Betty
‘I WAS WORRIED BECAUSE WE haven’t any reeds collected at home.’
Peggy tells me, sitting at my kitchen table. Today, we had the first cold kiss of February. White light coming in on the table, a pile of reeds spread out before us. Her legs dangle from the chair.
‘I thought we’d make them in school, but we just watched while teacher made one. We used always make one each in my old school.’
Such a great talker. I suppose it could be that she doesn’t get much of a chance to talk at home. Now that I’ve got her started, she may never stop.
‘I was afraid that there would be no reeds left in Ballycrea, and I wouldn’t get to make any cross.’
Later on, I will have to show her the pond, and how many reeds grow there, so that she doesn’t need to worry in the future.
‘What do you make of the school? Do you like the other children?’
She is at such a lovely age. So keen to talk and share opinions, so eager to know things.
‘It’s better than my old school.’
‘What was wrong with your old school?’
‘They used call me bastard.’
Oh, I didn’t expect this. She says it like it still hurts. A girl her age shouldn’t even know that word. I assumed Peggy would have been popular anywhere she went. Thanks be to God that she has been given a new start.
‘Nobody should call you that, Peggy. Sure it isn’t your fault what happened to your mammy and daddy.’
I reach out, tilting her face to me.
‘I told my teacher they’re working in áras an Uachtaráin. Just so you know.’
I take this to mean she wants me to spread the rumour on her behalf. I nod, and hope that she believes me. Those awful brats. I’ve half a mind to ring her old school. I squeeze her arm and try to get her mind off it.
‘Would Anna normally make Brigid’s Crosses with you?’
I ask, but Peggy doesn’t look up at me again. She is focused on bending the reeds as evenly as she can.
‘No, Anna can’t make them. She hasn’t the patience for anything like this. None of them at home would.’
I wonder what things Anna has patience for at home.
Whether she is the closest to Peggy, or whether it’s one of the boys.
I carry a hot, heavy teapot to the table and sit with her, sorting the reeds by size.
She admires the crocheted tea cosy in the shape of a hen.
I tell her that I made it, that I can teach her how to do it one day.
But she seems more interested in the woolly hen.
‘I love all animals. I’m going to be a vet when I’m older.’
‘Oh, you’ll make a brilliant vet, Peggy.’
And I wonder where she got the patience from, if not from Anna or the two lads. I’m not being nosy, I only want to find out more about the family.
‘So who used you make Brigid’s Crosses with before, if it wasn’t Anna?’
‘Lillian.’
Hold on now. Nobody has mentioned any Lillian to me before. Peggy sighs.
‘Is that your friend from home?’
I ask, and immediately regret asking. Ballycrea is her home now, I shouldn’t be putting other ideas in her head. I’m sure it’s been hard enough to get her to settle here, without me reminding her of the home and all of the people she has left behind.
‘Lillian was Jack’s girl. She used look after me all the time.’
Now there’s a bit of gossip. Jack has left a girl behind in their old village.
What happened there, I wonder? And has Tom mentioned anything to Bill?
I don’t know why I never considered that they might have left women behind them.
Sure they’re good-looking lads. It just seems like they are an isolated unit, the four of them, with no ties to anyone else. I’ll have to tell Ciara.
‘We used make them every year at her house, on the first day of spring.’
Maybe I shouldn’t encourage her to keep talking about this woman. Especially if she is Jack’s ex-girlfriend. Peggy needs to be present where she is, not half here and half there.
‘What are you giving up for Lent, Peggy?’
It’s easy to change the subject with a child. She starts listing all the sweets she is going to give up. Lent is more than a month away, but she doesn’t question it. I pour a cup of tea for her.
‘Lillian used always say she was giving up sugar, but then she would take sugar in her tea on Sundays and eat fruitcake with it. Are you allowed to break Lent on Sundays?’
‘I’m sure even Holy God takes a little break on Sundays.’
I’m not sure what else to tell her. If this Lillian was breaking Lent, I don’t want to tell Peggy that she was wrong.
I wonder if it was a bad end between herself and Jack.
Maybe she could come and visit, or maybe we could arrange for Peggy to talk to her on the telephone.
Or maybe that’s all totally inappropriate. I’ll have to ask Ciara what she thinks.
‘That’s what Lillian would say! But Jack would never laugh because her daddy never laughed, and he wanted her daddy to like him.’
‘Hurry up and finish that cross now, like a good girl.’
There’s no taking Lillian out of her head. Once the first cross is finished, I hold it up to the kitchen window, to the sunlight, and pretend to inspect it.
‘Peggy, this is perfect! Oh, it’s so neat, you’ll have to do me a few more.’
She smiles and keeps going. I ask her to tell me the story of St Brigid, and help her where she leaves gaps. But she knows the story very well. She is a smart girl.
When she has a few crosses made, I tell her to put on her coat, and wrap one of my scarves around her.
Holding her hand, we walk down to Mrs Deer’s house.
Every year I bring her in a cross, which she keeps in the rafters.
Living all on her own, Mrs Deer’s house is dark and quiet, and I can sense that Peggy is half afraid to go in.
I am so glad to have found a child to deliver crosses to the elderly with me, because every year, I fear that somebody will suddenly deem me elderly, and have a child drop a cross into my house.
We stand at Mrs Deer’s door while she praises the cross from the threshold. Her warped posture and sparse hair scares Peggy. It isn’t fair really; Mrs Deer is a lovely woman. Peggy holds my hand tighter until we leave her door.
‘She’s a very nice person, she’s just very old.’
‘How old is she?’
I laugh, and don’t scold her for being cheeky.
‘She’s as old as the hills.’
I say, when we are far enough from the house that we won’t be heard.
When Peggy was scared, she held onto my hand tight.
She needed to be looked after, and she wanted me to do it.
Thrilling heartbreak. She chose me, but she isn’t mine at all.
She’s only the sister of somebody I barely know.
I wonder if I will spend my whole life trying to mother things that don’t need me.
Still, I bring her down to Ciara’s door to give in a cross, and we spend an hour with the puppies.
I keep the neatest cross for myself and show it off to Anna, and to Tom and Bill when they come in.
Anna fidgets, and for a moment I wonder if I have crossed a line by spending the afternoon looking after Peggy.
I hope she won’t feel like I’m trying to step on her territory.
I’ve to keep Anna sweet if I want to spend time with Peggy.
But things seem alright when we all sit down together for cake and a pot of tea.
I’m just dying to ask them about Lillian, but I let her go unmentioned for now.
To hear Peggy’s laughing fill up the house is so sweet.
And it’s good to have new friends. To eat warm fruitcake with them on the first evening of spring.