‘I will be the judge of that,’ Biddy had snapped. ‘The girl is in my care and I will do as I see fit.’
Nellie had said nothing further, knowing it anyway to be futile, but took the two letters from Biddy with a heavy heart and so, as she listened to Tom, she wasn’t unduly surprised.
‘I thought there was something not quite right when I saw the harsh way she treated her outside the church last Sunday,’ she said. ‘We were all looking forward to meeting Nuala’s daughter and my, when I saw how she resembled her mother, it was like taking a step back in time. And then the priest came over to greet them and your mother spouted it out about Molly’s father. I could hardly believe it, and you could see young Molly was upset. Everyone was on about it after.’
It was the first Tom knew of any of this. ‘What about her father?’
Nellie told him what his mother had said. Tom was angered and understood Molly vowing that she would not let anyone denigrate her parents and go unchallenged ever again. He burst out, ‘Do you know, I don’t give a tinker’s cuss whether the man was a Catholic, a Protestant or a Hindu. He was a good father to Molly and that, as far as I am concerned, is that. You should hear how she talks of him – of all of them. It would break your heart, especially as she is so brave, yet her loss was surely a grievous one. And it must have made things worse to be then ripped away from all that was familiar to her, including her grandfather, who seemed such an important part of her life.’
‘It must be hard for her right enough,’ Nellie said. ‘I would say a little understanding and compassion wouldn’t come amiss.’
‘Nor would I,’ Tom said.
‘Molly needs time away from the farm,’ Nellie said. ‘She needs to meet and mix with people her own age and that was one of the reasons I asked her to tea at our house. You don’t think your mother might forbid her to come?’
‘Oh, yes I do,’ Tom said. ‘But I have been puzzling over a way to get around this and I think if you were to ask her in front of people before church in the morning, as if you had just thought of it, and get the priest to endorse it, as it were, we just might get my bloody mother to agree and without too much of a row and ruction.’
‘God, Tom, how did you ever get a mother like Biddy?’ Nellie asked with a laugh. ‘You are one of the nicest and most nonconfrontational people I know.’
‘Even the mildest worm can turn,’ Tom said. ‘And even if I won’t do it for me, maybe I will for Molly.’
‘Well, that is a sight I would like to see anyway,’ Nellie said. ‘But don’t you worry about this Sunday. I will prime the neighbours as well as the priest, and between the lot of us we will have Biddy eating out of the palm of our hands.’
‘Hah, I doubt that very much.’
‘And so do I really,’ Nellie said with a grim little smile. ‘However, for Molly’s sake we will do our best.’
As soon as they reached the church that Sunday morning, Cathy pounced on Molly and spirited her away, saying she wanted to introduce her to her friends. And Molly went without asking, or even giving Biddy a look of any sort. Biddy could see her now in a group of young girls like herself, laughing and talking fifteen to the dozen as if she had known them all her life, and she vowed she would make Molly pay for that act of wilfulness when she got her home.
Then to cap it all, Nellie was by her elbow, asking if Molly could come to tea with them that evening. Before Biddy had a chance to say that she couldn’t, everyone else took up the conversation, saying what a great idea and how grand it was for young people, like, to be together. Even the priest joined in.
‘Molly has duties at home,’ Biddy said through tight lips.
‘Ah, but less on Sunday, surely?’ said the priest. ‘The Good Lord did not labour on the seventh day, on the Sabbath. It’s not just for resting either, particularly for the young. It is for doing things you can’t do on the other days of the week, like taking a walk perhaps, or visiting a friend. I can’t think of anything nicer than Molly calling for tea with Cathy McEvoy.’
Biddy could think of a host of things she would rather have the girl do, but she felt as if she was caught in a corner. She would have said she hadn’t a whit of interest in the townspeople and their opinion mattered not a jot to her, but Nellie McEvoy was the postmistress and that position meant power. It wouldn’t do to make a real enemy of her. And then, of course, there was the priest. Biddy knew that this time, anyway, she would have to let the bloody girl go to tea with Nellie and her family, and she would wish her joy of it because if she had her way it would be for the last time.
However, Biddy was no fool. She knew that the fiasco had been engineered and could have an educated guess as to who was behind it too: the son she had once thought she could count on. The thought that she might be losing her influence over Tom put her in a filthy temper, and so she scowled her way through the Mass, and once it was over, she scurried from the place, pushing Molly in front of her and calling for Tom to hurry up. She looked neither to the right nor to the left and addressed no one as they made their way home. That gave the townsfolk something else to discuss over their dinner.
Tom and Molly had to put up with Biddy’s ill humour all day. Her nagging and complaining reached new heights and Molly got more than one unwarranted slap. But she didn’t care, not that day, when, with the dinner eaten and the dishes washed and put away, she took up her coat. Tom whistled to Skip and Fly as they crossed the cobbled yard, and together they walked across the fields to Buncrana and Cathy’s place above the post office.
‘I’m so glad that you could come,’ Cathy said.
‘And me,’ Molly said fervently. ‘I had my doubts I’d be let when your mother asked me last week.’
‘I know,’ Cathy said, and she giggled. ‘I think Mammy and your uncle hatched something between them yesterday. I was going to go into the post office and saw them with their heads together. I couldn’t hear what they were saying and all, but then this morning, as we set off for Mass, Mammy said for me to get you away from your grandmother with some excuse. Well, that was easy because all the other girls wanted to meet you. I tell you, Molly, you have been the subject of many of our conversations. I thought you would be joining us at the school, tell you the truth.’
‘I would rather be at school any day in comparison to the drudge I am fast turning into,’ Molly told Cathy firmly. ‘Anyway,’ she added, ‘I should be there. I’m not fourteen and won’t be until February.’
‘Then why … ?’
‘My grandmother said I had enough book-learning and that more of it would not fit me any better for life on the farm.’
‘And you would rather be at school?’
‘Much rather.’
‘I can’t wait to leave.’
‘Yeah, but what are you leaving to?’ Molly said. ‘Your mother runs the shop and post office so I suppose there will be some employment for you?’
‘Oh, aye,’ Cathy said. ‘It’s what she wants for me, now I am the only one left. I have two sisters and two brothers, but they have all left home now and are, anyway, much older than me. Really, it was like being an only child in many ways.’
‘It was the other way round in our house,’ Molly said. ‘I am eight years older than my brother, and yet my parents, particularly my mother, made us both feel very special in different ways.’
There was silence in the room for a few moments and Molly felt the changed atmosphere and said a little apprehensively, ‘What’s up? What did I say that was so wrong?’
‘Nothing,’ Cathy said. ‘I mean, look, Molly, I was warned not to say one word about your mother and you just came out with it so natural.’