Winter Song by James Hanley Page A

This woman was truly caught, hand and foot, heart and soul. She was quite carried away by her iron determination to have her way. Finally, it drove the old man back to sea—a thing she had always dreaded—she had a horror of the sea. Her father had been a sea captain at one time. She made this journey towards her goal in perfect secrecy, she communicated to no one. What one expected happened. The boy ran away from the seminary, to which he should never have been sent. The eldest son kept clear, he never came near her—I think he was really afraid of her. Almost everything she put her hand to crumbled to pieces. Her husband was living at home, doing nothing—he was, to some extent, worthless, he had no discipline and little character. But she got him away to sea—she couldn’t bear the sight of him after the disappointment. She climbed a mountain of debt, all with the same secrecy. Nobody knew. But a time for a settlement came, and when it did come she found herself without a husband behind her, her three children gone, indifferent and not caring. The rest, you know.’
    â€˜It seems to have been a struggle for nothing, after all.’
    â€˜Waste,’ Father Moynihan said—‘waste.’
    â€˜But they will be together again. That is all that matters,’ the Mother Superior said.
    â€˜Yes, that’s true. Tell me, Mother, who has been keeping her here all this long year?’
    â€˜Her eldest son. He is generous with money, but not with affection. I found him rather amusing on the only occasion he ever came. He was so—shall I say, out of place—he was so clumsy, hardly any manners, boorish, and that steel-like determination you find in ignorance. He was vilely antireligious—it really horrified me.’
    â€˜She was to blame for that, the foolish woman. Well, I must be away. I shall have to tell this man Kilkey to-night. Meanwhile, you will give her the news. This having no home does make it awkward. You know, Mother, I would if I were you, try to persuade her to get in touch with her only sister. She lives alone in that big house in the Mall. I am sure she would make a home for them. Mr Fury has no living relations in Mayo now. Indeed, I think it would be an excellent idea if you wrote to her yourself. You have her address?’
    â€˜A Miss Mangan. Yes, I have it, Father Moynihan,’ she got up and accompanied him out.
    At the door she said ‘You have been very good indeed.’
    â€˜Thank you, Mother. Good-night to you.’
    â€˜Good-night.’
    She did not waste any time. And she found Mrs Fury in her bed. She was awake, looking up at the ceiling, she seemed hardly to notice the woman in the room, who now sat down.
    â€˜Good-evening to you,’ she said, smiling, ‘and what kind of a day have you had to-day?’
    The woman turned her head. ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I’m so glad you’ve come. I was afraid.’
    The Mother Superior sat on the edge of the bed.
    â€˜Afraid of what, dear?’
    â€˜I don’t know. Just afraid. I expect. I was dreaming. I went to bed early, I couldn’t eat any supper. I felt I couldn’t eat it. I must have dozed off to sleep. Sometimes I’m afraid to fall asleep, Mother—the dreams. I have such awful dreams.’
    â€˜What do you dream, dear?’ She removed stray wisps of hair from off the woman’s eyes.
    There was no answer.
    â€˜Perhaps you were dreaming of him, my child,’ the Mother Superior said.
    â€˜No, not him. God keep him. I used to—I used to night after night. But not now.’
    â€˜Are you unhappy about something, then?’
    â€˜I’m so lonely,’ the woman said—‘nobody comes.’
    It was the first time she had heard the woman complain.
    â€˜But you have friends, dear—you should not feel like that. That man Kilkey comes once a week and last Sunday Father Moynihan came. And I know Sister Angelica