of throwing herself in the river, but that was a mortal sin and she would roast in Hell’s flames. No, she decided, she had to see Bernie McAllister, though her insides crawled at the thought, and tell him what he had done to her. There was no help for it. Maybe he would think of something. He had to think of something, and quickly too, Aggie told herself, because it was more than half his fault. She would have to wangle it so that she had a quiet word with him after Mass on Sunday.
The next day, Biddy let her stay in bed again and put goose grease on her back three times. When Aggie woke the second day after the beating she knew that, although she was stiff and sore, she would be better up and occupied because the worry was driving her demented and there was far too much time to think just lying there. She rose gingerly and was immediately assailed by nausea and vomited into the chamber pot she’d grabbed from beneath the bed.
The following day, Tom said as he crossed through her room from his and his brothers’ beyond, ‘You all right, Aggie?’
Aggie turned to look at her brother and even in the dim light of the lamp Tom held, he could see the bleached pallor of her face and the way her eyes seemed to stand out in her head, but her voice at least was firm enough and quite sharp.
‘Why wouldn’t I be?’
‘Well, it’s just that I heard you being sick this morning, and yesterday as well.’
Oh God! Aggie thought. How hard she had tried to stop the nausea rising to her throat, but had been unable to. When the bout was over she had climbed out of the window to throw the vomit into the gutter before swilling the pot itself with water from the rain barrel beside the door. But now Tom knew something was up, and if he or Joe were to get one hint of what ailed her and said something about it before she could snatch a word with Bernie, the whole thing would blow up around her.
So she faced Tom and said, ‘I had something that disagreed with me, that’s all.’
‘What? Two days running?’
‘Yes,’ Aggie snapped. ‘Don’t fuss, Tom.’
Tom shrugged and went on out before his father would give out to him, like he did every morning to Joe, who liked his bed too much to be up and at it.
With Tom gone, Aggie sat down on the bed again. She knew she should have been raking up the fire and putting on the kettle, but she felt so tired and drained.
She knew if she lingered any longer her mother would give out to her, and with a sigh she got to her feet. Joe, his hair still tousled from sleep, clattered through the room, pulling on a jacket as he went, the untied laces of his boots dangling, threatening to send him flying.
‘Ssh,’ Aggie said warningly. ‘You’ll have Finn and Nuala awake with your carry-on.’
‘Sorry, Aggie,’ Joe said. ‘Only I’m late, see.’
‘As ever. You should get up when Tom calls you,’ Aggie smiled.
‘I’m still tired then.’
‘Aren’t we all?’ Aggie said with feeling. ‘But get you away now before Daddy bites the head off you.’
Joe shrugged. Nearly every morning his father was cross with him and he was used to it now. Daddy said he would never make a farmer and Joe wasn’t sure he wanted to be. It was a grind of a life, though Tom seemed to like it well enough.
And Tom did. Usually milking was one of his most favourite occupations, finding it soothing to lean his head against the velvet flank of the cow and see the bucket between his legs fill with the creamy milk.
However, that morning his thoughts were far away and Aggie was at the forefront of them. He knew she wasn’t right, whatever she said, and he knew his father was worried about her too. Only the previous evening, watching Aggie pick at the meal before her, he had said to their mother, ‘Aggie’s never really perked up after that dose of measles she had, I’m thinking, and not eating enough to feed a bird. Maybe we should ask the doctor for a tonic.’
Aggie had said she was all right, that she was just not hungry, but she had a sort of hunted look on her face.
Thomas John was far from satisfied but Aggie got so agitated that he said he would leave it so for now, but if she didn’t pick up in a day or two he would ask the doctor to take a look at her.
Tom was the only one to notice the horrified and frightened expression on Aggie’s face as she began to collect up the plates. Did she think he was some sort of idiot to think he would believe that something had disagreed with her to make her so sick?
Nuala had just passed her first birthday and he remembered that when her mother was carrying her, she had been sick every morning. So was Aggie having a baby? She could well be, though it was the very worst thing that could happen to a young unmarried girl and something that couldn’t be hidden either. He wondered what in God’s name she intended to do about it if she was.
In the bedroom Aggie was having similar thoughts, and she hoped that Bernie McAllister might have some sort of plan up his sleeve, or she was done for: her life would be over before it had really begun. She felt tears sting the back of her eyes and brushed them away impatiently.
The time for crying was long gone. She mentally braced her shoulders and opened the door into the kitchen to start the day.
The next Sunday, Aggie inveigled herself close to McAllister as she left the church, and once outside she whispered, ‘I need to speak to you.’
McAllister’s eyes widened salaciously. ‘Can’t wait for another session, is that it?’
‘Ssh,’ Aggie cautioned, looking anxiously around at the people streaming out of the church to see if anyone was in earshot. ‘Not here. Come a little way in amongst the gravestones.’
Tom had seen her talking with McAllister and he skirted the back of the church and secreted himself behind another gravestone, not far from where they had stopped. He could plainly see that Aggie was angry with what McAllister had said and he heard her say sharply, ‘You disgust me. It gives me no pleasure to have to seek you out this way, but I needed to see you as soon as possible.’
‘What about?’ Bernie asked suspiciously.
‘Shh, I can’t tell you anything here,’ Aggie said. ‘We daren’t risk being overheard. I can’t get away easily in the day, and certainly not without permission being granted and a load of questions asked. Anyway, there are too many people about in the day, but the house is quiet before half-past ten most nights, so could you meet me at the head of the lane tomorrow night about that time?’
Bernie’s eyes narrowed. ‘Dare say I could,’ he said. ‘But I wish you would stop all this secrecy and tell me what it is all about.’
‘You’ll know all tomorrow.’
‘Not a little hint?’
‘None,’ Aggie retorted. ‘I need to go. My mother is looking for me.’ And catching sight of Biddy standing at the gate gesturing to her impatiently, she scurried towards her.
Bernie watched her go with a lewd smile on his lips.
This was noticed by his wife, who followed the direction of his gaze and her eyes came to light on Aggie Sullivan. Surely to God he hadn’t designs in that direction. Thomas John would tear him apart if he thought he was messing with his daughter. Well then, let him, she suddenly thought and, God forgive me, I would even help him, for Bernie is little use to me either in the shop or out of it. It would make no odds to me if he was to meet a sticky end. In fact, it would be one less thing to worry about.
As Philomena turned away, Tom emerged from behind the tombstone. He had listened to the whole conversation and he was more worried than ever. He knew for certain now what Aggie wanted to see McAllister about because every morning she was sick. She was expecting the man’s child, and the shame and disgrace of it would destroy them all.
He did wonder what Aggie expected McAllister to do about it, but he knew he needed to be told. However, Tom