The Traveller's Daughter Page 16

  Da had gotten wind that the dole had been made available to Travellers prepared to settle in the permanent camps that were springing up on the outskirts of the big towns. It was a sweetener to appease the farmers who no longer wanted the Travellers on their land. It was also an attempt by the government at solving what they called the itinerant problem, he’d muttered before telling them that they were headed for Ballyfermot. It was a town that straggled Dublin, and if it meant food in their bellies, then Rosa was all for it.

  They arrived late one morning, and Rosa looked around at this Promised Land called Cherry Orchard and saw no more than a sprawling field. It seemed to be broken into smaller fields by thickets of bushes like a patchwork quilt and a cherry orchard it was not. To one side of it she spied a high, pebble-dashed wall behind which she would learn later was the Cherry Orchard Fever Hospital for Children. Rosa would think of the poor mites housed in there from time to time with no visits from their mammy or da for months on end. They were quarantined inside its walls until they were deemed non-infectious or cured. She wondered if Joe had gone there when his cough first started whether things might have been different. She knew though, there was no point in dwelling on this.

  The field on which the camp was situated was a flat vista. It was filled with shanty tin sheds, caravans, canvas tents that were held up by wooden poles and carts. Rubbish had been left to pile up and rot where it had been dumped on the hard soil. Rags tethered horses to the trees that hinted at life on the barren field and broken down cars provided entertainment for the children left to play in all the filth. The air was thick, damp and smoky, and this Rosa thought, her nose wrinkling, was to be home. The family’s infinite horizon that had shifted and moved each time they had packed up and taken to the road was now fixed.

  As the Rourke’s settled into their new life in the camp, Rosa found that for all the greyness of Cherry Orchard there was also a strange beauty. She would find it in the colours of the rags that would blow in the wind. They were hung from the trees, and their flapping reminded her of a picture she once saw although she couldn’t recall where, of the prayer flags in the Himalayas.

  During the day, there was the carefree sound of children laughing. They were left to their own devices to play in the mire and knew of no different way to be so they were happy. Always too, there was the singing, and that same wind would carry the melody across the field along with the whack of tin being hammered. A warming cup of tea was never far from the hand of friendship and loneliness was not to be part of their vocabulary. It was in this environment Rosa noticed her mammy begin to return to them. She knew she wouldn’t be the same though, none of them would be. Still and all she would embrace this new version of Mammy gladly.

  Things however did not improve where Bernie Rourke was concerned because without the need for work his drinking had worsened. This new version of their da was a sloppy and silly drunk. The only blessing in Rosa’s opinion being that he was not mean on the drink like the Wall sisters’ da was. She had lost respect for him though, and that too in its way was another kind of death she had to endure.

  Kitty had gotten the chance for some schooling, and while Rosa was pleased for her, there was a part of her that was envious of the opportunity she had been given. It needled away at her watching her sister skip off across the field each morning. One morning as her mammy went about the daily chore of shaking out the blankets, she got up the courage to say something. “Do you think I could go to the school too mammy? I’d like the chance of some learning so I would.”

  Kathleen laughed. “Sure you’re nearly sixteen, so you are. What would be the point Rosa? Now stop standing there like an eejit and give me a hand would you.”

  It was not the answer she wanted, and Rosa kicked at the soil to vent her frustration at wanting more and being denied it. Her future was already mapped out the way her mammy’s had been and her mammy’s before her, and so it went. The act however, achieved no more than hurting her big toe and further scuffing her already worn shoes.

  “Aye and you can cut that out me girl! You’re not a child any more, sure you’ll be married soon with babies of your own to take care of. That’ll sort you out so it will.” Kathleen picked up the overflowing washing basket and thrust it at her daughter. “Go on get on with you.”

  Rosa, lemon lipped hoisted the basket onto her hip and stomped off across the field, wanting to escape but not knowing where to. The talk of a union with Jerry Connors had begun in earnest once more. Mammy had told her just a few days ago that it was only a matter of waiting for the Connors to arrive at Cherry Orchard. They’d come at the end of summer when the men of the family’s work had dried up. Rosa and Jerry’s wedding would take place in the early winter. It was a done deal.

  Upon hearing this Rosa had felt the stirrings of rebellion that had been simmering all that long winter through into the spring. She knew that the life she could have with Jerry still roaming free with the Connors was better than the bleak horizon she was faced with living here at Cherry Orchard. Try as she might though, she could not rid her mind of the image of Michael Donohue. She had set her heart on the young man with the fine black curly hair and eyes dark as a midnight sky. Her mind had been made up that he was the man she would marry when a lighter, freer version of herself had swished around Ballinasloe in her new dress. She couldn’t help the way she felt even though she knew it was a foolish fancy that nothing good would come from.

  It was as if just by thinking of him that misty morning she conjured him up because when she next looked up he had somehow materialised through the smoky haze of a nearby campfire. She blinked, surely she was dreaming? If so then she did not want to wake up.

  As he strode toward her Rosa’s stomach began to flutter with what felt like the beating wings of one thousand butterflies. It was a sensation she had never experienced before as was the sudden weakness in her legs. She was aware of a rush of heat spreading like wildfire up her neck to engulf her face. Her breath was coming in short bursts and so busy was she concentrating on keeping herself moving forward that she never saw the rut in the hard ground, catching her ankle she went down in a heap.

  The washing flew everywhere, and she lay sprawled on the ground for the moment it took Michael to jog to her. She didn’t care that her family’s dirty smalls were laid bare for all to see. All she cared about was the tender concern in the eyes of this young man whom she was sure must be a figment of her imagination such was his beauty.

  “Are you alright?” He asked his voice low and melodious as sweet music. It was only when he held his hand out to help her to her feet, and she felt the strength and warmth of it as it closed around her own that Rosa knew he was real. “Are you sure you are alright?” Amusement flickered in his eyes, and Rosa liked the way they’d crinkled around the edges when he smiled. It was then she realised she must seem like a right eejit staring the way she was, and seemingly struck dumb.

  “Ah yes, nothing’s broken.” She answered brushing her skirt down, glad that her voice had not betrayed her nerves. Still and all she wished it wasn’t true and that her ankle was broken or at the very least sprained. That way he would have to sweep her up in his arms and carry her back to – she didn’t know where she wanted him to carry her back to, certainly not her wagon. Mammy would scold her something awful if she knew she was even talking to a Donohue.

  “We’ve met before I think?”

  Rosa was fascinated by the two little lines between his brows that furrowed his olive skin as he tried to retrieve a forgotten memory.

  “No, we haven’t. Well not really.” Her high-pitched, girlish giggle reminded her of Kitty’s. “I was at Ballinasloe last year when you won the horse and buggy race.” She glanced down and wished she were still in her pretty dress with her hair freshly washed and brushed until it shone. “I was in the crowd. You probably didn’t see me.”

  “Ah yes, I remember now! You were the girl in the white dress. Bernie Rourke’s your da isn’t that so?” A strange look c
rossed his face then as he realised he was still holding her hand. He dropped it like a hot potato, and it flopped down by her side. “Here I’ll help you pick your things up.”

  Rosa bent to retrieve her da’s holey singlet but despite Michael’s brusque tone her heart sang with the knowledge he’d remembered her. ‘The girl in the white dress.’ He’d said before he made the connection with her da and behaved like he had been burnt. It had not been a figment of her imagination that moment when their eyes had connected. Her heart was singing. Just then, there was a whoosh as a grubby urchin raced past, snatching up Kathleen’s bloomers and waving them like a lasso, he tore off across the paddock. His cronies sitting on the roof of a wreck cheered him on with delight. For a moment Rosa thought it was Paddy, it was the kind of stunt he would pull, but then she realised with a pang that it couldn’t be. The Paddy of old was gone, and besides the lad who was currently in proud possession of their mam’s underwear was half his size.

  Michael threw his head back and roared with laughter at the sight, Rosa forgot to be angry. She was glad of the distraction if it meant he didn’t dwell on their respective family’s feud.

  “Ah, it’s the kind of thing I’d have done myself at that age and thought it hilarious so I would. Wait here I’ll sort out those bold tykes for you.”

  Rosa saw the funny side of it herself then and smiled. Even so, she knew were she to return to their wagon minus her mammy’s knickers she would not be smiling once Kathleen got hold of her. She watched Michael’s broad, shirt clad back as he strode over toward the small gang who, at the sight of him dropped the drawers and scarpered in opposite directions. Rosa wondered how old he was. She guessed he was only a year or two older than herself. That meant he was old enough to be married, but she’d seen no ring on his finger. As he scooped the bloomers up and bought them back, dropping them into the washing basket Rosa’s mouth twitched at the corners. Her mam’s undergarments hadn’t seen so much action in a long time. It was a pity she would never know a thing about it.

  “Thank you.”

  “Aye, it was nothing.” They held each other’s eyes for a moment too long, and Rosa felt something unspoken pass between them. The spell was broken by the shrill tones of an irate mammy scolding her kiddies and Michael took his leave. The gruffness of his voice as he said goodbye told her that she was the daughter of Bernie Rourke, his da’s arch enemy and no longer simply the girl in the white dress.

  As he walked away from her, Rosa was filled with an overwhelming panic that she might not see him again. She couldn’t bear that, not when she’d only just found him. She abandoned the basket and followed him toward a cluster of caravans. Women were busy outside them going about their morning tasks and a few small kiddies played nearby. Some lads who looked to be around eight or nine were kicking a ball around and one of them caught her eye. He was a miniature version of Michael and must be his younger brother she thought. Her eyes strayed over to where a woman sat on a wagon stoop; her head bent over a pile of mending. As she looked up, Rosa recoiled at the sight of her puffy, blackened eye recognizing her as Margaret Donohue, Michael’s mam. Her mam called her Mad Margaret, and Rosa imagined she would no doubt have a name as equally uncharitable for Kathleen.

  Margaret nodded to her son and pointed to the pot dangling over the smouldering fire to signal there was tea made. Rosa’s mammy did the same thing most mornings for her da and Paddy but of Martin Donohue there was no sign. Spying Rosa standing there on the edge of their camp, Margaret called out and waved her hand. It was like she was warding her off. Michael turned around to see who his mammy was scowling at and as their gazes met, Rosa saw regret cloud those beautiful eyes of his.

  She gave a little cry and ran off, her feet pounding over the rough turf as she wished she’d not followed him. Then she would have been spared the look she had seen so clearly in his eyes. As she collapsed down next to the washing basket, she willed herself not to be sick over the unfairness of it all. Even if she weren’t to marry Jerry Connors she would never be allowed to be with Michael. Neither of their families would allow that.

  Rosa resolved to put Michael from her mind telling herself he didn’t care for her. She was making something out of nothing because she wanted to be his girl in the white dress. No matter how hard she tried though her thoughts kept turning to him. She had found her ray of sunshine at Cherry Orchard and almost subconsciously had begun orchestrating ways to catch a glimpse of him. It was this, and not her daily chores that gave her a reason to get up each day. Her mammy looked at her with knowing eyes as she set about her tasks humming, the belligerence of a few days prior gone.

  “The sooner the Connors arrive, the better in my opinion, Bernie.” Rosa overheard her whisper to her da one night and she cocked an ear to hear what his response would be. There was no sound in the wagon but for his snoring.

  As for Michael’s da, Martin he soon made his presence in the camp known and Bernie Rourke was just as quick to make his resentment at having the Donohue family at Cherry Orchard common knowledge.

  Martin was a natural leader who was not afraid to state his opinion, and on the subject of the inequalities the Travellers faced on a day to day basis, he was very opinionated. Some in the camp, Rosa’s da for one were grateful for their dole money. They’d fritter it away in the local pub day after day, singing their songs and talking their big talk. They enjoyed their persecution because it gave them purpose and Martin Donohue to their way of thinking was nothing more than a rabble-rouser.

  “Aye, I’ve seen his type before alright. He’s all mouth and no trousers.” Rosa heard Davey Wall say one afternoon as he hunkered down next to her da over his pint glass. She’d been sent to the pub to fetch her da for dinner.

  “Mammy said to tell you your tea’s getting cold.” She interrupted scowling.

  “I don’t like your tone girly. She’s getting awful uppity that one.”

  “Ah well, Bernie married life will sort her out so it will.”

  Rosa walked out of the dim pub her eyes burning with tears that she refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing her shed.

  There was an occasion too when she was stirring the skillet pot that Martin Donohue’s name was raised by her mammy. Kathleen’s arms were crossed over her bosom as she stood in self-righteous conversation with her friend Nora. Nora had one red-cheeked baby hanging off her hip and another tot clutching her skirt whining. Both women ignored the children carrying on instead with their chat. “Sure Nora,” Rosa heard her mammy say. “Martin Donohue has nothing better to do with his time than stir up trouble and his oldest boy’s cut from the same cloth. His type they come and they go and they always leave trouble behind them. I don’t like the man or his family and not just because of the business with Bernie. I have a bad feeling about him and his lot being here, so I do.”

  Rosa was undeterred. If anything knowing how her mammy felt fed her anger, and spurred her on in her determination to somehow cross paths with Michael.

  She had taken to walking Kitty to the school the odd time, in the hope she would catch sight of him. She’d lead her sister on a round-about route past the cluster of wagons where she knew the Donohue’s to be. One morning, her efforts paid off and there he was, a short distance ahead of her dragging his brother along in the same direction that she and Kitty were headed.

  “That’s Tyson Donohue; he’s always in trouble with Sister Angela,” Kitty informed her older sister with the superior attitude of one who paid attention in class.

  Rosa barely registered what Kitty had said so intent was she on trying to figure out how she could catch Michael’s attention. Her stomach flipped as he looked back over his shoulder to see what it was his brother had stooped to pick up. Seeing her, he waved out.

  “Ouch Rosa, you’re hurting me!”

  “Shut up would you Kitty, and just get a move on.” She loosened her desperate grip on her sister’s hand as she picked up her pace, fearful he would carry on before they could catch up.

&nb
sp; He waited.

  Rosa could feel her face heating up as she reached him, and she hoped he would think it was down to the morning air.

  “Morning.” There was a quiver in her voice. Her mind went blank, and her insides felt like they had jellified as she gazed up at those handsome, dark features of his. Tiny droplets of dew, she saw were clinging to the ends of his hair which was in need of a trim.

  “Morning yourself.”

  He looked pleased to see her, and her heart lifted as she ignored the sulky look on her charge’s face. Kitty was not best pleased about the prospect of being seen with Tyson for fear of being tarred with his brush. As she walked alongside her sister, she scuffed her shoes but soon gave it up when it got her no attention. Rosa only had eyes for Michael and her nerves dissipated as he began to chat away easily to her about his love of the horses and how he missed life on the road. He’d check back over his shoulder now and then to make sure his brother was still following him, and Rosa felt herself relax in his company. For once, she was glad of the long walk ahead of them as they reached the Blackditch Road. She began to tell him stories of her own and felt pleased with herself when he laughed at her retelling the tale of the cockfight; Paddy had instigated for a bag of marbles.

  They saw Kitty and Tyson to the gate and took their time wandering back to Cherry Orchard, neither of them in any rush to get back to the reality of their lives. Rosa felt like she had known Michael forever by the time they returned. Not even the sight of Margaret Donohue with a face on her that looked like a smacked bum as she hollered for her son could dampen her spirits. She felt as if she was walking on air.

  Chapter 17

  Better be quarrelling than lonesome – Irish Proverb