The Honeymoon Night
“No, Thomas, Uncle Ned can hear you,” Cassie said breathlessly, wriggling out from beneath her husband.
Frustrated and disappointment Thomas raised his voice in anger. “That’s what you said every time I came near you when we stayed with the Callachan’s. I thought things would be different here,” he said buttoning up his waistcoat and pulling on his coat.
Cassie’s pale skin grew pink with embarrassment. “Shush, keep your voice down he’ll hear you.”
Thomas’s clenched his jaw and for the first time since they’d married six months before he left without kissing her. Stepping out of the small side room that opened directly into the kitchen where Ned was busy at his work bench nailing on a pair of new heels on a woman’s boots.
“That not a bad day,” Ned commented. Thomas passed by his face set like flint. He made for the short hallway that housed a few pantry shelves and the only door in the cottage
Ned turned his head but his new lodger’s only acknowledgement was the sharp clatter of the door latch as it fell back into its keeper. Stepping out Thomas rammed his cap on his head. At the gate he turned left in the direction of the village.
Ned glanced toward the bedroom door at the sound of the soft sniffled crying of his niece. Scratching his unshaven chin he placed the unfinished boot on the bench. Striking a light from the range he lit his pipe. His cheeks hollowed as he pulled on the reluctant tobacco. After five or six puffs the pipe began to draw and coughing Ned went outside to get away from the sound of Cassie’s soft sobbing.
“Somethin’ has to be done,” he muttered leaning his back against the rough bark of a pear tree. “But what can an oul bachelor like me do,” he asked looking up into the leafy branches above his head.” She’s a married woman now. Her father has no more responsibility for her. That’s Thomas’s job now.” He sighed. “He’s not making much of a fist of it. He is thinkin’ wi’ what’s in his trousers? That’s not going; to work with our wee Cassie.”
He cursed. His pipe had gone out. “Waste o’ me money,” he said. Tapping the bowl against the green bark he knocked out the old residual tobacco. Searching in his shirt pocket he found a wad of fresh tobacco. Tearing a bit off with his teeth he spat in the direction of the midden where he emptied the ashes from the range and pressed the tobacco into the bowl. Bending down he struck a match against the heel of his boot and lit up.
He drew in. A small grey curl of smoke tickled his nose. He half closed his lids and breathed in its aroma “What’s to be done about our Cassie,” he asked the dancing curl of smoke. As if in answer to his question he heard the sound of the loose gravel crunch beneath a steady foot on the road.
Ned shifted his weight and stretched his neck to see over the hedge. The visiting rector from the Presbyterian Church in the village was taking his morning stroll with his dog.
“Good morning, your Reverence,” Ned said stepping over the small stone wall that bordered the large overgrown plot his new cottage was built on. He often offered up a prayer of sorts for Donegal County Council who had built it for him. Granted, the plot of land was his own. “Your abode is to your pleasing?” Rector Williams said as if he’d read old Ned’s mind.
“Aye, aye yes. “
“How are you coping with the newlyweds? he asked politely.
The damp tobacco went out again. Out of respect to the clergyman Ned cursed silently into himself and tapped his pipe sharply against the gatepost in the vain hope it would reignite a spark in the bowl. Ned scratched his chin. “Aye, the newlyweds.” He sighed. “Ye know, sometimes when the days get dark early, the door is barred and the road is empty of folk, ah think it might be nice to have a woman to keep me company and heat me bed…but… Aye, the newlyweds –
“he lowered his voice and stole a furtive look at the cottage door which was moving slightly in a rising breeze coming of the river Deele.,”am happy to suck at me pipe in the light of me lamp and heat me own bed with a few sods of peat dried in the range’s oven.”
The Reverent Williams called his dog to heel and wished he had chosen the quiet leafy road through the ‘Planting’ for his walk. Obviously things were not as they should be with Ned’s house guests. He had only wanted to be neighbourly – not get embroiled in the marriage difficulties of Father O Neill’s Roman Catholic parishioners’ lives. He had enough bother with his own flock. Inside him a small insistent voice told him Old Ned needed his help. “Can I be of any help,” he said sitting down on a stepping style into McDougall’s meadow.
Ned glanced at the young bitch dog cowering in fear of the bull that was eyeballing it from behind the hedge. The Reverent followed his gaze. So that was it. Ned’s niece was too afraid to fulfil her marriage duties as a wife should. Leaning down he gently he stroked the young dog’s head.” She’s young yet and not used to the ways in which she should be subject to her master, “he murmured. “She will learn soon enough.”
Ned startled. Was he talking about his dog or talking about his niece Cassie? “Time and gentle handling is the secret.” He looked up at the clouds scuttling across the sky. “Gentleness and patience are great teachers” Rising, he brushed the grass from his black trouser, raised his hat and wished Ned good day.
Cassie was cleaning the range when he went back inside. He hid a sigh. Ever since she’d married Thomas she cleaned day and night. He hardly knew the place and could find nothing. “Where’s Tom off to in such a hurry,” he asked.
“He’s away to Stranorlar to see the Station Master about a job. He doesn’t want to go back to work in Scotland and he heard there might be a job going as a railway crossing worker. There might even be a railway man’s cottage to go with the job.”
Ned nearly laughed out loud with relief but he contented himself to a small smile. But Cassie’s next words robbed him of his feeling of elation.” I think you only get a house if you have a family,” Cassie said, sighting.
“Or, expecting…” Ned said hopefully..Cassie blushed bright red and rubbed furiously at the black iron fender with a cloth smothered in black lead. Ned reached out and stilled her hand. “Thomas is a good man,” he said quietly. “He’ll do you no harm. He’s your husband. You shouldn’t deny his dutiful rights.” He wanted to say, you’re’ married long enough now. Your belly should be swelling, but remembering Reverent William’s comments about gentleness and patience being good teachers he held back the words.
Cassie like the child she still turned her face into his rough shirt like she had done all her young life when she was troubled.
Gently Ned stroked the crown of her head. “If Thomas gets the job and if there’s a house you can take the bed and the wardrobe. And am sure a can get Wily Weir to get you and Thomas a table and bits and pieces from Weir’s Auction Rooms on the Railway Road in Strabane,” he said in a coaxing voice.
His thoughts went back to his own youth. He had only loved one woman. But she had eyes only for another. If things had been different… Cassie could have been his daughter. He thrust the thought away from his mind.
“I’ll take them boots up to Mrs Donnell,” Cassie gulped.
“When I’m up to see oul Weir about the bits of second hand furniture ah’ll drop them in to Donnell’s meself,” Ned said.
“He moved her gently away from him. “I might even call in and have a bottle of stout in Cather’s pub. Hear the gossip from Mrs Cathers . Ye hear more than what ye read in the Donegal Democratic. Ah might be a while,” he said giving her a sideway glance. “There’s a bit of a ‘wake’ on the night for the young Gallacher fella whose takin’ the boat for America.”
“What about your dinner?”
“Weir’s is a good house for a bite of grub. Don’t bother with the spuds.” He gave a dry cough. “Thomas will be back long before me.” He hesitated.” You’ll have the place to yerself for a change,” He said
“You’ll be late, then.”
Ned laughed. “They’ll be singing and shaking hands with the immigrant ‘til the clouds of the morning. Aye, the critter could be to the Derry boat and back by the time it takes to wish him god speed. “
After he’d gone Cassie thought on her Uncle Ned’s words. “Thomas is a good man. He’ll never do you harm.” She thought back on how much she loved Thomas’s kisses and couldn’t wait to be married and be his wife in every way. Her heart quickened.
Going around the side of the cottage she checked if the old water barrel that caught the rain was full. Before she could change her mind she filled the big iron pot she used for washdays and filling the range to the mouth with dry peats she dragged the pot over the jumping flames.
Pulling the bar across the door she set the big tin bath in front of the range ready for the warm water. Then, she went in the side room and took out the flimsy nightdress she had bought for her wedding night. Loosening her hair from its pins she shook it free.
Tonight she’d be a wife to Thomas…
Gemma Hill 2021 ©
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