Danny Boy, page 3
‘What?’
‘That you are very, very special to me. My own wee brother and wherever I am you will always hold part of my heart.’
Dermot was only slightly mollified by Rosie’s words, but he did at least begin to see that whatever he did or said, would change nothing and the days rolled by one into another.
The day before the wedding, Rosie felt herself looking around her home, seeing her room, her sisters, her parents and little distressed Dermot in a new light, knowing soon she was leaving them behind her. She loved Danny and oh without a doubt she longed to be with him, longed to be his wife, longed for fulfilment and to be loved with intensity, but it was a big step nonetheless, whereas for Danny, little was changing. He’d have a wife certainly, but he would still be living at his own house and with his family still around him. It wouldn’t be the same wrench for him at all.
It wasn’t that Rosie disliked Danny’s parents or siblings and they’d gone out of their way to make her welcome in their home. It was just that she was nervous of leaving. Her home had never been a bed of roses and since Dermot’s birth, it had been liberally strewn with thorns, but it had been familiar and she knew she would miss her sisters greatly.
Minnie didn’t help her daughter’s unease at all, when she spoke to her the night before the wedding. She chose to talk to her after her sisters and Dermot had made their way to bed and Seamus was doing one last round of the farm before turning in. ‘There are things about marriage that women don’t talk about,’ she began.
There had been no lead up to the conversation. Rosie had stared at her mother slightly appalled and a little embarrassed. It was too late for this type of discussion.
Evidently, Minnie didn’t realise this, for she went on. ‘You must let your man do as he pleases once you are married. It’s what you’ll promise to do before the priest and congregation tomorrow. You don’t have to enjoy what he does, most women don’t, but you must endure it. He may hurt you at first, this fine husband of yours, but even if he does, you must let him have his way, for this is what marriage is all about.’
It seemed an eternity that Rosie sat before the dying fire that night after her mother’s words, looking into the turf settled into the grate with a hiss and lick of orange flame, while the wind gusted around the cottage, trepidation and fear of what was before her, driving away tiredness. And then, her father came in, the door torn from his grasp by the wind, so it slammed against the wall with a crash. He brought in with him the cold of the autumn night and Rosie, unable to sit any longer and make inane conversation, after the declaration her mother had made, took herself off to bed.
TWO
The next day, Rosie awakened to a silent house. The morning was a dark one but the clock said it was half past seven and she knew her father would have been up a few hours or more, milking the cows. Guiltily, she pulled herself away from the warmth of her sisters curled up together, and began to dress.
Her mother turned from the fire before which she was sitting as Rosie came in. ‘That was good timing,’ she said. ‘I was just about to call you.’ The plate she laid before Rosie almost took her breath away – there were rashers, an egg, fried tomatoes, potato cakes, white pudding and fried bread.
Rosie couldn’t remember the last time her mother had cooked her breakfast, never mind a feast like this. ‘Mammy, this is marvellous.’
‘All brides should have a good breakfast on their wedding day,’ Minnie said. ‘Sets you up for the day and Lord knows when you’ll ever have one so good again.’
‘It’s like giving a condemned man one last request, the way you put it,’ Rosie complained, but with a smile. However, when her eyes met those of her mother’s and she saw her tight-lipped, an icy thread of apprehension trailed down her spine.
It vanished at the church when she saw Danny waiting for her at the altar beside Shay Ferguson, his best man. She walked slowly down the familiar church on her father’s arm, her four bridesmaids coming behind, when really she wanted to fly into the arms of her beloved.
The church was full of neighbours and friends of the young couple and Rosie heard feet shuffling in the pews and a few coughs or sniffs as women sat dabbing at their eyes with handkerchiefs. She wanted to say, ‘Don’t cry, I’m happy, I’ve never been so happy.’
But, of course, she said nothing. She reached the altar at last and gave her bouquet to Chrissie, slipping her arm from her father’s to stand beside Danny. He turned to look at her, and she felt her heart nearly stop and gave a short gasp at how handsome he looked. As for Danny, he thought he’d never seen a girl so beautiful. He knew in Rosie he’d met his soul mate who he would love till the end of his days, and at that moment vowed never to do anything that would hurt her.
Rosie came out of the church later, blinking in the rays of the October sun, on the arm of her husband and as she smiled at the crowds milling around them cheering the young couple Rosie felt warmed by their good wishes.
The wedding breakfast was laid out in the farmhouse. Trestle tables with benches had been borrowed from the church hall to seat people. Rosie sat at the end table with Danny, their parents either side of them, and looked at the spread put on and knew Connie and her daughters must have worked for days and days to provide for so many. Though her parents had paid for the food, Rosie knew her mother had not done a hand’s turn to prepare it.
The two-tier wedding cake had been a present from the baker in the village. ‘You keep the top tier for the christening,’ he’d said, with a nudge to Rosie’s ribs and then laughed uproariously as her face flamed with embarrassment.
It was fortunate that the day was dry and warm enough for the dancing to take place outside, and this gave Connie and her daughters time and space to clear away the dirty things. Rosie’s offer to help was waved away. ‘Not on your wedding day, bonny girl,’ Connie said. ‘Away and dance with your man.’
And Rosie did dance with him. She was seldom off her feet as the accordion, fiddle and banjo played the familiar reels and jigs and polkas while the bodhran beat out the steady rhythm.
It was a wondrous, tremendous day, and when the revellers eventually made their way home – and not all of them terribly steady, either – Danny and Rosie stayed outside while the velvety darkness closed about them. Danny had his arm around Rosie and she leaned against him in absolute contentment.
‘Are you happy, Mrs Walsh?’ Danny asked her.
‘Deliriously so, Mr Walsh,’ Rosie replied with a smile.
‘Shall we go in?’
Rosie, remembering her mother’s words, couldn’t stop the slight shiver that ran through her. Danny guessed immediately what she was nervous of. ‘Don’t be scared,’ he told her. ‘Not of me. I’ll not hurt you. Trust me.’
And she did trust him, of course she did, this was Danny, her Danny, who she’d lay down her life for. ‘I do trust you, Danny,’ she said. ‘It was the night air causing me to feel chilly, that’s all. Let’s go in.’
Danny knew it was no night air but he kissed Rosie on the cheek, took her arm and led her indoors, where he found everyone had prudently taken themselves to bed.
Rosie knew that they would be living with Danny’s family for a while, maybe for years, until a house of their own could be built near to the farmhouse. Connie guessed Rosie might find this strange and could well understand it. She had put her arm around Rosie’s shoulder one evening a few days before the wedding and said, ‘I don’t want you to feel that this is someone else’s house you are living in when you come here. From now on, this will be your home.’
‘Thank you, you’re all so kind.’
‘We should be thanking you,’ Connie had said, ‘for making our son such a happy man. In you I really feel I have gained a daughter. We must decide what you are to call me, for I know it has been awkward at times.’
Rosie had blushed. She had not known what to call Connie. Mrs Walsh sounded too formal and Connie too familiar, but she hadn’t been aware that the woman had known of her dilemma. Connie had gone on, ‘It was the same with me and my mother-in-law at the start, yet in a way it was easier for me: my own mother was dead and so I just called her Mammy.’
Rosie had thought of the love she’d experienced in this house in just the few months she’d been coming there, more by far than she’d ever had in her own home. She couldn’t ever remember her mother putting her arm around her the way Connie did with ease. Even Matt would catch hold of her hand or pat her on the shoulder as he passed and she realised these good, kind people were better parents to her than her own would ever be. She had turned to Connie and had said, ‘I would love to call you Mammy.’
‘You would?’ Connie had asked. ‘You don’t think your own mammy will mind it?’
‘I don’t think she will give a tinker’s cuss for anything I do,’ Rosie had replied bitterly. ‘It used to upset me, but now I have Danny, a new home and a new life and to an extent a new family. To call you Mammy will just be part of it.’
Danny was pleased his mother and Rosie got on so well together for he knew if there was any sort of friction between them, living in such close proximity would be untenable and there was nowhere else he and Rosie could live for the present, although he was doing his best to give them a private bedroom at least. As in most farmhouses, the main bedrooms led straight off the kitchen-cum-living room. The first one was the room that Elizabeth and Sarah shared and you went through that to reach the one Danny had previously shared with Phelan, just as it had been in her own home while Connie and Matt had the one room in the loft, up the stairs to the back of the kitchen.
Underneath the stairs was another room that had been used for storage and that was the room Danny had chosen. He and his father had worked hard before the wedding, moving all the junk to the barn and making sure the place was watertight and damp free.
Now Rosie stood at the threshold of the door and looked around in delight as Danny lit the lamp.
Connie and Matt had bought them a new iron-framed bedstead and mattress, and Rosie looked at it made up with the sheets and blankets she’d brought with her, the embroidered pillowcases visible where the sheets were turned down, and one of her nightdresses draped over the coverlet.
She saw Connie had been busy. There were pictures on the walls and bright rag rugs on the stone-flagged floor, and the Sacred Heart of Jesus above their bed. Rosie and Danny had bought a new bedroom suite from a catalogue, but Rosie hadn’t seen it until now because it had been delivered to the Walshes’ farmhouse only a few days before the wedding. Now, Rosie saw someone had hung her clothes in the dark wood wardrobe and her personal things were laid out on the matching dressing table.
‘Oh Danny, it’s beautiful!’ she cried.
‘So are you and I can’t wait much longer,’ Danny said huskily, wrapping his arms around his young wife. ‘Oh God, Rosie, how I’ve longed for this moment. I love you and want you so much.’
The love in his voice melted Rosie’s apprehension and she allowed Danny to strip the wedding dress from her and let it fall in silken folds at her feet, her petticoats, corset and bloomers following as he laid her on the bed and removed her boots and stockings. She lay beneath the sheets, naked as she hadn’t been since she’d been a wee child, for she’d always been taught to dress and undress beneath her nightdress.
Suddenly, Danny, in his haste to divest himself of his clothes, kicked the chamber pot beneath the bed and the ringing sound reverberated throughout the house. Rosie put her hand across her mouth to still the giggles.
‘Shut up,’ Danny hissed, laughing himself. ‘This is no laughing matter, madam. Please conduct yourself with proper decorum.’
‘Aye, Mr Walsh, I will,’ Rosie said, gazing at her husband as she spoke and realising she was seeing a naked man for the very first time in her life. Danny snuffed out the light and slid in beside her.
After her mother’s words she’d imagined herself lying rigid in the bed in her pristine nightdress while Danny did unmentionable things to her that she had to submit to now that she was his wife. She imagined it hurting her so much she’d cry out and everyone would hear.
But it wasn’t a bit like that. Danny held her close and caressed her gently, while his tongue, darting in and out of her mouth, sent sharp shafts of desire flowing through her whole body as she let her hands explore his body too. When she came upon his hardened penis, she gave a gasp. Danny was nuzzling at her breasts and she cried, ‘Oh, Danny, please, please hurry.’
Danny smiled. The passion in both of them could be denied no longer and he carefully entered his young wife. She did feel pain, but it was overridden by waves of exquisite joy which engulfed her over and over again, until she felt she could die with happiness. She couldn’t help the cry that burst from her lips, and as Danny, spent at last, lay on top of her, she felt tears of joy seep from under her lashes and trickle down her cheeks.
She felt loved, desired, wanted, as she’d never truly felt in her life before. But none of her earlier life mattered – now she had Danny and he more than made up for her parents’ indifference.
When Danny discovered Rosie was crying he was horrified. ‘Don’t cry. Oh God, Rosie, don’t,’ he implored. ‘Did I hurt you? Oh God, I’m sorry.’
Rosie’s smile was watery but her voice firm as she said, ‘Are you not the finest eejit, Danny? Don’t you know women cry from happiness as well as sorrow? Don’t ever apologise for what we did tonight, for I wanted it as much as you and it was wonderful so it was.’
Danny knew he’d found a treasure, a woman who’d love him all his life and who enjoyed their lovemaking. He wrapped his arms tightly around her. ‘I love you, Mrs Walsh,’ he said.
‘And I you, Mr Walsh,’ Rosie replied happily. She snuggled against him and the two slept entwined until the cock crowed the next morning.
Connie got on well with Rosie. She liked the girl for herself and also because she made her son happy. She’d known it from the first morning. Connie had heard the cry Rosie had given the previous night and knew what they were about and prayed that it was a cry of joy and not pain. She hoped her son had had the patience to take Rosie gently, for she knew she would be a virgin, and later the stained sheets she stripped from the bed gave further evidence of this.
But when she saw the two of them together the next morning, she knew that whatever way Danny had approached their first nuptial coupling, it had pleased his young wife, and that was all that mattered. She saw the way their eyes met and the secret smiles between them, the way Danny found ways to be near Rosie, putting his hand around her shoulder, touching her arm, catching her suddenly around the waist and pulling her close. Rosie delighted in these exchanges, even as she coloured in embarrassment. They were happy and at one together and Connie was content.
Rosie had wondered how it would fare with so many women in the one kitchen, but she needn’t have worried. Danny’s eldest sister, Sarah, had been working as a seamstress in Blessington village since Elizabeth had left school and was able to help her mother. Now, with Rosie to take on that role, Elizabeth was anxious to follow her sister, who assured her there was plenty of work. ‘Do you mind?’ Rosie asked Elizabeth. ‘I’d not like to think I was pushing you out of your own home.’
‘You’re not,’ Elizabeth told her. ‘I’ve been dying to go. Sarah has fun there with the other girls and after I left school I found the farm a bit stifling and lonely – you know how it is. It’s different for you, you’re married now and you’ll probably have your own babies soon enough, but I want something for myself before I tie myself down.’
‘Well, if you’re sure?’
‘I am,’ Elizabeth said, and suddenly, impulsively, gave Rosie a kiss on the cheek. Rosie was pleased but surprised. ‘What was that for?’
‘Oh nothing,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Just to say welcome to the family. We’re all glad you’re here, Danny especially – he’s like a dog with two tails.’
There was a lot of talk and laughter around the Walsh table in the evenings. They found humour in many things and were not averse to poking fun at one another. Rosie was included in this from the start and it only took her a short amount of time to be able to come back at them in the same teasing vein.
Connie knew that Rosie hadn’t been happy at home and she also knew, like most of the village, that the main problem in the house centred around the fuss made of the wee fellow Dermot.
It didn’t help that Dermot looked so angelic, with his fair curls and his large blue eyes and elfin face. He looked remarkably like the statues of the cherubs in the church in Blessington, except that he didn’t have the angels’ chubby frame. Dermot was slight and fine-boned, and Minnie called him delicate yet the child seldom ailed. ‘She’ll not let the wind blow on him because if it,’ Danny said with a snort whenever Connie spoke of him. ‘The child’s no more delicate than I am.’
‘I agree with you,’ Connie said. ‘Phelan was a bit like that when he was younger and now look at him.’ Phelan had sprouted that year and was continuing to grow, and while Danny was six foot in his stocking feet, she thought Phelan might even exceed that eventually. ‘No,’ Connie concluded. ‘There’s not a lot wrong with that wee boy – I’d just call him wiry.’
‘Call him wiry, delicate, or whatever you like,’ Danny said. ‘I’ll tell you one thing, I’m almighty glad Rosie is out of that unnatural atmosphere.’
Connie agreed with Danny, and yet she encouraged Rosie to visit her old home once a week. After all, it was no distance at all over the fields, even if they were too muddy to cross and she had to use the roads, it was only just over two miles away, not that far at all.
Rosie was glad to go, for kind though Connie was, she missed her sisters and young Dermot too, for all he was a wee tyrant. But as the days shortened she seldom saw her brother for she always left the house before he came in from school so she could be back home before the dark set in. As the weather got colder, she often thought if it wasn’t for Connie urging her to go and the genuine welcome she received from Chrissie and Geraldine, she’d often not bother to leave the Walshes cosy farmhouse to fight with the elements to reach her old home. Her mother didn’t seem to care whether she was there or not; she never showed any interest in her new life, her marriage, the Walshes and how she was treated, and though Rosie had expected little else, she was still hurt.
‘That you are very, very special to me. My own wee brother and wherever I am you will always hold part of my heart.’
Dermot was only slightly mollified by Rosie’s words, but he did at least begin to see that whatever he did or said, would change nothing and the days rolled by one into another.
The day before the wedding, Rosie felt herself looking around her home, seeing her room, her sisters, her parents and little distressed Dermot in a new light, knowing soon she was leaving them behind her. She loved Danny and oh without a doubt she longed to be with him, longed to be his wife, longed for fulfilment and to be loved with intensity, but it was a big step nonetheless, whereas for Danny, little was changing. He’d have a wife certainly, but he would still be living at his own house and with his family still around him. It wouldn’t be the same wrench for him at all.
It wasn’t that Rosie disliked Danny’s parents or siblings and they’d gone out of their way to make her welcome in their home. It was just that she was nervous of leaving. Her home had never been a bed of roses and since Dermot’s birth, it had been liberally strewn with thorns, but it had been familiar and she knew she would miss her sisters greatly.
Minnie didn’t help her daughter’s unease at all, when she spoke to her the night before the wedding. She chose to talk to her after her sisters and Dermot had made their way to bed and Seamus was doing one last round of the farm before turning in. ‘There are things about marriage that women don’t talk about,’ she began.
There had been no lead up to the conversation. Rosie had stared at her mother slightly appalled and a little embarrassed. It was too late for this type of discussion.
Evidently, Minnie didn’t realise this, for she went on. ‘You must let your man do as he pleases once you are married. It’s what you’ll promise to do before the priest and congregation tomorrow. You don’t have to enjoy what he does, most women don’t, but you must endure it. He may hurt you at first, this fine husband of yours, but even if he does, you must let him have his way, for this is what marriage is all about.’
It seemed an eternity that Rosie sat before the dying fire that night after her mother’s words, looking into the turf settled into the grate with a hiss and lick of orange flame, while the wind gusted around the cottage, trepidation and fear of what was before her, driving away tiredness. And then, her father came in, the door torn from his grasp by the wind, so it slammed against the wall with a crash. He brought in with him the cold of the autumn night and Rosie, unable to sit any longer and make inane conversation, after the declaration her mother had made, took herself off to bed.
TWO
The next day, Rosie awakened to a silent house. The morning was a dark one but the clock said it was half past seven and she knew her father would have been up a few hours or more, milking the cows. Guiltily, she pulled herself away from the warmth of her sisters curled up together, and began to dress.
Her mother turned from the fire before which she was sitting as Rosie came in. ‘That was good timing,’ she said. ‘I was just about to call you.’ The plate she laid before Rosie almost took her breath away – there were rashers, an egg, fried tomatoes, potato cakes, white pudding and fried bread.
Rosie couldn’t remember the last time her mother had cooked her breakfast, never mind a feast like this. ‘Mammy, this is marvellous.’
‘All brides should have a good breakfast on their wedding day,’ Minnie said. ‘Sets you up for the day and Lord knows when you’ll ever have one so good again.’
‘It’s like giving a condemned man one last request, the way you put it,’ Rosie complained, but with a smile. However, when her eyes met those of her mother’s and she saw her tight-lipped, an icy thread of apprehension trailed down her spine.
It vanished at the church when she saw Danny waiting for her at the altar beside Shay Ferguson, his best man. She walked slowly down the familiar church on her father’s arm, her four bridesmaids coming behind, when really she wanted to fly into the arms of her beloved.
The church was full of neighbours and friends of the young couple and Rosie heard feet shuffling in the pews and a few coughs or sniffs as women sat dabbing at their eyes with handkerchiefs. She wanted to say, ‘Don’t cry, I’m happy, I’ve never been so happy.’
But, of course, she said nothing. She reached the altar at last and gave her bouquet to Chrissie, slipping her arm from her father’s to stand beside Danny. He turned to look at her, and she felt her heart nearly stop and gave a short gasp at how handsome he looked. As for Danny, he thought he’d never seen a girl so beautiful. He knew in Rosie he’d met his soul mate who he would love till the end of his days, and at that moment vowed never to do anything that would hurt her.
Rosie came out of the church later, blinking in the rays of the October sun, on the arm of her husband and as she smiled at the crowds milling around them cheering the young couple Rosie felt warmed by their good wishes.
The wedding breakfast was laid out in the farmhouse. Trestle tables with benches had been borrowed from the church hall to seat people. Rosie sat at the end table with Danny, their parents either side of them, and looked at the spread put on and knew Connie and her daughters must have worked for days and days to provide for so many. Though her parents had paid for the food, Rosie knew her mother had not done a hand’s turn to prepare it.
The two-tier wedding cake had been a present from the baker in the village. ‘You keep the top tier for the christening,’ he’d said, with a nudge to Rosie’s ribs and then laughed uproariously as her face flamed with embarrassment.
It was fortunate that the day was dry and warm enough for the dancing to take place outside, and this gave Connie and her daughters time and space to clear away the dirty things. Rosie’s offer to help was waved away. ‘Not on your wedding day, bonny girl,’ Connie said. ‘Away and dance with your man.’
And Rosie did dance with him. She was seldom off her feet as the accordion, fiddle and banjo played the familiar reels and jigs and polkas while the bodhran beat out the steady rhythm.
It was a wondrous, tremendous day, and when the revellers eventually made their way home – and not all of them terribly steady, either – Danny and Rosie stayed outside while the velvety darkness closed about them. Danny had his arm around Rosie and she leaned against him in absolute contentment.
‘Are you happy, Mrs Walsh?’ Danny asked her.
‘Deliriously so, Mr Walsh,’ Rosie replied with a smile.
‘Shall we go in?’
Rosie, remembering her mother’s words, couldn’t stop the slight shiver that ran through her. Danny guessed immediately what she was nervous of. ‘Don’t be scared,’ he told her. ‘Not of me. I’ll not hurt you. Trust me.’
And she did trust him, of course she did, this was Danny, her Danny, who she’d lay down her life for. ‘I do trust you, Danny,’ she said. ‘It was the night air causing me to feel chilly, that’s all. Let’s go in.’
Danny knew it was no night air but he kissed Rosie on the cheek, took her arm and led her indoors, where he found everyone had prudently taken themselves to bed.
Rosie knew that they would be living with Danny’s family for a while, maybe for years, until a house of their own could be built near to the farmhouse. Connie guessed Rosie might find this strange and could well understand it. She had put her arm around Rosie’s shoulder one evening a few days before the wedding and said, ‘I don’t want you to feel that this is someone else’s house you are living in when you come here. From now on, this will be your home.’
‘Thank you, you’re all so kind.’
‘We should be thanking you,’ Connie had said, ‘for making our son such a happy man. In you I really feel I have gained a daughter. We must decide what you are to call me, for I know it has been awkward at times.’
Rosie had blushed. She had not known what to call Connie. Mrs Walsh sounded too formal and Connie too familiar, but she hadn’t been aware that the woman had known of her dilemma. Connie had gone on, ‘It was the same with me and my mother-in-law at the start, yet in a way it was easier for me: my own mother was dead and so I just called her Mammy.’
Rosie had thought of the love she’d experienced in this house in just the few months she’d been coming there, more by far than she’d ever had in her own home. She couldn’t ever remember her mother putting her arm around her the way Connie did with ease. Even Matt would catch hold of her hand or pat her on the shoulder as he passed and she realised these good, kind people were better parents to her than her own would ever be. She had turned to Connie and had said, ‘I would love to call you Mammy.’
‘You would?’ Connie had asked. ‘You don’t think your own mammy will mind it?’
‘I don’t think she will give a tinker’s cuss for anything I do,’ Rosie had replied bitterly. ‘It used to upset me, but now I have Danny, a new home and a new life and to an extent a new family. To call you Mammy will just be part of it.’
Danny was pleased his mother and Rosie got on so well together for he knew if there was any sort of friction between them, living in such close proximity would be untenable and there was nowhere else he and Rosie could live for the present, although he was doing his best to give them a private bedroom at least. As in most farmhouses, the main bedrooms led straight off the kitchen-cum-living room. The first one was the room that Elizabeth and Sarah shared and you went through that to reach the one Danny had previously shared with Phelan, just as it had been in her own home while Connie and Matt had the one room in the loft, up the stairs to the back of the kitchen.
Underneath the stairs was another room that had been used for storage and that was the room Danny had chosen. He and his father had worked hard before the wedding, moving all the junk to the barn and making sure the place was watertight and damp free.
Now Rosie stood at the threshold of the door and looked around in delight as Danny lit the lamp.
Connie and Matt had bought them a new iron-framed bedstead and mattress, and Rosie looked at it made up with the sheets and blankets she’d brought with her, the embroidered pillowcases visible where the sheets were turned down, and one of her nightdresses draped over the coverlet.
She saw Connie had been busy. There were pictures on the walls and bright rag rugs on the stone-flagged floor, and the Sacred Heart of Jesus above their bed. Rosie and Danny had bought a new bedroom suite from a catalogue, but Rosie hadn’t seen it until now because it had been delivered to the Walshes’ farmhouse only a few days before the wedding. Now, Rosie saw someone had hung her clothes in the dark wood wardrobe and her personal things were laid out on the matching dressing table.
‘Oh Danny, it’s beautiful!’ she cried.
‘So are you and I can’t wait much longer,’ Danny said huskily, wrapping his arms around his young wife. ‘Oh God, Rosie, how I’ve longed for this moment. I love you and want you so much.’
The love in his voice melted Rosie’s apprehension and she allowed Danny to strip the wedding dress from her and let it fall in silken folds at her feet, her petticoats, corset and bloomers following as he laid her on the bed and removed her boots and stockings. She lay beneath the sheets, naked as she hadn’t been since she’d been a wee child, for she’d always been taught to dress and undress beneath her nightdress.
Suddenly, Danny, in his haste to divest himself of his clothes, kicked the chamber pot beneath the bed and the ringing sound reverberated throughout the house. Rosie put her hand across her mouth to still the giggles.
‘Shut up,’ Danny hissed, laughing himself. ‘This is no laughing matter, madam. Please conduct yourself with proper decorum.’
‘Aye, Mr Walsh, I will,’ Rosie said, gazing at her husband as she spoke and realising she was seeing a naked man for the very first time in her life. Danny snuffed out the light and slid in beside her.
After her mother’s words she’d imagined herself lying rigid in the bed in her pristine nightdress while Danny did unmentionable things to her that she had to submit to now that she was his wife. She imagined it hurting her so much she’d cry out and everyone would hear.
But it wasn’t a bit like that. Danny held her close and caressed her gently, while his tongue, darting in and out of her mouth, sent sharp shafts of desire flowing through her whole body as she let her hands explore his body too. When she came upon his hardened penis, she gave a gasp. Danny was nuzzling at her breasts and she cried, ‘Oh, Danny, please, please hurry.’
Danny smiled. The passion in both of them could be denied no longer and he carefully entered his young wife. She did feel pain, but it was overridden by waves of exquisite joy which engulfed her over and over again, until she felt she could die with happiness. She couldn’t help the cry that burst from her lips, and as Danny, spent at last, lay on top of her, she felt tears of joy seep from under her lashes and trickle down her cheeks.
She felt loved, desired, wanted, as she’d never truly felt in her life before. But none of her earlier life mattered – now she had Danny and he more than made up for her parents’ indifference.
When Danny discovered Rosie was crying he was horrified. ‘Don’t cry. Oh God, Rosie, don’t,’ he implored. ‘Did I hurt you? Oh God, I’m sorry.’
Rosie’s smile was watery but her voice firm as she said, ‘Are you not the finest eejit, Danny? Don’t you know women cry from happiness as well as sorrow? Don’t ever apologise for what we did tonight, for I wanted it as much as you and it was wonderful so it was.’
Danny knew he’d found a treasure, a woman who’d love him all his life and who enjoyed their lovemaking. He wrapped his arms tightly around her. ‘I love you, Mrs Walsh,’ he said.
‘And I you, Mr Walsh,’ Rosie replied happily. She snuggled against him and the two slept entwined until the cock crowed the next morning.
Connie got on well with Rosie. She liked the girl for herself and also because she made her son happy. She’d known it from the first morning. Connie had heard the cry Rosie had given the previous night and knew what they were about and prayed that it was a cry of joy and not pain. She hoped her son had had the patience to take Rosie gently, for she knew she would be a virgin, and later the stained sheets she stripped from the bed gave further evidence of this.
But when she saw the two of them together the next morning, she knew that whatever way Danny had approached their first nuptial coupling, it had pleased his young wife, and that was all that mattered. She saw the way their eyes met and the secret smiles between them, the way Danny found ways to be near Rosie, putting his hand around her shoulder, touching her arm, catching her suddenly around the waist and pulling her close. Rosie delighted in these exchanges, even as she coloured in embarrassment. They were happy and at one together and Connie was content.
Rosie had wondered how it would fare with so many women in the one kitchen, but she needn’t have worried. Danny’s eldest sister, Sarah, had been working as a seamstress in Blessington village since Elizabeth had left school and was able to help her mother. Now, with Rosie to take on that role, Elizabeth was anxious to follow her sister, who assured her there was plenty of work. ‘Do you mind?’ Rosie asked Elizabeth. ‘I’d not like to think I was pushing you out of your own home.’
‘You’re not,’ Elizabeth told her. ‘I’ve been dying to go. Sarah has fun there with the other girls and after I left school I found the farm a bit stifling and lonely – you know how it is. It’s different for you, you’re married now and you’ll probably have your own babies soon enough, but I want something for myself before I tie myself down.’
‘Well, if you’re sure?’
‘I am,’ Elizabeth said, and suddenly, impulsively, gave Rosie a kiss on the cheek. Rosie was pleased but surprised. ‘What was that for?’
‘Oh nothing,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Just to say welcome to the family. We’re all glad you’re here, Danny especially – he’s like a dog with two tails.’
There was a lot of talk and laughter around the Walsh table in the evenings. They found humour in many things and were not averse to poking fun at one another. Rosie was included in this from the start and it only took her a short amount of time to be able to come back at them in the same teasing vein.
Connie knew that Rosie hadn’t been happy at home and she also knew, like most of the village, that the main problem in the house centred around the fuss made of the wee fellow Dermot.
It didn’t help that Dermot looked so angelic, with his fair curls and his large blue eyes and elfin face. He looked remarkably like the statues of the cherubs in the church in Blessington, except that he didn’t have the angels’ chubby frame. Dermot was slight and fine-boned, and Minnie called him delicate yet the child seldom ailed. ‘She’ll not let the wind blow on him because if it,’ Danny said with a snort whenever Connie spoke of him. ‘The child’s no more delicate than I am.’
‘I agree with you,’ Connie said. ‘Phelan was a bit like that when he was younger and now look at him.’ Phelan had sprouted that year and was continuing to grow, and while Danny was six foot in his stocking feet, she thought Phelan might even exceed that eventually. ‘No,’ Connie concluded. ‘There’s not a lot wrong with that wee boy – I’d just call him wiry.’
‘Call him wiry, delicate, or whatever you like,’ Danny said. ‘I’ll tell you one thing, I’m almighty glad Rosie is out of that unnatural atmosphere.’
Connie agreed with Danny, and yet she encouraged Rosie to visit her old home once a week. After all, it was no distance at all over the fields, even if they were too muddy to cross and she had to use the roads, it was only just over two miles away, not that far at all.
Rosie was glad to go, for kind though Connie was, she missed her sisters and young Dermot too, for all he was a wee tyrant. But as the days shortened she seldom saw her brother for she always left the house before he came in from school so she could be back home before the dark set in. As the weather got colder, she often thought if it wasn’t for Connie urging her to go and the genuine welcome she received from Chrissie and Geraldine, she’d often not bother to leave the Walshes cosy farmhouse to fight with the elements to reach her old home. Her mother didn’t seem to care whether she was there or not; she never showed any interest in her new life, her marriage, the Walshes and how she was treated, and though Rosie had expected little else, she was still hurt.
