Hidden past

Chapter 8

Chapter 8

She'd cram as much as she possibly could into what time there was left. She'd glitter and sparkle and she'd go in a burst of glory. Somehow she'd find the strength and the courage. She looked around her. It was dank and the water looked dark and menacing and a terrible fear gripped her. She wanted to run to someone, to feel safe and protected. She fought it down. She wasn't afraid! She'd never been afraid of anything. She walked out into the sunlight, leaving the darkness and the fear behind and somehow the world looked brighter, the colours richer, the sounds sweeter, even the air clearer and fresher. She'd live every single moment of it to the full from now on.

Both Evelyn and Edward had their work cut out keeping the curious at a distance, and only Father Maguire and Doctor Byrne had been allowed to enter the house. Doctor Byrne had pleaded with Chloe to let him at least tell Evelyn, but she had refused blank, saying that she'd already caused her mother enough pain and she wasn't going to add to it. But, despite her promise to herself, when the Parish Priest sat with her in the parlour and with the wisdom that came from decades of listening to all the sorrows of mankind, asked her what was troubling her, she'd broken down and told him. He didn't try to console her with platitudes or make flowery speeches about the road to heaven being strewn with thorns. He took her hands and said, 'Just trust in the Good Lord, Chloe. He'll give you

the strength you need.' After a week of peace, rest and good, plain food, Chloe appeared to have recovered. The dark shadows had disap peared from beneath her eyes, the pinched look had gone from her face and Evelyn swore she was putting on some weight. It was due, Chloe told them, to the tonic Doctor Byrne had prescribed.

Edward had remarked on her apparent recovery. And why shouldn't she have made a wonderful recov

ery?' Evelyn demanded. 'She's young and she's as stubborn as old man Heggartey's donkey, but don't think you'll get away with taking her back before she's made a public appearance! I can't keep Mrs Butler-Power away for ever, that one's got ideas above her station and always has had!'

'I suppose you're right, and I also suppose that it's only

fair, but I'll make the arrangements." 'What arrangements?' Chloe enquired, coming into the kitchen.

'Never you mind, Miss! Edward has come to take you for a quiet walk and to do some fishing. Matty has informed him in his infinite wisdom that there's trout in the river, just past the bridge.'

It was a beautiful, late summer evening and they met no one as they drove the trap down the lane to the crossroads. Edward unhitched the horse and tied a long rope to its halter, allowing it to graze but not wander off.

'Who taught you to do that?' Chloe laughed.

Whatever the good doctor had said to her that day had obviously had some effect, Edward thought. 'Matty. I've learned a lot of things since I've been here. I could get used to this kind of life. No one rushes. People have time to stop and talk to you, even if you've never set eyes on them before.'

"They're just curious and you'd be bored silly in a couple of months, especially in winter. It's not like this all the time. Sometimes it just rains and rains and rains and it's so miserable, even though it's a soft rain. And besides, nothing ev happens here.'

How can you say that? Two wars, the emergence of a new nation and Clonmel's most famous daughter home at last. I wouldn't call that nothing!'

She sat down on the grass verge beside the towpath and watched him as he cast out his line towards the Gurteen bank, where the pines rose like dark sentinels. Just beyond them could be seen the neo-gothic turrets of Kilsheelan Castle. Chloe pulled the head off a dandelion that had gone to seed. Dandelion clocks, they used to call them as children. She blew on it gently and watched the gossamer-like seeds drift off into the air and she remem bered Evelyn's words. She threw the remaining head and stalk into the slow-moving waters of the Suir and watched it float away.

She wondered if Edward really meant he was getting used to this kind of life. He'd changed since he'd been here. He'd lost that perpetually cynical look and they hadn't had one cross word. He had been made more than welcome by the town and he was quite at ease, dressed in an old pair of trousers and a shirt, wandering the lanes or leaning on the parapet down at the quays talking to the labourers and boatmen. This was a side of him she'd never seen before. She struggled to push back the black thoughts that usually only came with the dark hours of the night. Here, she could almost forget, almost . . . and when he was like this it weakened her resolve and more than once she had been tempted to tell him. The impulse passed, the fear receded.

She heard the 'plop' of a fish as it broke the sur face and she heard him curse softly. She smiled. He might enjoy the quiet life but he was no fisherman. The smile faded as she remembered how Pa had often caught the brown-speckled trout by lying on his stomach and slowly and quietly immersing his hand and arm in the water, tickling the fish gently to lull it, then flipping it deftly on to the bank. Oh, how happy those days had been. Why couldn't time have stood still? She thought of the poem he'd taught them all about the Suir, but she could only remember a few lines now: 'When hauling horses and warbling sea-gulls They join in chorus - melodius, pure -- Sure the trout and cels dance jigs and reels By the lovely banks of the sweet river Suir'