuala's death and then Delia's miscarriage and he drank to ease the pain. No one connected him to the gypsies. They were just a feature of the summer and tended to keep themselves to themselves unless they were hawking around the doors.

‘That's how we got to know Sally of course. They'd drive up in a cart and the women would be selling clothes pegs and woven baskets, while the men offered to sharpen up scythes and sickles before they'd be needed in the autumn. Sally always came with the women and she often went round in the late summer to help pick the crops. She was usually full of fun and she seemed to have such freedom. The rest of us girls about the same age often envied her.

‘With the nip in the air of late September, the gypsies were gone,' Mary said. ‘And we young ones were sad, because they were a colourful addition to our rather mundane lives. But then one bleak November day, a caravan rolled up before Francis's farm. It was Sally's family. Her father got out, mad as anything, and said Francis had taken his daughter down and she was having his baby and what was he going to do about it.

‘Francis denied it, of course, and because she was a gypsy girl he was believed. A gypsy word couldn't be trusted – why wouldn't they sell their own mother for the price of a drink? some people said. Others claimed Sally had been free with her favours with all and sundry and was picking on Francis to provide for her bastard.'

‘Didn't she protest?'

‘Didn't have time. They were run out of town before she had a chance to defend herself.'

‘So you never heard how it went?'

‘I heard how it went for Sally all right,' Mary said. ‘It was the talk of the place. She drowned herself in the river just a few miles away from the town the day after they were told to go. None of the gypsies were ever seen in the place after.'

‘I'm not surprised,' Bridie said fiercely. ‘How sad.'

‘Aye, sad right enough,' Mary agreed. ‘But I threw Sally's name at Francis, because I believed the girl. I told him maybe the townsfolk wouldn't have believed a gypsy girl on her own, but if I had told people what he'd tried to do to me, on the heels of Sally McCormack committing suicide, at the very least doubts would have been raised. And I told Francis the whole family was talking about the way he was out nearly every night in the weeks while the gypsies were camped.'

‘Was he mad?'

‘Mad? Aye, he was surely. He went puce. I thought he would hit me and I think he wanted to, but how would he have explained it?'

‘And was that it then, he left you alone?'

‘Aye,' Mary said. ‘He had to really. He couldn't risk me spilling the beans about him. Not that I ever would, and for the same reason you couldn't for it would have destroyed us all and split the family in two, but he couldn't risk that.

‘I never thought you were in danger when I left Ireland though. You were just a wean and anyway Francis had done nothing to me for years. But the point is, when I met Eddie and knew he was the one for me, I wouldn't let that filthy pervert spoil things for me. And don't you either,' she said, and she hugged Bridie tight.

Bridie felt new strength flood through her. She wouldn't be able to erase Francis totally out of her life, she thought, but he hadn't got to be at the forefront of her mind all the time either.

‘I'll try,' Bridie said. ‘And now I had better see Tom. I have some apologising and explaining to do.'

‘Aye,' Mary said. ‘For God's sake put the man out of his misery. He can't be held accountable for his parents, remember that, just as you aren't for yours.

‘It's only just turned half nine,' Mary said. ‘I'd be away now if I were you.'

Bridie arrived at the Mission house out of breath, both from hurrying and from the emotion pounding through her entire body, and she knocked at the door quickly before she lost her nerve.

‘Bridie? What on earth …? Is something wrong?'

How glad Bridie was that it was Tom himself who came to the door. ‘Nothing's wrong, Tom,' she said. ‘I mean everyone is okay, but I … I need to speak to you.'

Tom's heart plummeted. Has Bridie come to say it was finally over between them? That he was to stop trying to waylay her at work, stop hanging about the shop when she was leaving? He took his jacket from the hook behind the door and stepped out into the night.

Bridie being Bridie came straight to the point as she stood before him, wringing her hands together in agitation. ‘Tom, I'm sorry for those things I said to you,' she said. ‘I was wrong, but if you don't want me after I behaved as I did, I will understand.'

‘Want you?' Tom cried, elated by Bridie's words.

He took her hands in his and kissed her fingers as he said, ‘There's only ever been you, you silly girl. I thought you knew that. Bridie, I love you, I've loved you from the moment I saw you curled up on the bench at Strabane Station. Tell me, though, what's brought about this change of heart?'

‘Mainly Ellen and Mary talking some sense into me,' Bridie said. ‘It was all mixed up with not being worthy for you because of what happened.'

‘None of that was your fault,' Tom said, dropping Bridie's hands and enfolding her whole body in a hug as he whispered into her ear, ‘My darling, darling girl.'

‘I knew that really,' Bridie said, ‘but my parents aren't even speaking to me and then with the letter from yours … Oh, it's what I expected if I'm honest, but I just felt as if we were having to fight the whole world to be together and that it was my fault somehow and that you'd be better off without me.'

‘And now?'

‘Now I know I love you with all my heart and soul,' Bridie said simply. ‘I can't imagine life without you. What's helped of course,' she added, ‘is that dear Aunt Ellen went over to Ireland and, by whatever means, got my father to give his permission for our wedding.'

Tom gave a whoop of joy and, lifting Bridie from her feet, spun her around. ‘Tom, hush. The people in the Mission will think murder's been done.'

Tom set her down, his whole face alight, and said in mock severity, ‘And it will be, madam, if you don't marry me with all speed.'

‘There is a little matter of where we are to live?'

‘A minor matter, Miss McCarthy, a minor matter,' Tom said. ‘What I want to know this instant is will you marry me?'

‘Oh yes, Tom. Yes, yes, yes,' Bridie replied. ‘And just as soon as you like.'

Tom bent and kissed Bridie gently and he felt her body stir against his and his kiss became more ardent. Bridie never thought of Francis once. She thought of the man she loved and was to marry and felt her body yearn for him, the tingle generated by the kiss reaching to her very toes.

Peggy McKenna couldn't believe that that young scut Bridie was getting married and to that fine handsome man Tom Cassidy. She needn't think she'd get away with anything either because she was married. The wee bit Peggy was wheedling out of her most weeks could be increased now she was marrying a man in work.

Tom and Bridie were married in September 1933 in St Catherine's Church with Mary as matron of honour. Bridie wore her sister's wedding dress, although it needed so much alteration to fit her slender frame that Ellen said it would have probably been quicker to sew a new dress from scratch.

But at least this way it saved money; they knew they'd need every penny when they had a place of their own. Not that that seemed likely and, as the wedding grew nearer, Bridie and Tom knew they had no option but to start married life at Ellen's.

Bridie was apprehensive. She loved Ellen and Sam, but the thought of her and Tom making love in the creaky attic with her uncle and aunt just below, listening to every noise and knowing full well what they were up to, well, it made her blush to think about.

She wondered if Tom felt the same. Possibly not. The girls at work said most men had sex on the brain and would be at it morning, noon and night if you weren't firm from the beginning and they never seemed to have a whit of shame about it either.

In the end Bridie needn't have worried, for her wedding day was wonderful from start to finish. The beautiful Nuptial Mass was said by Father Shearer with Tom's Father Flynn to assist him.

Unbeknown to Bridie, Father Flynn had taken a great interest in the courtship between her and Tom. When Tom had first come to the Mission, he'd been a confused and worried man. His arrival was followed by an impassioned letter from the Bishop, putting Father Flynn in the picture in case Tom hadn't told him everything.

However, Tom had. The words had spilled from him and Father Flynn knew almost immediately that, though Tom was a devout and ardent Catholic, he would not make a good priest. He didn't tell Tom this, but let him come to that realisation himself. He did, however, write to the Bishop. Although the Bishop had given no instructions to Father Flynn, he knew that he really wanted him to quell any doubts Tom might have and set him on the right path again. Father Flynn knew that could never be and he was doing his friend no favours allowing him to think it might.

When Tom returned in December after his father's illness, he was subdued, and Father Flynn knew something had happened to him in Ireland. He bided his time and eventually Tom told him of the girl he'd been attracted to on the journey home, but she had refused to see him again once they'd reached Birmingham. ‘Is the girl a Catholic, Tom?'

‘Oh yes, Father.'

‘And did you tell her you were once destined for the priesthood?'

‘Aye, Father.'

‘Maybe that was it, Tom,' the priest said. ‘Maybe she was unnerved by that knowledge.'

‘What should I do?'

‘About this girl, nothing,' Father Flynn said. ‘If she's disappeared into the city, and all you know is her first name, you have little hope of tracing her. The thing to do is decide your own future first.'

‘I don't want to be a priest, Father.'

Father Flynn smiled. ‘I must say that's come as no great surprise,' he said. ‘And I'm glad to hear it, I must say, if you are being attracted to young ladies.'

‘Only one young lady, Father,' Tom protested.

‘One so far,' the priest countered, and then went on, ‘but joking apart, Tom, you should write directly to the Bishop and resign your place at the seminary if you feel that the priesthood is not for you.'

‘I intend to do that, Father,' Tom said. ‘I'm just sorry I didn't do it before I met Bridie.'

Father Flynn thought Tom had little chance of seeing Bridie again but when he had found her and she had agreed to walk out with him he'd been astounded. Tom brought her to the Mission to meet him and he'd known straightaway why Tom had been so drawn to her. She was beautiful, it was true, but it was more than just that: she had an air of fragility and vulnerability that would make most men want to look after her.

It was belied by her voice though. Melodious as it was, you knew behind it was a woman of strong principles and determination. There was something else too hiding behind her eyes, something in her past maybe. He had mentioned it to Father Shearer, but he knew of nothing that could have caused it.

They wouldn't ever know either because, by tacit consent, both Tom and Bridie had agreed to say nothing to the clergy about the abortion.

‘Well, whatever it was that upset her, it's over now, thank God,' Father Flynn said to Father Shearer. ‘Let's hope it'll fade from her mind totally now she is married to Tom, for it's obvious they are made for each other.'

‘Aye,' Father Shearer agreed. ‘Though Mary told me their parents were none too keen on Bridie's marriage.'

‘Oh?'

‘It seems they thought they'd have her beside them for some years yet, if not for ever,' Father Shearer said. ‘She's the second daughter to come to Birmingham and find a husband and she was the youngest. They feel the loss of her keenly.'

‘Well, Tom's parents were, understandably, not too enthusiastic either.'

‘Aye,' Father Shearer said, ‘I can see they wouldn't be and yet when you see Tom and Bridie together, you know they are very much in love.'

‘Aye, yes indeed,' Father Flynn said, and they looked across the room to the couple surrounded by friends and neighbours. Bridie had been stunned by the numbers in the streets around waiting to see her leave her aunt's house earlier that day. She'd been reduced to tears by those who'd rushed forward and pressed presents into her hands when she knew they had so little themselves.

And now there was this wonderful reception that her aunt had insisted on paying for. Bridie held tight to her young husband's hands as if she couldn't bear to let him go. She was happy, so wonderfully, gloriously happy, she didn't know how you could feel this elated and not explode from it.

Her eyes suddenly caught those of the priests watching her and she raised her free hand to wave to them. The smile she gave was so radiant and so beautiful that Father Flynn gave a short gasp and understood fully why Tom loved Bridie McCarthy so much. He sent up a silent prayer asking God to care for them and give them happiness and maybe, in time, a fine family.

Ellen and Sam had bought the couple a double bed, for Ellen said they could hardly share the single one Bridie had, and Mary gave them two complete sets of sheets and an eiderdown. Terry had already sent a card with a twenty-dollar bill inside. It made up in a way for the lack of response from Tom's parents and Bridie's own after they had written and given them the date of their wedding. Hurt, Bridie still refused to let their silence mar their day.