Forgiving Michael Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

Wiseman's Creek, January, 1868

 ‘I'm sorry we've seen so little of each other these last few months. Kathryn hugged Nora at the front gate. ‘I was going to drop in a few times but this is the first day I've been out on my own and I did want to speak to you alone.’

     ‘Tis all right, Kathryn. I know Hamlet doesn't want us to be having so much contact, what with the business with Tom and Elizabeth. I don't know what we're to do, sure I don't, for Tom is quite determined that they'll marry sooner or later, even if they have to wait until they no longer need Hamlet's permission. Nor Michael's for that matter, for he's home again. He arrived out of the blue right on Christmas with the usual few trinkets and the hide to believe he'd be welcomed with open arms.’

     ‘So he doesn't approve of Tom and Elizabeth's intentions either?’

     ‘Goodness, no. He heard Mary talking about it. Tom tells him nothing but Mary's not inclined to keep quiet about much at all these days and so out it came. Michael thrashed about like a mad man, saying things I'd not repeat. What is it with these men? Surely they can see their children are deeply in love and what's the harm in it? I don't understand. Tom and Elizabeth would make a good life together. Anybody with half a brain ought to be able to see that.’

     ‘Hamlet and Michael are not considering this with their brains, sure they're not. But I'll not be kept from my dearest friend over it forever. I'm being a wee bit careful at the moment for Hamlet's upset about our Johnny as well and I'm worried his health is suffering. He's not a young man anymore, as he keeps reminding me.’

     ‘What's happened to Johnny?’

     ‘He's decided that he's going off on a stock drive up north. It seems he can't wait any longer and what with James working at the Quinns, Hamlet fears the farm will go to rack and ruin. Johnny just announced it a few days ago and he's off in a week or so. One of the big properties has a large herd they want shifted and he wants the experience. He says he'll be back by the end of the year but Hamlet's afraid once he's gone he won't come back at all. The boys want to make their own way in the world and we have to accept it. But it means we'll only have the three girls at home and while they work as hard as the boys, they're younger and not so strong and Hamlet just can't see us keeping things going.’

     ‘I'm so sorry, Kathryn. I wish I could say my boys would help but the way Hamlet is he'd not want that and there's really only Tom, for Joseph and Mick are not much use.  Especially now with Michael at home. He's such a bad influence on them. He keeps babbling on about the adventures they'll have with him out in the big wide world one day. He makes them so discontented. I don't know what to do about that, either.’

     ‘Tis the worries of the world we have upon us at the moment, is it not? But it'll change, sure it will. It always does and in the mean time, we must bide our time and ask the good Lord to help us through it.’

     Norah nodded. ‘I'd best get back inside. Mary has the little ones out the back feeding the chickens but they'll be done, I'm sure. Michael was still in bed when I came out for a bit of fresh air but he'll be wanting a feed soon, no doubt.’

     ‘And I'll get back to O'Connell. I've a cart full of fruit and vegetables here and it might cheer Hamlet up if I can sell them all.’

     Norah heard Michael's snoring as soon as she opened the door so she pulled it closed quietly and headed back outside. She could see Mary with William and Therese playing in the shade of the large gum tree in the back yard. It was her favourite tree. She had watched it grow very tall in the sixteen years they had been at the farm, its leafy branches spreading widely across the paddock. Magpies had nested in it for the last few years, their chortling often the first thing she heard in the mornings as she woke. They were a comfort to her, a reassurance that life here on their tiny piece of land was fruitful and good.

     She turned her attention to Tom who was turning over ground in the garden. As she approached him she could see the muscles rippling in his tanned arm, the sweat dripping from his forehead.

     ‘It looks like you could do with a wee break. You hardly stop for a moment these days.’

     ‘I've nothing to stop for, Ma.’ Tom kept digging, his teeth clenched tightly.

     ‘I wish you'd take it a little easy, son. I worry about you.’

     ‘It's not me you should be worrying about. Joseph and Mick are the ones who'll end up in trouble.’

     ‘I know it's hard when your father is around but it's likely he'll take off any time. The boys will be better then.’

     Tom drove his shovel into the ground and looked at his mother. ‘I'm not sure they'll ever be better, Ma. I'm afraid they have too much of their father in them.’

     ‘He's your father, too,’ she said quietly.

     ‘More's the pity.’

     ‘Kathryn just came by.’ She saw Tom's expectant look. ‘She worries about this situation with you and Elizabeth.’

     ‘I'm sorry that it's causing you and her heartache, Ma. But there's nothing I can do about that. I'm twenty-one in a few months and as soon as Elizabeth comes of age we'll be wed and there's nothing her father can do about it. She's beside herself with – ’   ‘You've been seeing her?’

     ‘Best you don't ask. Then there's nothing for you to tell. I won't be kept from her and that's that.’ Tom began digging again, his determination evident as he drove the shovel into the ground. 

     Norah sighed and headed back into the house.

     Stepping through the back door she could still hear Michael's snoring. She moved quietly to the small shelf against the back wall and lifted up the pile of newspapers that lay there. She pulled out a small package and opened it gently. It was a copy of Henry Kendall's new book of poems. She had bought it last time she had been in Kelso, but she was determined not to show it to anyone until Michael had gone from the house, for she was afraid he would destroy it. He hated her reading. And she hated keeping it a secret, especially from Mary, who would enjoy it as much as she did herself. She pulled the small book out and opened the cover but then closed it again quickly when she heard Michael stir.

     She had just replaced it under the papers when he staggered into the room. 

     ‘What's all the blasted noise out here?’ he said roughly.

     Norah could see none of the old softness that used to surface in Michael once in while. Since he had been home this time, his voice had been harsh, his eyes had a haunted look and he was constantly glancing behind him, as if he expected someone to be sneaking up on him. 

     ‘There's not a sound in the house,’ she answered evenly. ‘You must have been dreaming.’

     ‘Don't argue with me, girl. Where's the boys?’

     ‘I sent them to the creek to get water but they've been gone for an age. They're probably swimming. It's what they usually do.’

     ‘An' don't be pickin' on 'em, either. ou an' Tom are always pickin' on the boys,’ he mumbled as he swerved towards the table and dropped into a seat. ‘What's to eat?’

     ‘I'll heat up some porridge if you like.’

     Michael didn't answer. He dragged his hands through his unruly beard and slumped onto the table. Norah pulled the pot of porridge back over the fire and began to stir it. A moment later, she felt her skirt being tugged roughly and as she turned Michael dragged her across his knee.

     ‘You weren't so nice to me las' night.’

     His breath was putrid on her face and Norah was disgusted by the leer in his eyes. She had been grateful that he had fallen asleep quickly the night before after groping at her body for a few minutes. She was finding it increasingly difficult to abide physical contact with him, although most nights his attempts at love making ended in him giving up in frustration with his own impotence or slumping onto her body heavily as he fell asleep. It was only her want to avoid waking the children that prevented her from resisting his attentions altogether.

     Now, as she gathered her thoughts, she pushed herself back onto her feet and straightened her clothes, glaring at him.

     ‘Don't presume to be having your way with me, Michael. You've long since lost the privilege due to a husband, for you've not behaved like one for many years. So I'll thank you for leaving me be. Now, I'll get you something to eat and if you'll take off those filthy clothes I'll wash them for you.’

     Her eyes flashed with determination and as she stood over him, she saw him cower at her words. Feeling satisfied that she had made herself perfectly clear, she turned back to the porridge pot. She didn't hear Michael stand, and the crashing thud to the side of her head that sent her reeling to the floor took her completely by surprise. 

     ‘You'll do just as yer told,’ he bellowed, standing spread eagle across her body, swaying as he struggled to maintain his balance.

     Although she had almost blacked out, Norah forced herself onto her side, and while she was trying to stand up, he rammed his foot into her back, pushing her flat again, this time on her face. She cried out as the breath was knocked from her. Then, horrified, she felt Michael's body drop heavily onto hers as he began to grapple with her skirt with one hand, pushing her face into the hard dirt floor with the other.

     Suddenly, the back door opened and she cringed as she heard her son's voice calling Michael names she had never heard Tom use. Then, the weight lifted from her body and Michael was thrown across the room. 

     ‘Get out! Get out and don't come back!’ Tom yelled, dragging his father towards the door.

     Norah watched in horror as Tom banged his father's head against the doorjamb and threw him onto the ground outside the hut. She pulled herself to her feet and hurried towards Tom, grabbing his arm.

     ‘No, Tom, no. He's not worth it. You'll regret it if you hurt him.’

     ‘I'll not regret it if I kill him,’ he snarled, pulling his arm from her grip and charging towards Michael's prostrate body.

     He took hold of his father's shirt with both hands and hauled him to his feet, spinning him around. Michael's eyes were blank with shock. Drool poured from the side of his mouth, which hung open in a hideous grimace. He lifted both arms to protect his face and staggered backwards away from his son. Tom looked at him with contempt and dropped his arms to his side, breathing heavily.

     ‘You're right, Ma. He's not worth it.’ He brushed his clothes down as if they had been contaminated by contact with something putrid. Then he took a deep breath and moved a step closer to Michael, who backed up instinctively.

     ‘You're not welcome here. Ma's worked her hands to the bone to make this place a home for us and you're not part of it. Do you hear me? Now you get your things and get back in that cart of yours and get out of here before I do something I might well be sorry for.’

     Norah saw Michael shudder at the strength and anger of his son. He flinched and sniffed loudly, his eyes darting about as if he was trying to think of some way to challenge what was being said to him. But after a moment, his shoulders slumped and Norah knew he was resigned.

     ‘I've me coat…inside…an' me bag. Then I'll be goin'. I was ready t' leave anyway.  I've things to be about.’

     Michael’s attempts to sound in control were almost laughable, but Tom kept a straight face and stood to one side as his father shuffled into the hut and returned, his coat, stiff with the grime of many years, under one arm. His canvas bag, which he had not opened in anyone's presence since he came home, was under the other arm, its torn handle hanging loosely over the side. He limped to the cart, which he never unpacked, and which, as far as they knew, still held the camping and gold digging equipment of the poor miner from whom he had stolen it.

     As he readied the horse and climbed onto the bench seat, Norah was aware that Mary stood watching from under the gum tree; William and Therese either side of her.  Michael didn't even glance in their direction as his horse started slowly towards the open gate. Only Joseph and Mick would be upset at their father's departure, she thought sadly.  And this time, they would know that he didn't leave of his own accord, for Mary would surely give them a full description of his last few minutes at home. 

Tom worked feverishly over the following months, driving the boys hard so that they helped around the farm, and in his spare time, he built an extra room on the hut and lined the walls with old newspapers to keep out the winter cold.

     Elizabeth was terribly impressed when she saw it, although at first, she was sure that he had done it so he could lie in bed and read his favourite news stories. The roof was made of iron – a continuation of the roof he had built earlier over the other rooms – and it had rained enough times for him now to feel confident that he and Elizabeth would keep perfectly dry no matter what the weather. 

     ‘I'm so happy, Tom.’ Elizabeth said quietly as they sat close together under the large tree at the back of the hut. ‘I know you'll look after me well, even if Pa doesn't think so.’

     ‘We'll have more, Lizzie. A place of our own, just as soon as I can get the boys working well enough to keep this place going for Ma. Joseph's eleven now and he’s getting better. I'm not sure Mick will ever shape up.’

     ‘It's fine, Tom. I won't mind being here. As long as we're together, I'll be happy.’

     ‘I know, but if I'm ever to have your father's approval, I'll have to do better than this.’

     ‘Pa has made his choice. It makes me sad but I'll not let him spoil our happiness. It's Ma I feel for. She's so mad at him and she hates to be. But he's just so unreasonable when it comes to you. I don't understand. He's always been such a fair man.’

     ‘Except when it comes to my Pa, if you can even call him that.’

     ‘I wonder where he is, Tom. He's been away a good while again, and you had that terrible fight. Do you think maybe he won't come back at all?’                               

     ‘I wish he wouldn't, but it won't surprise me if he turns up again just as bold as you like, expecting to come right back into the home.’

     ‘What would you do?’

     ‘I don't know. It would depend on Ma, but I don't think she wants him back either.  She's well able to manage without him, with some help from me, of course. She does still have her work cut out with the boys, but he's no help there.’

     ‘And she gets so unhappy about Rebecca. I feel sad for her. Do you think your sister's still alive?’

     ‘I imagine so. But she deserves a whipping for not letting Ma know where she is.  One day all these things will sort themselves out, Lizzie. Don't you worry yourself.’

     ‘I won't.’ She pressed in close to him. ‘When I'm with you I'll have nothing to worry about at all.’

It was a cold and windy June night and the first thud on the iron roof woke Norah from a deep sleep. Thinking it must be a branch fallen from the tree, she rolled over and drew Theresa close to her body for warmth. The next thud became a clattering bounce directly above her and she sat up feeling about the floor for her coat. There was no sound of movement from behind the curtain which hung between the boys' beds and the one she shared with Mary and Theresa. She moved as quietly as she could into the kitchen, only to find Tom was already there, stoking the fire under the stove. The dim light it provided flickered into life and threw pale shadows across the walls. There was another bang outside. 

     ‘That wind's bad out there. Must be branches flying about,’ she said, hugging her ragged shawl around her.

     The next crash onto the roof made Norah and Tom realise that it wasn't branches.

     ‘That was a rock! Somebody must have thrown it.’ Tom said quietly, holding his finger to his lips.

     ‘Tom, no. Who would…? Dear Lord.  Do you think it might be your – ’

     ‘Who else? I've been wondering when Pa might turn up. But why would he be throwing rocks on the roof?’

     There was another crash and a small cry from Theresa.

     ‘I'll go to her, Tom. But don't go outside. Tis dark as pitch out there. Goodness knows what your father's up to.’

     The sound of a man's voice stopped them both in their tracks.

     ‘Mick Kearns!' The shout came from just outside the door. ‘Don't make us come in after you. We know you're in there.’

     ‘Not again,’ Norah whispered, her voice shaking. ‘Someone's after him, Tom, like before. God knows what he's been stealing now.’

     ‘Go in with the children, Ma. I'll see to this,’ Tom said fiercely. ‘And send Joseph out here. It sounds like there's more than one.’

     After a bit of shuffling, Joseph appeared in the kitchen, his hair dishevelled, his face drowsy with sleep.

     ‘What's up?’ he said wildly.

     There was a loud banging on the door and a different voice this time. 

     ‘We'll not be leavin', Mick. Open the door or we'll smash the bloody thing in.’

     ‘Who is it?’ Joseph grabbed at Tom's shirt.

     Norah stood in the doorway of the bedroom, fearful for her little ones behind her and watching her sons trying to be brave.

     ‘I don't know who it is,’ Tom said, his eyes fixed on the door.

     He moved to the stove and picked up the poker, handing it to Joseph. Then he ducked around the table to where their gun was leaning on the wall. He loaded it and moved back so that he was standing in front of the door. Motioning for Joseph to stand further back he reached out for the handle, then threw the door open and raised his gun so that the barrel was almost touching the man who nearly fell into the room.

     ‘What the...’ The man stumbled and regained his balance. ‘Whoa there, son,’ he said, backing away from the gun. ‘We've no argument with you. Where's Mick?’ He had to yell over the noise of the gusting wind which nearly whipped his hat off. One hand flew to his head to hold it on.

     Norah was relieved to see the man had no weapon.   

     ‘If you mean my father, I've no idea,’ Tom said. ‘He hasn't been here for months.  He's not welcome here and neither are you. Now leave or I'll...’

     Tom waved the gun at the man. Norah could now see that there were at least two others standing in the shadows outside. She could hear their long coats flapping in the wind. Joseph moved up closely behind his brother, raising the poker in the air. Norah knew he could easily be provoked into a fight, for she had seen him start one on more than one occasion. She was glad when Tom spoke to him quietly.

     ‘Easy, Joseph. I'm sure these men will go now that they can see Pa's not here.’

     ‘How do we know the little weasel's not hidin' in there?’ A gruff voice came from the dark.

     ‘Cause I'm telling you he's not here. That's why,’ Tom said firmly. ‘My Ma and brothers and sisters are inside. That's all. What do you want Pa for?’

     ‘He's taken our gold, is what,’ the man in front of Tom snarled. ‘We worked hard for it and he tricked us. Made out he was one of the soldiers come to ride guard for us back to Bathurst. It's mad out there since the new vein's been discovered. Men everywhere.’

     ‘Out where?’ Tom asked.

     ‘Hillend. Haven't yer 'eard about it?’

     Tom peered over the shoulders of the man in front of him at the sound of this third voice. ‘No, we're not much interested in news of gold diggings. We're just farmers, minding our own business. Like I said, we haven't seen Pa in months. What he gets up to is not our concern.’

     ‘I'll tell you what he's been up to,’ the front man said loudly. ‘After he got our haul we made it our business to find out who he was, and if we'd been warned he'd have lost his head before he got near our cart. There's plenty have suspected him of bein' up to no good but they've not been able to prove anything. Men work damned hard for what they dig, and it's the likes of Mick Kearns that turns hard workin' men into killers. He'll get what he deserves one of these days.’

     ‘If we get 'old of 'im, it'll be sooner rather than later,’ one of the other men cut in.

     ‘I understand,’ Tom said, ‘but I can't help you. I doubt he'd show his face here either.  He's done his family no favours with his thieving over the years. None of us have benefited one bit.’

     ‘I'm inclined to believe him, boys.’ The first man half turned to his mates. ‘I just hope some of the other diggers he's robbed don't come after him. They'd not be so ready to talk before they shoot, I reckon. Your father's made quite a name for himself…well a few names, it seems. But now the word's about he's not likely to fool too many more. I'd get your family well protected if I were you, son.’

     The man backed away, still watching Tom's gun, and the three disappeared into the shadowy night. Above the wind in the trees, Norah heard the retreating hooves of their horses. Tom was shivering as he pushed the door closed. Joseph's face was pale. 

     ‘Get by the fire and warm up before you go back to bed,’ Tom said to his brother. ‘I don't think they'll be back.’

     ‘No but others might,’ Joseph spat. ‘And what about Pa? Sounds like there's more than them would like to shoot him.’

     ‘So what's new about that?’

     ‘You don't even care, if they shoot him, do you?’ Joseph stoked the fire roughly and then stood tall, challenging his brother.

     ‘No, I don't, to tell you the truth. He's a thief and a madman. I'm surprised someone hasn't done him in already.’

     ‘That's enough, boys,’ Norah said, coming up behind them. She stoked up the fire and pushed the kettle back over the heat. 

     Tom quietly herded Joseph back to bed and sat with her. They drank tea together in silence, an unspoken understanding between them. 

To be continued....

Carol Preston

http://www.carolpreston.com.au

http://www.amazon.com/author/carolpreston

http://www.facebook.com/writingtoreach

 

Forgiving Michael Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

God invented forgiving as a remedy for a

past that not even He could change and

not  even He could forget.  Lewis B.  Smedes

Stoney Creek, April, 1856

Stories of the ravages of the Cholera outbreak filtered back slowly. The Quinns had lost their eldest daughter along with three grandchildren. The Lynch's three young children had suffered badly and, eventually, only one had survived. There were many similar stories. The whole Bathurst area reeled from the loss.

     ‘You can't blame Michael, Hamlet, sure you can't, for there's so many.’ Kathryn pleaded. ‘I might have got it regardless of little Mary being here. We need to be thankful that baby Annie has survived. Tis a miracle she's here and look how well she's doing now.’

     ‘All I know is that every time Michael Kearns comes anywhere near us, we suffer.  Either God is punishing me for my early sins or the devil himself is in that man and he's cursed me.’ Hamlet paced the floor, his face despairing. 

     ‘God is not punishing you. You've been a good man for many years now and God does not mete out punishment like that anyway, sure He doesn't. You heard Father O'Reilly say as much at the funeral. And as for the devil being in Michael, well in that he's no different to the rest of us, for the devil will get his way with any he can. Granted, Michael seems to go along with him more often than many.’

     ‘There you are then, you've as much as admitted it.’ Hamlet’s eyes flew open. ‘Michael sent that child to us when Norah was asleep. He thinks of no one but himself and that always spells trouble for someone.’

     ‘Oh, Hamlet, whatever the truth is, we can't be burdened down with this. I know Norah's blaming herself and it's just no good. The whole area has suffered terrible loss and we've to pull together, not apart. The Quinns want to hold a memorial service in a few weeks and I want to be there and support the others who have lost loved ones. We can be a comfort to each other. I do want to go and see Norah first, though. She's stayed away these past two months because she knew we needed time but she's my dearest friend. She's the one who suffers most from Michael's ways.’

     ‘She made a very bad choice when she married Michael Kearns…and it will cause her grief all her life, you mark my words.’

     Kathryn sighed deeply. ‘Well, I made a bad choice with my first love, as well, and if it hadn't been for Norah, the results of it may well have killed me. I'll not abandon her.  She needs me now.’

     Hamlet nodded. Kathryn ached for him. She knew how hard it was for him to accept that Michael Kearns would continue to be in their life.

 

At Wiseman's Creek, Michael tried to convince his wife that a break from the Pollards would be good for them as well. 

     ‘Stop yer mopin' about, girl. If that stuck up woman wants nothin' to do with yer, then yer better off, I say. There's others about would be better friends. The Quinns for instance. If you want to comfort someone, go see Mrs Quinn. She lost family, so she did, and makin' friends with that family will be far – ’

     ‘Michael!’ Norah interrupted. ‘You're thinking of how well-off they are, aren't you?  This is a time for considering others, not yourself. I can't imagine how you think you'd benefit from the Quinn's wealth, and I don't want to think about it. I miss Kathryn. She's my friend and if she can forgive me for my part in the loss of her baby then I'll be there quick as a flash. The children miss their friends as well. We've their lives to consider as well, you know.’

     ‘If you're considerin' the future of our children, then all the more reason to befriend the Quinns, I say. Rebecca could do very well hookin' up with one of their sons. God knows there's a few of 'em and the younger ones are about her age. Not that it matters, for aren't I a good bit older than you an' it works for us, an' anyhow, the older ones are more likely to get a good share of the –’

     ‘Stop it. I'm ashamed to hear you speak like this.’ Norah hurried out the back door before Michael could see the tears rolling down her face. She remembered Tom's question to her. Why did God not answer her prayers and change Michael into a good man? What had she done wrong to be in this terrible dilemma? 

Two weeks later, there was a quiet knock on Norah's back door and she was delighted to find Kathryn smiling at her.

     ‘I can't stay now, Norah. I've been in O'Connell and I'm weary. I've spent the morning selling my jams and some fruit. Hamlet will be worried, but I wanted to come out and arrange for you to come over with the children. I've missed you, so I have.’ Kathryn's eyes filled and she reached out. Norah flew into her arms and the two hugged and cried together.

     ‘Oh, Kathryn, I'd so love that, sure I would.’

     ‘Good. Now, you take these last jars of jam for I've more than I can use at home.  Walk with me to the cart. I want you to see our wee baby. She's really bonny, so she is.’

     ‘I'm so pleased, Kathryn. And I'm so sorry.’ Norah dropped her eyes as she followed Kathryn to the cart, searching for words.

     ‘Kathryn held up her hand. ‘Let's not speak of the past. I'm mending, sure I am, and what I need is my good friend. I'll be at the Quinn’s when they have the service for all the lost. Come, and we'll all be a comfort to each other. Bishop Quinn is a relative of Owen and Catherine, and he's coming from Sydney to preside over the service. It will be a blessing, I know it will. Then we'll be moving on, so we will, for we've the future to think of.’ She took Norah's hand and they crept to the back of the cart where, not only baby Annie, but Harriet and Elizabeth were sleeping peacefully.

     ‘They're angels, Kathryn, the three of them.’ Norah whispered, as she hugged Kathryn again. ‘I will come to the Quinns’ next week. I'll see you there.’

‘There you go, girl, over there.’ Michael gave Rebecca a shove towards the group of young boys standing in the corner of the room. The Quinn's home was filled to the walls with small groups of people, some still wiping tears from their eyes after the moving service. 

     ‘Pa, stop.’ Rebecca objected, resisting his push. ‘It's a funeral, an' besides, they're really religious, this family. They'd not take to someone like me.’

     ‘Tis not a funeral, sure it's not. Tis a memorial. Tis what we Irish call a wake an' tis meant to be a celebration of life not a morbid carry on like this. An' besides, this is yer opportunity. Those boys need some cheerin' up, so they do, an' a pretty face like yours is just what the doctor ordered.’ Michael chuckled loudly, causing numerous people to turn in the direction of the Kearns family and frown.

     ‘Please, Michael.’ Norah glared at him. ‘Have a wee bit of respect for these poor souls, for heaven's sake. And Rebecca will not be taking advantage of their grief, sure she won't.’

     Norah took her daughter's arm and they both moved away from Michael and towards Kathryn and Hamlet where the children from both families were huddled, whispering to each other.

     Michael was not pleased with what he saw and overheard.

     ‘Annie slept through the whole service, the wee pet?’ Norah peeked at the tiny face partly covered with a shawl and snuggled against her mother's breast.

     ‘She's always a quiet one.’ Kathryn smiled. ‘I'm glad you're here, Norah. You will visit soon, won't you?’

     ‘I will, sure enough.’ Norah glanced at Hamlet and he smiled at her and nodded.

‘Well, I learned a few things today, me luv.’ Michael grinned at Norah as they headed home as if he had a new plan hatching in his head. She shuddered at the thought.

     ‘Some of the men there were tradesmen, you know, plumbers an' carpenters an' bakers an' such.’

     ‘I know what a tradesman is, Michael,’ she said, trying not to snap at him. ‘Sure, and I'd like to think they might inspire you to take up such work, for tis regular and provides for their families.’ She sighed deeply, knowing she might as well be talking to the horse.

     ‘Not likely, me luv,’ he responded predictably. ‘They were celebratin' the fact that the government 'as just passed a new law reducin' the workin' man's day from ten hours to eight. An eight hour workin' day! Now isn't that somethin' to be 'appy about?" He sneered contemptuously. ‘A man who 'as to slave for someone else for eight hours every day needs 'is 'ead read, if you ask me.’

     ‘And what's the alternative, tell me that? For you're not a bit interested in running a farm, are you now? And don't tell me you've done well at gold mining for you've only benefited from the hard work of others there.’ She kept her voice low, hoping the children in the back of the cart wouldn't be listening.

     ‘That's just it, girl. What else I 'eard is the interestin' part. It seems there are some mighty nasty bushrangers terrorisin' folk around Bathurst an' further west an' there are rewards for their capture that would be worth more than six months' pay for these poor sods workin' 'emselves into the ground for a pittance. Now that's an alternative to consider, is it not?’ He raised himself up on the bench beside her as if expecting her to be impressed.

     She shook her head, her disappointment so great she was unable to think of a thing to say. 

     ‘You'll not be shakin' your 'ead like that when I bring you 'ome one of those fancy new American cookin' stoves, will yer now? The Quinns 'ave one, apparently. I 'eard one of the women say so. Not that I saw it, for they 'ave servants in the kitchen doin' all the work, don't they? No guests get a gurney in there. But tis the thing for the rich, so it is, all the latest inventions. So, 'ow about that, now? Perhaps I'll get you one with the money I make catchin' one o' those bushrangers.’ He smiled smugly.   

     Still unable for find words to respond to Michael’s nonsense, Norah waited until they were almost home before she told him her news.

     ‘In case you're thinking of going off again any time soon, I think I'm pregnant, so I'd appreciate you being around to help, so I would.’

     ‘Don't you be worryin' yer sweet 'ead, me luv. If I go, it'll not be for long for I've got the measure of these bushrangers, so I 'ave.’

Norah was relieved when Christmas drew close with no sign of Michael leaving. He seemed to have forgotten his plan to go after bushrangers and through the Spring he had actually worked a little in the garden, tending to the vegetable patch and fixing some leaks in the roof that had caused them great discomfort through the rainy months of Winter. It seemed to her that he might even be a little excited about the new baby. 

     When she was ready to give birth early in January, he sent Tom to fetch Ellen Foran and instructed Rebecca to take care of young Mary. He stayed with Norah right up until the final hour and was sitting by the stove, drinking hot tea when Ellen popped her head out of the other room to announce that he had a baby son. 

     ‘Both doing well,’ she added, nodding for him to come and see for himself.

     ‘We'll call 'im Joseph, eh, girl?’ Michael had a broad grin as he gazed down at the newborn. ‘Yer did good, girl. Yer did good.’

     ‘Sure, Joseph is a grand name,’ she said softly as she stroked the baby's forehead.  ‘He hasn't stopped wriggling since the early months so he's to be a lively one. Glad to be out and ready to get on with it, sure he is.’

When winter set in again and the days shortened, Michael became restless and Norah was not surprised one July morning when she woke to find him gone. 

     ‘He was so pleased to have a son,’ she told Kathryn two months later. ‘I didn't think he'd go off again. But he gets so agitated when he's not able to get to the hotel easily.  He needs more activity, more excitement.’

     ‘Tis not activity he needs, Norah, for if that were the case he'd be working the farm.  Hamlet works from daylight ’til dark. He gets such satisfaction from seeing what he's achieving for the family, even though it's hard and sometimes very disappointing. Last Winter most of the garden was washed out with the torrential rain but he just got to and built it all again. And when the wind blew that tree right over the corner of the house – frightening it was – but he was up there the next day, wind and all, fixing it up.’

     ‘They're a different breed, sure they are, Michael and Hamlet.’ Norah sighed. ‘I know now that Michael will never work the farm. Tom helps as much as he can but Rebecca's not the least bit interested. She's so like Michael and when he's away, she pines. Not so much for him, I'm thinking, as for whatever adventure she thinks he's having out there.  God help us, I suspect he's off chasing bushrangers now and sooner or later they're bound to get the better of him, for he's not as clever as he thinks he is by half. I worry what will become of us. I wonder if God's abandoned me, sure I do. I must have done something very bad.’

     ‘No, Norah. God has not abandoned you, and what is happening in your life is not because you've done anything bad. You should come into O'Connell with Hamlet and me to St Francis's church. We've been blessed there. We hear good teaching about how God loves us and cares for us, and how He has a plan for all of us. Sometimes it just takes a while to figure out what His plan for us is.’

     ‘I thought the plan for us was to be good wives and mothers. What else have we time for? Tis all I can fit into each day just to feed the children and try to teach them to make good choices. But look at Rebecca. She's nearly fourteen, and all she's interested in is making herself pretty for whatever boys she can find and they're few and far between here, so she says. She'd like to live in town, as Michael would, close to people where there's more going on. I don't think she cares what it is as long as she's not stuck here on the farm.’

     ‘I don't know what you're to do about her. But I do believe there's something to be brought out in you through all the hardship you've suffered. God will turn these things to something good. You wait and see.’

     ‘How long, Kathryn? I'm over thirty. Tis hard to see how my life can change now.’

     ‘Sure it can. You've more brains than most of us. Look at how you're teaching your children to read. Sure, didn't I see Tom with my three biggest just last week, reading to them he was. I thought to myself then, that I would ask you to teach ours as well.’

     Norah looked at Kathryn skeptically. Surely she couldn’t be serious.

     ‘It would be grand for them,’ Kathryn went on excitedly. ‘There's talk that the church will start up a school when they build the new convent. But for now the only schools are in Bathurst. Hamlet and I talked about getting the children some schooling, but it's too hard to get them there and the boys are needed here on the farm.  But you could teach them, so you could. You could have a little class right here. Please say you'll do it, Norah. You'd be so good at it.’

     ‘Michael's not one for schooling. He doesn't like it that I teach Tom to read. He’d be very unhappy if I were to do more than that.’

     ‘And so your life is to be shaped by his likes and dislikes, is it?’ Kathryn spoke as firmly as Norah had heard. ‘You're worth more than that, Norah. You've strengths and abilities Michael knows nothing of and tis a shameful waste not to use them. Please come to church on Sunday and hear the message. It'll encourage you. And the people are very friendly. God knows we all need our friends, don't we?’

     Norah smiled. She couldn't help but be excited by the things Kathryn had said, even though she would never have thought of them by herself. She looked down at baby Joseph, just nine months old and for the last two of them, he had not laid eyes on his father. Already Tom and Mary were inclined to ignore Michael, even when he was about. Perhaps she did have to make a life for herself and her children without Michael, or in spite of him. 

To be continued...

Carol Preston http://www.carolpreston.com.au

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Forgiving Michael Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

None of us want to admit that we hate someone. When we deny our hate we detour around the crisis of forgiveness, we suppress our spite, make adjustments, and make believe we are too good to be hateful. But the truth is that we do not dare to risk admitting the hate we feel because we do not dare to risk forgiving the person we hate. Lewis Smedes.                                                    

Stoney Creek, May, 1853

James Pollard was eight years old now and he was trying not to be frightened. Beyond the door to the bedroom he could hear muffled voices. He was doing his best his best to keep his younger brother and sisters amused, for he knew something very bad was happening with his mother. He had thought by now that they would have another brother or sister. A few days ago his mother had told him it would be soon but when she called him yesterday and told him to get his father, she shrieked at him, which wasn't like her at all. He had known something was very wrong. Now his parents were in the next room, where they had been for hours. Old Mrs Foley was with them and kept shooing his Pa out. James had fed Johnny, Mary Ann and Elizabeth some soup, which had been bubbling on the stove when his mother's trouble had started. He had played as many games with them as he could think of and now he was getting really worried.

     The last time his father came out of the room, he carried a small bundle which James was sure had blood on it, even though his father tried to hide it. If his mother was bleeding, then it must be bad, for he remembered when he cut his foot just after Christmas, there had been a lot of blood and his mother had rushed him inside and bathed his foot in some stuff that stung a lot and then bound it up tight and made him sit for the rest of the afternoon with his leg on a chair. He had heard his mother crying earlier, so perhaps she had to have some of that stuff on her as well. He wished his father would come out again and tell him his mother was all right now because he was starting to feel sick in the stomach. 

‘It was too soon, Hamlet. I knew it was too soon but I couldn't stop it…I'm so sorry.’

Kathryn tried to push away the damp hair that was plastered around her forehead. It was hard to speak. Her mouth was dry and her lips felt like they were stuck together.

     ‘Shush now, luv,’ Hamlet said. ‘You just rest. What matters is that you get well.  I couldn't bear it if you –’

     ‘Don't you be talking like that.’ Kathryn pushed the words out. ‘I'll be fine in a few days, sure I will.’ She breathed in deeply. ‘It was a boy, wasn't it?’

     Hamlet didn't answer for a few moments and then he nodded his head slowly. ‘It was, but you're not to think about that now. I'll get you some broth.’

     Kathryn could see that his eyes were full as he rose. He turned towards the door, his hand slipping from hers as he moved away.

     A child conceived in such joy and so quickly leaving another space for mourning.  They were going to call him Hamlet. She closed her eyes and imagined her baby boy in the arms of an angel.

     ‘Not meant for this world, my darling child. I'll have to wait until the next life to see you, sure I will,’ she whispered to herself as she drifted into sleep. 

     Kathryn remained listless and sad through the cold, bleak winter but as Spring approached, the colour was back in her cheeks. They were feasting on fresh fruit and vegetables from the garden. Hamlet and James had caught eels in the creek, which she thought she could never eat but in fact found very tasty. Their chickens were laying plenty of eggs and the cow was resplendent with milk. Kathryn felt enlivened by the cascade of colours in the trees and shrubs around their cottage. Soft yellow and deep golden wattles were prolific on the property. Grevilleas burst into spidery flowers and dots of coloured wild flowers were beginning to cover the grass. Before the first week of Spring had passed, she knew she was pregnant again. 

     ‘We'll have our first calves before Christmas,’ Hamlet boasted. ‘And I'll take one of the originals in to be slaughtered. We'll have our own beef soon and plenty to dry and keep. I wish we had a whole paddock of stock, hundreds of them, but that's too much to dream of, isn't it? Once we might have dreamed of such a property but now – ’

     ‘Come, Hamlet, let's not look back. We've made a good start here, and who knows what we'll build up to.’

     ‘Not here, love. It's not enough land for too many head of stock.’ Hamlet dropped into his chair, and sniffed at the smell of the stew on the stove. ‘Now, what are you so bright about tonight? I can see you're feeling good about something.’

     ‘I can't keep much from you, can I now?’ She smiled and touched her stomach gently. 

     ‘Ah,’ he said, grinning. ‘Then you'll be leaving the gardening to me this Spring, eh?’

      

A week later, Kathryn was packing the back of the cart with fresh vegetables, bottles of fruit jam, baskets of eggs and a platter of cheeses.

     ‘I'm not sure about you driving in there on your own, Kathryn.’ Hamlet frowned. ‘It's a fair ride and bumpy over that track.’

     ‘I won't be on my own, sure I won't, for I'm taking the girls with me and we'll be just fine. A little bump or two at this stage will do no harm and I have so much here that I might as well get a few pennies for it. I'll stop at O'Connell and catch the passers by.  There's a steady stream of people travelling into Bathurst these days, so the neighbours say. We'll be home well before dark so you're not to worry, and sure, you and the boys have some fencing to fix.’

     By mid afternoon, Kathryn was well pleased with her sales and just about to head for home when a cart pulled up just a little past the front of her own. A woman climbed awkwardly from the bench and Kathryn could see, even from the back, that the woman was very largely pregnant. A stocky, dark haired man sat on the bench, holding the reins of the horse and there were children bobbing up and down in the back, amidst a pile of goods. The woman wore a large brimmed hat and came towards Kathryn slowly, her gait clumsy.

     Kathryn was just thinking how unwise she was to be out and about at such a late stage in pregnancy, when she recognised something very familiar about the woman.

     ‘Norah?’ she gasped. ‘Is that you?  It is, sure it is, oh, my Lord.’ She walked quickly to bridge the few feet that were now between them and reached around Norah's wide girth to hug her.

     ‘I knew it was you, sure I did…as soon as I saw you there,’ Nora said, excitedly. ‘I told Michael, that's Kathryn, so I did, and he said I was daft and didn't want to pull up but I insisted. What on earth are you doing way out here? And look at these two little beauties now.’ She waved at the two girls playing at the side of the cart.

     Mary Ann looked up and smiled briefly and then turned her attention back to her small sister, for it was her job to take care of Elizabeth and the eighteen-month-old's attention could be taken very quickly by any small animal on the side of the road. 

     ‘We live near here,’ Kathryn answered, looking Norah up and down. ‘A couple of miles down the Fish River.’

     ‘You do?’ Norah's face was incredulous. ‘Why, we live along Wiseman's Creek, about seven miles south of here. I can't believe it, sure I can't. When…how long…?’ Norah stumbled over her words, her eyes wide with excitement.

     ‘Hamlet and I arrived in the spring of fifty-two. We've a small property now.’

     ‘We were here in February of that same year, so we were.’ Norah nodded, her red curls bobbing around her chin. ‘And all this time I had no idea. Oh, Kathryn, how odd…and how wonderful. Why, we're practically neighbours. Michael and I were on the gold fields north of here for a bit and then, well, he had a little luck and we took a lease on a property. Just a wee hut and a couple of fields. It was in pretty poor condition when we arrived but now we've done a few improvements…put on an extra room.’ She looked down and patted her enlarged belly. 

     ‘And when are you due, for you look like it could be any minute?’

     ‘Sure, it will be in the next couple of weeks. I'm a bit nervous for I've not been alone before…but there's Mrs Foley just down the road. She'll help me, I'm sure.’

     ‘I wish I could be there for you.’ Kathryn reached for Norah’s hand.

     ‘Now don't you worry. I'll be fine. But you must come and visit me sometime.’

     ‘I will,’ Kathryn announced definitely, although her mind was racing with how she would tell Hamlet about this meeting. ‘I'm pregnant myself and I'd not want to go through it alone either. I had Mrs Foley come to me last year…but sadly, it wasn't to be.’

     ‘I'm so sorry, Kathryn…but you must have quite a tribe by now. For it must be six years since I've seen you and…sure this must be Mary Ann?’ She beamed at the young girl who was still focussed on her sister's antics. ‘And you had James and the twins…and this wee one, what's her name?’

     Kathryn’s voice caught in her throat. ‘Uh, no…we lost the twins, Norah. Fever took them when they were very small.’ She took a deep breath. ‘We've just got these two and two boys.  What about you?’

     ‘Just the two still. I lost a little one a couple of years ago…on the gold fields.’ Norah’s face dropped. ‘And I've lost a few at birth.’ She held her stomach protectively.  ‘I'm praying the good Lord will grant me a healthy one now.’

     ‘Oh, I wish I was closer. I'd come, sure I would, Norah. I'm so sorry about your losses. I know how hard it is.’

     ‘Of course you do, for how tragic for you to lose those precious baby twins. If I'd only known. All this time, Kathryn, I’ve…I'm so happy to see you, sure I am. And how is Hamlet?’

     ‘He's fine…working very hard to make something of the little plot we have, as I'm sure Michael is.’

     Norah glanced back at their cart. Michael was still facing away from her. Kathryn could see the children were fidgeting in the back of the cart.

     ‘I'll be off now,’ Norah said. ‘The children will be agitated. It'd be grand to see you again soon. I come in here often on a Tuesdays to get a few supplies, so perhaps…when I've got this one out and about, that is.’ She smiled and rubbed her stomach. ‘Perhaps we might meet up here sometime?’

     ‘Oh, yes, I'll be sure to remember…Tuesdays. Now, here, take some of this with you, for I'm about to head home and I'm not wanting to take it back with me. We have plenty more.’ She held out a bottle of jam and a bag of vegetables.

     Norah shook her head. ‘I couldn't, Kathryn, for I've no money. We spent the last of what we had in Kelso…and I've some vegetables in the plot at home as well.’

     ‘Just some jam then, for we've loads of fruit on the trees and it's very good, even if I say so myself. The children will love it, I’m sure.’

     ‘All right, I will, and thank you. I've bought some fruit trees myself, just now in town.  I've been wanting to put them in since…well, it's taken us a while to get set up.  Thank you.’ Norah took three bottles of jam into the crook of her arm and leaned over and kissed Kathryn on the cheek before she turned and waddled back to her cart.

     ‘Looks like you did well, my love,’ Hamlet said as Kathryn put the few remaining vegetables and bottles of jam back in the pantry. ‘Such an enterprising wife I have.’

     ‘It was an interesting day, sure it was, Hamlet,’ she said tentatively. ‘Very interesting, indeed.’

     ‘Oh?’ Hamlet said, and waited. When she didn't speak, he went on. ‘Well, tell me what you've got bubbling away there.’

     ‘There's something I need to tell you about, sure there is. You'd best sit down.’

     Kathryn watched Hamlet's face tense as she spoke of seeing Norah. His eyes were dark, his jaw clenched and when he spoke it was through gritted teeth.

     ‘Where were they headed? Probably off to the gold fields knowing that one. He'd not be one for farming. Dear God, I hope they were just passing through. I swear I'd not be able to contain myself if I ran into him. Every time I think of my dear mother's face on that brooch I could – ’

     ‘Hamlet, please stay calm,’ Kathryn soothed, rethinking quickly what she had been about to say. ‘Yes, Norah did say something about the gold fields. I'm sure you'll not have to see the man about here. It was just lovely for me to see Norah again though, to see that she's well…and she seems happy. Now, we won't talk of it again. You must try and let it go…please. It's not good to stay angry.’

     ‘I know, my love. I'll have to pray that God gives me a forgiving heart. When I think of that man I realise I’m still as angry as ever I was with him.’ He put his arms around Kathryn and squeezed her gently.

     Kathryn hated to deceive him but she was afraid what he might do if he knew that the man who still haunted his sleep was living just a few miles away. 

     Two weeks later as Hamlet was showing the children how to milk the cow, Kathryn came into the barn, wiping her hands on her apron.

     ‘I need to go into O'Connell for a few things, Hamlet. And there's a woman who lives close by that I need to drop in on. I think she'll be able to help me…when my time comes.’

     ‘Fine, love. Just watch yourself on that track. We could all go if – ’

     ‘I can't be talking to the woman about birthing with all you lot about. No, you just look after the children for a bit and I'll be back later on.’ Kathryn tried to keep her voice light. She hated herself for lying but she had been thinking about Norah and needed to see she was all right. ‘The children had a big breakfast so some bread and cheese will do for lunch. I'll be back soon after.’ Her words were hurried.

     Hamlet nodded, although his frown remained. Kathryn knew he was not happy with her travelling in the cart in her condition but he would not argue with her. She turned and hurried away before he could say any more.

     Kathryn put a couple of items of baby clothing in her bag, along with some more bottles of fruit jam, pulled her bonnet over her hair and headed off in the cart. The track out to Wiseman's Creek was flat for the most part, with a steep pinch towards the end, over a scrubby, rocky hill.

     As she started down the other side of the incline, she was pleasantly surprised to find herself in a small green valley; the grasses high, dotted with wild flowers. She could hear the mooing of a few cattle on the low hills. The creek she had been following had widened into substantial pools. A flock of white cockatoos erupted from a large tree as she rounded a bend, and she saw underneath it a rickety gate on which Kearns had been scratched. She pulled on the reins, turning the horse towards the open gate onto the track to the cottage.

     Well, perhaps one couldn't call it a cottage, she thought as she approached, for it was not much more than a humpy. She could see a second room had been added to the side, although it looked as if it would not stand a strong wind. She knocked quietly and smiled at the young boy who opened the front door. He looked nervous.        

     ‘Are you come to help Ma?’ His lip trembled as he spoke.

     ‘You'll be Thomas, then…and Rebecca?’ she added, looking at the girl who sat at the small table in the corner of the room, brushing her hair.        

     ‘Tom,’ the young boy corrected. ‘It's just Tom now.’

      Rebecca hardly paused in her attention to her hair. 

     ‘I see.’ Kathryn nodded. ‘Yes, I've come to see your Ma. Is she in there?’ She pointed to the other room. As she glanced around the room they were in she couldn't help but notice how bare it was. Apart from the table and a couple of stools, there was an open fire against one wall, a pile of wood, a few pots and pans hanging from the roof above it, and a small cabinet with plates and cups neatly stacked inside. The floor of the room was dirt and Kathryn could smell the mustiness of the winter cold still coming up from the ground. 

     ‘She's poorly,’ Tom said. ‘Pa's gone for Mrs Foley.’

     ‘I'll go to her then, will I? Rebecca, perhaps you could make us a cup of tea.’

     The nine-year-old looked up, a disinterested expression on her face. ‘Tom'll do it,’ she said and looked away.

     ‘I will,’ Tom agreed quickly and moved towards the fire. ‘How do you know our names?’

     ‘I met you a few years ago. You've grown quite a bit but I've not forgotten you. Your Ma and I were good friends.’ She smiled reassuringly at Tom but when she glanced at Rebecca, she could see the girl was not listening. 

     Kathryn moved toward the opening to the other room and peered inside. There was only one small window and the room was quite dark, for the sun was still low in the eastern sky.

     ‘Norah,’ Kathryn said quietly. ‘How are you?’ She knelt close to the mattress, brushed back damp copper curls from Norah's face and took her hand gently.

     ‘Kathryn? Sure I wasn't expecting you,’ Norah murmured, drawing the small bundle beside her close to her side. ‘It was a hard one, sure it was, but worth it.’ She smiled at the tiny face, almost completely covered by a small blanket which had seen much better days, Kathryn thought as she touched the little cheek softly. 

     Norah took a deep breath. ‘Michael's gone for Mrs Foley. She was here for me yesterday but she had to get back to her family. She has about ten of them, so she has. Michael's afraid I might need more help today and…he's not good at this. He's not been left alone with me so soon before.’ She sucked in her breath as she adjusted her position and got more comfortable. 

     ‘Well, I'm glad I came. I thought you'd have the wee one by now, the way you looked last time I saw you. I wanted to bring you a few things. I've plenty for mine…and time to make some more.’ She held out the tiny jacket she had crocheted and a dress with small flowers embroidered on the bodice. 

     ‘Kathryn, they're beautiful. Our wee Mary will look adorable in those. I've not got too much for her.’ She again drew the baby close and a tear rolled from one eye.

     ‘What is it?’ Kathryn asked, stroking Norah’s hand.  

     ‘I was hoping it would be a son for Michael, that's all. She's beautiful, sure she is, but it's just that…she's only the third child to show for any number of pregnancies and I know he'd like another boy.’ Norah wiped her eyes with her sleeve and laid back, spent.

     ‘Well, he'll have to settle for a healthy daughter, won't he now?’ Kathryn said.   

     A few minutes later Tom tapped tentatively on the door and poked his head into the room.

     ‘The tea’s ready.’ 

     ‘Thank you, Tom. I'll get some for your Ma and me.’

     ‘He's a treasure, that one.’ Norah grinned. 

     When Kathryn went to get the tea, Michael was sitting at the table.

     ‘Missus Foley weren't 'ome,’ he mumbled. 

     ‘Norah's weak, but I’m sure she’ll be fine, Michael. And you've a beautiful daughter.’ Kathryn poured two mugs of tea.

     ‘Ah, well.’ Michael sighed, squinting at mother and child through the doorway to the bedroom. ‘Maybe next time, eh?’

     ‘You should be happy to have this one alive and well.’ Kathryn moved back into the bedroom, finding it difficult to hide her annoyance. 

     ‘I'll be pleased enough just to keep her alive, so I will,’ Norah whispered, drawing the baby close. 

      ‘Well, we've each other now, don't we?’ Kathryn helped Norah sit up enough to drink. ‘I'm not so far away that I can’t visit.’ She glanced sideways at Michael, who had come to the door opening. ‘I'm sure the children would enjoy playing together and I'll be grateful for a friend, sure I will.’

     ‘I'd like that so much.’ Norah beamed. ‘There's the Foleys and the Forans and Hanrahans near here – quite a few Irish – but we haven't mixed much. We'll be pleased if you'll come, won't we Michael?’

     ‘Hmm,’ Michael murmured, clearly not excited by the prospect.

      Kathryn ignored him. She and Norah had been friends before he came along and would be again and she was not going to be put off by him. She felt she would like to give him a piece of her mind. His attitude to his wife was appalling, apart from the rest of what she knew about him. She was going to have trouble holding her tongue, though she would for Norah's sake.

     As she drove home that afternoon, she was conscious that her greater problem would be finding a way to tell Hamlet that the Kearns family was going to be part of their lives again. 

To be continued...


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