The Traveller's Daughter Read online

  “Your mammy will find out you’ve been hanging around outside Martin Donohue’s office so she will,” Mary Wall said one morning. They were trudging across the field back from having picked up some flour from the shop down the road. She was referring to the tin hut with its sagging, canvas roof where Martin spouted his political views most afternoons to anyone willing to listen. Rosa had taken to hovering outside of it as part of her never-ending quest to catch sight of Michael. She felt certain he’d be inside listening to his da, he’d told her that’s where he sometimes went, and she didn’t feel guilty about shirking her chores either. She had done more than her fair share of the work over the years. If her mammy chose to do them herself instead of passing them on to Paddy, who was either bone idol or out getting himself in bother, then that was up to her.

  So off she would traipse when her mammy’s back was turned. She’d pass by the ever expanding cluster of tents and huts that seemed to spring up overnight and sidestep the horse poo dropped like brown bombs. She would carry on past the upturned car until she came to Martin’s office. She didn’t dare peek inside. Instead, she perched on an upturned wash bucket just outside the entrance to eavesdrop. There was an auld sheet tacked over the entrance acting as a curtain that kept her shielded from the men inside.

  She’d sit there with her eyes closed imagining Michael, tall and proud inside that hut ready to follow in his da’s footsteps. She’d listen spellbound to Martin address the handful of men who had come to hear him talk. He had the makings of a fine politician, and there was a slow-burning fire in his words as he spoke of how Travellers basic human rights were being ignored. Rosa felt like she was being woken up by his words on those afternoons, and she pushed the image of Margaret’s blackened eye from her mind. She couldn’t equate the passion and honesty she heard in Martin’s voice with a man capable of such violence. His musings were music to the ears of a young girl feeling disillusioned by her lot in life since the loss of her brother.

  Rosa told herself as she sat with her hands clasped in her lap, head cocked toward that entrance so as not to miss a single word, that she wasn’t doing anything wrong. What was wrong with listening to a voice that gave her hope? The things Martin Donohue was saying were the only words that had made sense to her since Joe’s death. She knew that Mary was right and were her mam or da to get wind of what she was up to, she would be for it. Thinking of her da and his drinking always made her angry and so she’d dig her heels in, staying put until she sensed the meeting coming to an end. She would scurry away then with a renewed purpose as to what she thought that purpose might be though, she didn’t know.

  Rosa shifted the heavy bag from one arm to the other. “Sure this flour weighs a ton, so it does and my mam won’t find out what I’m up to. Not if you say I’m with you.” She glanced over at Mary. “And don’t look at me like that.” She’d gone awfully prudish since she’d gotten engaged to Eamon McNally in Rosa’s opinion.

  “Mark my words you’re playing with fire Rosa Rourke. You’re spoken for so you are.”

  “But it’s Michael I’m meant to be with.”

  Mary huffed. “So you keep saying but it’s not right you chasing after him the way you are. People are beginning to talk, and it won’t be long until some of that talk reaches your mam or your da’s ears and then no amount of me covering for you will help.”

  “Ah Mary, you don’t understand.”

  “I understand you’re mad and that you think you’re better than the rest of us.”

  “What’s so wrong with wanting more than just this?” But Mary wasn’t listening anymore, and Rosa’s lip trembled as she watched her friend walk away.

  ***

  “Martin Donohue doesn’t speak for me.”

  Rosa jumped as, on this particularly cold afternoon, Michael appeared around the side of the hut to stand in front of her.

  “I’ve seen you come to listen to him and I want to know why you do so.”

  Rosa was flustered. “I-I thought you were in there with him and the others.”

  “No, I just told you he doesn’t speak for me.” His face was hard. “Sure why would I want to listen to a man who beats his wife.”

  “Oh.” She didn’t know what to say. She could sense the waves of anger coming off him. She knew what it felt like, that anger even if her da had never raised his fist to any of them. His boot yes, on more than one occasion had connected with Joe and Paddy’s rear ends, but he had never raised his fist to them. His wounds were inflicted by his apathy toward his wife and surviving children.

  “So why do you come then? You know you’ll get strung up if you get caught listening to what a Donohue has to say don’t you?”

  Rosa nodded unable to meet his gaze. “I came because I thought you were in there.”

  Michael shook his head slowly and scuffed at the ground with the toe of his boot. The sound of cheering from inside the hut galvanised him. “Come on they’ll be finishing up soon and its fecking freezing out here.” He offered her his hand, and she took it feeling a surge of something unfamiliar and thrilling course through her at his touch. She let him pull her to her feet and followed after him.

  “It was the Dooley’s, but they’ve packed up and gone back South.” He said pointing toward a hut she knew to be abandoned. “They reckoned their old life was better than this.” He threw his arms wide gesturing about them at the littered field. “Sure and I don’t blame them either but my da loves it here because he has a captive audience. He’s a hypocrite so he is going on the way he does about the rights of Travellers when he treats his family worse than you’d treat a dog.” His face contorted into a sneer as he pushed open the door of the hut and held it open. Rosa didn’t move towards it.

  She wanted to go inside with him so badly, but she was frightened of what he might expect from her if she did so.

  He read her uncertainty. “I only want to talk that’s all I promise.”

  She nodded and followed him inside.

  That first afternoon to her disappointment, he kept his word. They sat together on the floor of that auld tin hut with the wind rattling against its walls. Both, far too aware of the closeness of the other, despite their bodies not touching as they talked.

  “He has the gift of the gab, so he does, and nobody sees him for the bully he is underneath all his bluster,” Michael confided. “I’ll hit the bastard back one day for my mam’s sake and my own.”

  Rosa blinked back the stinging in her eyes at the hurt in his voice. “I’m sorry for your troubles, so I am.”

  The hard line of Michael’s mouth softened and Rosa found herself wanting to tell him of her own family’s sadness.

  “Joe, my brother died last year.”

  “Aye, I heard.”

  “I miss him so much. He was the best of us all and everything has changed since he left us.”

  Michael placed his hand on hers and her breath caught in her throat. They sat that way until the late afternoon shadows began to creep into the room. Rosa knew it was time she went and faced the inevitable scolding from her mammy. She would not be happy that she had abandoned her chores yet again. “I’ve got to get back.”

  She reluctantly removed her hand from beneath his and got to her feet. She didn’t know how she could go back to their wagon and pretend everything was the same as it had been that morning. Not now when she knew from the touch of his hand on hers, that nothing would ever be the same again.

  “I’ll see you then.” She said pushing the door open.

  “Rosa?”

  She turned and looked at him expectantly.

  “Do you remember the day I saw you walking your sister to school?”

  “I remember.” It was branded on her memory.

  “I only walked with Tyson that day because I hoped I’d see you.”

  Rosa smiled all the way back to their wagon and she was still smiling that evening as Kitty babbled on in between bites of her stew.

  “I can do my four times-tables, Mammy. Listen, f
our times one is four, four times two is eight, four times three is-”

  Kitty’s mathematic prowess fell on deaf ears because Kathleen was watching Rosa, who could feel her mammy’s gaze on her. She could not look up to meet it because she knew her eyes would betray her.

  ***

  It became their place that draft ridden auld hut in the middle of the field. Some afternoons Michael would struggle to lose his younger brother. Tyson followed him round the same way Kitty had followed Rosa before they came to Cherry Orchard, and she started at school. Unlike Kitty Tyson, had not taken to the schooling and would run off whenever the Teacher turned her back.

  “Sure his hand’s raw from the sting of the ruler but he doesn’t seem to care.” Michael shook his head. “He says the settled kids call him a dirty tinker and a pikey and he doesn’t want to be there.”

  They both knew that it didn’t matter what Tyson wanted and the consequences for an afternoon’s freedom meant he inevitably had to go back to school the next morning and face the Nun’s ruler.

  “Martin Donohue’s youngest son will be educated. It’s his basic human right.” Michael banged his fist down on the ground upon which they sat in a perfect imitation of his da. Rosa watched as his lip curled up in that way it always did when he spoke his father’s name.

  The weather that week had turned unseasonably, foul. Rosa’s limbs felt heavy as she tramped head down against the sleeting rain across the muddy field. As she made her way to the hut, she was reminded of what she had been desperately trying to forget. Come winter she would be married to someone she did not love. She knew she had to tell Michael that she was spoken for. It was unfair the way she had remained silent on the subject. It was just that she could no longer imagine her life without their snatched afternoons together. The thought of him turning away from her when she told him the truth terrified her.

  She saw the smoke spiralling out its chimney flue as she drew nearer and was glad Michael had gotten the fire going. The sight of the smoke reminded her of the story that had spread through the camp earlier in the week. A Traveller family camped near a river down Galway way had all perished while they slept in their bell tent when the wind had changed. It had fanned the flames of their dampened campfire toward where they lay sleeping. She paused, her hand hovering in front of the door as a feeling of sorrow overwhelmed her. It was just the news of that poor family she told herself, trying to shake her melancholy off before pushing the door open.

  Michael was crouched down feeding the firebox a handful of twigs and his smile when he turned to see her hovering in the doorway was one of delight. At the sight of that smile, Rosa forgot all about her wet and bedraggled appearance but not what she had to tell him. She closed the door but didn’t move closer to him feeling suddenly awkward and fearful of what his reaction would be. If he told her he wouldn’t meet her anymore, she knew that she would not be able to bear it.

  His eyes darkened as he sensed her uncertainty. “What is it?”

  “Ah Michael I should have told you that first afternoon here but I didn’t want anything to spoil my time with you.” She knitted her fingers together as though about to pray. “It’s all arranged, I am to marry Jerry Connors come the winter.”

  Michael closed the fire box and stood up slowly brushing the dust from his pants. He crossed the room in one step and taking her in his arms, pulled her to him. Rosa gasped at the sensation of his hard chest next to hers.

  “No, you are not my beautiful Rosa. I fell in love with you the day I saw you in your white dress at Ballinasloe. It’s you and me who are meant to be together no matter what any of them lot say.” As his lips settled over hers, Rosa felt like her body was liquefying, melting into his. She pulled away just for a moment and reaching up stroked his cheek, feeling the stubble beneath her fingertips. “I love you too.” Then his lips reclaimed hers, and she returned his kiss with every ounce of her being.

  Neither of them heard the approaching footsteps, and as the door was flung open, they broke apart as if cold water had been flung over them, like the fighting cocks.

  “Mam!” Michael cried.

  Rosa felt sick at the formidable sight of Margaret Donohue blocking the doorway, her hands self-righteously on her hips while young Tyson peered around her skirt.

  “So what do you have to say for yourself, Michael Donohue? Lying to me, your auld mammy? It doesn’t look much like you’re helping your poor da to me, helping yourself more like and with the likes of her. What were you thinking lad?”

  “I’m sorry for lying mam that was wrong of me, but I didn’t know what else to do. I love Rosa, and I want to be with her.”

  “Ah, you don’t know what you’re talking about son. Love? You don’t love her you eejit of a boy. She set her sights on you and she’s bewitched you, so she has.”

  The hysteria was rising in Margaret’s voice. She wasn’t right in the head, Rosa could see it in the glint in her eyes as she ranted on.

  “You’ll be marrying a good girl so you will, not a little whore like this who goes around offering it to anybody who wants it.” She spat on the ground at Rosa’s feet.

  “That’s enough mam! We were only kissing, we weren’t doing anything wrong.”

  Margaret took a step inside the hut and Michael moved his body in front of Rosa not trusting what his mam might do next. Tyson cowered in the doorway as the realisation of what he’d done in leading his mammy here sunk in. All he had wanted was for his brother to spend some time with him. Rosa saw his ashen face from over Michael’s shoulder, and she tried to look reassuringly at him. To silently communicate to him that it would be okay but as Margaret Donohue lunged forward, shoving her oldest son out the way she knew it would be anything but.

  The shame of being dragged across the fields by her hair while Margaret ranted and raved like the mad woman she was would never leave Rosa. She knew as her hair felt like it was being ripped from her scalp, that it was fear driving Margaret’s anger. Fear of Martin’s fist and of what he would do to her when he found out their son had been cavorting with a Donohue. It was fear too of losing Michael; it was why at eighteen he wasn’t married. Her son was her protector and Margaret knew he was too big to take his da’s beatings any longer. He had tried to pull his mammy off her, but she would not loosen her grasp on Rosa’s hair. She heard his voice trying to calm her down, but it was to no avail; she was a woman possessed and Rosa was terrified. Of Tyson, there was no sign.

  Kathleen was chopping the vegetables for their dinner when she heard the commotion. Like the others who had downed their tools, undeterred by the bad weather to come and watch the afternoon’s entertainment, she appeared around the front of the wagon to see what the din was all about. Her eyes widened, and her blood boiled as she saw that it was her daughter, Mad Margaret Donohue was man handling. She strode over and slapped the larger woman straight across the chops. Startled Margaret let go of Rosa but not before yanking out a handful of her hair. Standing in that muddy field waving a fistful of hair, she screamed to all and sundry that Rosa Rourke was a whore trying to steal her son from her.

  Her body sagged suddenly, and she slumped to the ground, spent. Michael hauled his mam to her feet and with an arm around her waist, he steered her away in the direction of their wagon. Rosa rubbed at the tender spot on her head and watched him go, she was sick to her stomach as to what would happen next. Where did they go from here? That blood would be spilled because of a first, forbidden kiss shared, she was certain.

  She watched as her mammy began shooing the small crowd that had encircled them away, flapping her hands at them like they were pigeons scrounging scraps. “What are youse all looking at? Feck off the lot of you!” She yelled at the goggle-eyed, grubby kids, their mammies and the handful of men who had been working on dismantling a car nearby when it had all kicked off. They slowly dispersed and when she turned around to face Rosa all she could see was shame and disappointment in her mam’s dark eyes. Her own eyes burned with hot tears. For the first time in
a very long while Rosa did as she was told. She did not question or answer her mammy back when she barked at her to get in the wagon and wait there.

  Rosa huddled on the pile of bedding, locked away from judgmental eyes as she imagined the worst. The waiting for word of what was happening was a terrible punishment in itself. She learned later that Kathleen had marched straight across the field with a crowd of kids trailing after her. They were keen to watch the next bit of action unfold as she stormed across the road. Pushing open the door to the pub, she had told Bernie Rourke what it was his oldest daughter had been doing to keep herself warm on this wet and wild afternoon while he sat supping his pint. Spurred on by his cronies’ indignant cries, Bernie banged his glass down on the table. He pushed his wife aside and swayed out the doors like a cowboy at high noon, calling for Michael Donohue to come and face him like a man.

  ***

  Michael told Rosa that it was her da who swung at him first and that he let him get a few rounds in so as he could save face. “I deserved it; Bernie had every right to be angry.” He shrugged. “I should have gone to him and told him how I felt about you. He would have had some respect for me then.” He gave her hand a squeeze as they hunched into one another at Busáras, the Dublin bus station. It would be a long night spent waiting for morning.

  “It wouldn’t have made any difference, you know the way things are done Michael.”

  “Aye well, it was hardly a fair fight what with your da having so many pints under his belt. Then my da waded in and pushed me aside as he bellowed that Bernie Rourke wasn’t a real man because real men didn’t hit children.”

  Rosa could see the words almost choked Michael to speak them.

  “I am eighteen for fecks sake and more of a man than he’ll ever be. According to him, real men don’t hit other people’s children just their own, and its okay to belt the living daylights out of their wives.”

  There was nothing she could say, so Rosa simply squeezed his hand back.