Page 154 of The Missing Sister

Ambrose then looked down to his left at the far smaller Protestant church, built just below the enormous breadth of the Catholic church of the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary. Here for certain, a very unholy war had taken place and still rumbled on. Even since Partition, when Northern Ireland had been split from the rest of the new Republic of Ireland, there was anger that the Protestant British ran part of the island. And yet, wasn’t the act of Communion at the centre of both Catholic and Protestant communities?

‘Dear James,’ he breathed, ‘I do love you so very much, but I also fear you’ve wedded yourself to an empty promise.’

However, Ambrose accepted that, like the Franciscan monks who’d built Timoleague Friary over seven hundred years ago, his beloved friend wished to do good while he was here on earth. As he thought about that precious newborn baby – the way he’d felt as he’d held her in his arms, knowing he would never hold one of his own – Ambrose felt a tug at his heart.

Turning back and bracing himself for the rest of the walk up the hill, he headed back towards the priest’s house.

‘How’s the little one?’ James asked Maggie as she set the table for lunch.

‘Grand altogether, thank you, Father. I fed her again and she’s sleeping tight on your bed.’

‘And you, Maggie? You must be exhausted.’

‘I am very well, Father,’ Maggie replied, although her face told another story. ‘Have you spoken to the father in Bandon?’

‘No, I’m only in from Mass for a few minutes. Do you happen to know where the nearest orphanage is?’

‘I believe ’tis in Clonakilty. There’s a convent there and they take in babes like ours... yours,’ Maggie blushed.

James could see she was close to tears as she stirred the soup on the hob. She opened the door to the range and pulled out a tin of something that smelt delicious.

‘I’ve made you a brack, Father. I found some dried fruit in the pantry and thought you could have it with a cup of tea this afternoon.’

‘Thank you, Maggie. I haven’t had a brack cake since I was in Dublin. Ah,’ he said as he heard the front door open and close, ‘that’ll be Ambrose. Please, serve up.’

Ambrose entered the kitchen, breathing heavily.

‘’Tis a steep climb indeed from the waterfront,’ James said. ‘Are you all right, my friend?’

‘Yes, just unused to walking up hills, that’s all,’ Ambrose said, sitting down and drinking some water from the glass Maggie had set on the table. ‘How was Mass?’

‘Busy for a Monday morning. And there were a number for confession after.’

‘I would guess that was to do with taking drink on God’s Holy Day,’ Ambrose smiled as Maggie placed a bowl of soup in front of him.

‘There is also bread and butter for you both. I’ll be getting on with my chores now, if you have everything you need.’

‘Thank you, Maggie. This smells delicious.’

‘’Tis only turnip and potato, but I added an apple from the windfall pile you have in the pantry. Lends a touch of sweetness, I always think.’

Giving a bob, Maggie left the kitchen.

‘This actually tastes as good as it looks,’ said James as he blew on a spoon and took a sip, then cut himself a thick hunk of homemade bread and laced it with butter. ‘Bread for you, Ambrose?’

‘Indeed. And the soupisgood. What a shame you couldn’t get the girl to replace Mrs Cavanagh completely.’

‘If only,’ James sighed. ‘But there’d be riots in the hierarchy, I can tell you. She looked after my predecessor for years.’

‘Maggie is a real beauty too, if only she wasn’t so thin,’ Ambrose commented. ‘Listen, dear chap, I’ve been thinking while I was out and about on my walk.’

‘I know that is a dangerous thing,’ James smiled.

‘For some reason, I was pondering my own family genealogy, back to Lord Henry Lister, known in our family as the Great Philanthropist. He near bankrupted the Listers through his generosity. I was also thinking about that baby sleeping upstairs. And how you know better than I that the best she can hope for,ifshe survives childhood, would be a menial education, which would only fit her for a future in service or some other low-paid job.’

‘And...?’

‘Well, getting to the point, I have money, James. And as I know, I will never have a family of my own—’