Page 140 of The Missing Sister

‘I tried to speak to him at the wake, but he wasn’t saying much.’

‘Does Mary know what it will mean for her?’ said Ambrose.

‘Ah, sure, all the girls know there’ll be hard work ahead.’

‘But what about her schooling, James?’

‘I’m afraid that round these parts, education doesn’t win over two little boys needing care, let alone feeding the chickens, doing the washing, shopping and cooking, tending the cows and helping to bring in the harvest.’

‘But... it’s mandatory for all children to go to school.’

‘Only to primary school, up to the age of eleven, which Merry is now. And even then, especially down in a rural place like this, teachers would be expecting a number of absences from children of Merry’s age.’

‘What you’re saying is that Mary’s formal education could stop in six months’ time, when she finishes primary school?’ Ambrose shook his head in despair. ‘To see that bright, enquiring mind reduced to baking cakes and washing the family’s smalls is simply a travesty! And I won’t have it!’

‘Of course I agree, but I can’t see how it can be averted,’ said James.

‘James, in my role as quasi-godfather, all I wish to do is to protect her and educate her. Do you understand?’

‘I do, of course...’

‘You know I have the funds to help. Can you see any way in which I could?’

‘I’d say that any money you handed over to John would only be used for one thing, and that would not benefit Merry or the rest of her family.’

‘Then what if I took her back to Dublin with me and put her into school there? Surely Mr O’Reilly couldn’t complain? I’d be taking one of his children off his hands, relieving him of an extra mouth to feed...’

James took a deep breath to calm himself and gather his thoughts before he spoke. There had been many times the two of them had disagreed over the years, but the subjects that provoked those disagreements, such as politics or religion, did not take the form of an eleven-year-old childorher family, who were part of his flock.

‘Ambrose, would it not occur to you that John O’Reilly might actually love his daughter? That Merry’s brothers and sisters love her too? And, even more importantly, that she lovesthem? She is grieving for her mother. From what I’ve seen, Nora, the eldest sister left at home, is a self-absorbed young lady, who finds a way out of everything that needs to be done. Which places the burden of running the house and looking after the younger brothers squarely on Katie and Merry’s shoulders. Is it fair on Katie to remove Merry from her home? I too love her dearly, but I must consider all members of the family.’

‘Is there not a relation who could step in at this point? Surely John O’Reilly has an extended family? Everyone in Ireland does, especially down here.’

‘There is family on both sides, but they are... estranged. ’Tis a long story, but like most things around these parts, it goes back a long way,’ sighed James. ‘I’ve learnt in my time here that old wounds run deep. It is, after all, the area where Michael Collins lived and died.’

‘I see, but what about friends and neighbours?’

‘We’ll not get friends and neighbours to take on another family’s domestic situation, Ambrose. They’ve enough managing their own.’

Ambrose took a sip of his whiskey. ‘It makes me wonder when Ireland will stop looking to the past, and begin to see the future.’

‘I’d say it will take a good few more years than we have now. Tales are told of family heroes in the War of Independence to the young seated around the hearth, which often sows the seeds of hatred in the next generation.’

‘Still, none of this solves the problem with what to do about Mary,’ said Ambrose.

‘I think you must accept that for now, there is nothing you can do. Merry is still grieving; she needs her family around her and they need her.’

‘But if she misses out on her education now, she’ll have no chance of getting the university degree I know could be within her grasp. It would change her life, James.’

James reached out a hand and placed it on Ambrose’s. ‘Trust me, leave it for the moment.’

There was a tap on the door as it opened, and Mrs Cavanagh appeared. James immediately pulled back his hand.

After a moment’s pause, Mrs Cavanagh’s beady eyes pulled themselves up from James’s hand to his face. ‘Excuse me if I was interrupting, but I was wondering what time you wanted your tea?’

‘Mr Lister will leave to drive back to Dublin in twenty minutes or so. I can make myself a sandwich later,’ James said abruptly.

‘Very well,’ Mrs Cavanagh nodded. ‘I’ll be off then, and we’ll be having to find a permanent replacement for Mrs O’Reilly soon. Ellen O’Reilly isn’t reliable, in my opinion, and I need my day off. Goodnight, Father,’ she said, then nodded at Ambrose and added, ‘Sir.’ The door shut behind her with a thump.