Page 145 of The Missing Sister

‘Merry, please don’t cry. It’s wonderful news. You beat girls across the country to win it. It means you’re very clever.’

‘But... but there must be a mistake! I know I failed. ’Tis a mistake, Father, really, it is.’

‘No, Merry, it isn’t. See, here’s the letter.’

James watched her read it, her expression changing to astonishment, then back to misery.

‘So, what do you think?’ he asked.

‘What I think is that ’tis nice of them to offer it to me, but I can’t go.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because Nora and Katie and the small ones need me here. I wouldn’t leave my family. What would Daddy be saying?’

‘I’ve spoken to him and he’s said yes to you going. He’s as proud as punch of you, Merry.’

‘He wants me to go?’

‘Yes. He thinks it’s a wonderful opportunity. Like I do, and Ambrose,’ he added.

‘But it’s Dublin, and so far away.’

‘I understand, but you’ll be back in the holidays, and...’ James paused, wanting to choose his words carefully. ‘Merry, the world is so much bigger than down here in West Cork, and it is becoming even more so for young women. With a proper education, you could have a wonderful future ahead of you. Ambrose has always believed you do.’

‘Can I... can I think about it?’

‘Of course you can. Let me know when you have decided.’

In bed that night, Merry confessed to Katie what Father O’Brien had told her. Expecting her sister to react with rage, declaring that she wouldn’t let her leave because she would have more work to do, Merry was shocked when Katie nodded calmly.

‘’Tis what you need, Merry,’ she said.

‘No! I need to stay here and help you and Nora take care of Pat and Bill and Daddy and the farm...’

‘And you’ll do that by going off to Dublin city and becoming even more clever than you already are, and making this family rich,’ she said. ‘Ellen showed me some of her magazines – Merry, girls in Dublin drive cars! And dance at rock concerts, notceilidhs... Maybe I could even come and visit you sometimes and see for myself. We’ll be grand here without you. We’ll miss you something fierce, but we’ll have you back plenty enough in the holidays.’

‘Oh Katie, I’m scared. Dublin is a big city and I know I’d be getting homesick for all of you.’

‘I know,’ she said, taking her sister in her arms. ‘But I’ll be telling you something, Merry O’Reilly: when I grow up, I’m not staying in this life we have now. Mammy died ’cos of it, and look at Ellen: she’s married a farmer’s son, and already has one babe and a second on the way. She’s swapped one hard life for another and I’ll not be doing that. My way out is my looks and yours is your brain. Use what God has given you, Merry, like I will, and then neither of us will be spending the rest of our lives cleaning out pig shite. Think what Mammy would have wanted for you. I know she’d say ’tis the right thing for you to do.’

With her beloved sister’s approval, and her father, Miss Lucey, Father O’Brien and Ambrose all saying she should go, Merry finally agreed.

A celebration was held at the farm and, for once, Merry didn’t mind Daddy drinking whiskey, because he took out his fiddle and played as the children danced around the New Room.

Little Pat didn’t really understand why everyone was happy and dancing, but it didn’t matter, Merry thought, because it was the first time she’d seen her family smiling since Mammy died. All except Nora, who’d glared at her when Daddy had announced the good news. But everyone knew she was a jealous eejit, so Merry ignored her.

At the beginning of September, dressed in her new school uniform, Merry went out into the courtyard to say goodbye to all the animals. Bridget’s daddy would soon be arriving in his car to drive them both to the station in Cork City so they could take the train to Dublin together. It would be Merry’s first ever time on a train, and when she had confessed this to Bridget, she hadn’t laughed at her as she’d expected, but had said that they would have a grand time, as her housekeeper would pack her a picnic with plenty of sandwiches to eat, and a big bar of chocolate for afterwards.

‘There’ll be enough for the two of us to share, promise.’

Perhaps they could be friends after all, Merry thought.

It was warm in the cow barn, and there was the familiar rustling of young calves.

‘Merry!’ shouted her brother, who was changing the straw. ‘Don’t you be getting any muck on your fine new clothes. Get on with you, out of here!’ He shooed her into the courtyard, then gave her a big hug. ‘You’re not to be taking on any airs and graces now and coming back with a soft Dublin accent,’ he said. ‘You take care of yourself up in the big city.’

‘I will, John, I’ll see you soon.’