The Whitest Flower. Brendan Graham

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ most important of all, it was hardy and grew in abundance.

      While she waited for the children to return from emptying their baskets, Ellen plucked one of the tiny flowers from an upturned potato stalk. She had never before taken much notice of the ‘whitest flower’. Like the grass in the field, it was just there from year to year. Now, however, it had assumed a new significance in her life. She twirled the stem slowly between her thumb and forefinger. It was quite beautiful. Fresh and frail, its tiny petals, white as snow, formed a perfect ring around the yellow centre. Strange, she thought, the stark contrast between the beauty of the flower and its ugly fruit.

      What secret did this blossom hold for her and her unborn baby? What harm could lie in this tiny flower? In keeping with the old woman’s riddle, she crushed one of the petals between her fingers and brought it to her nose. Ugh – its smell was not at all sweet; nothing like the smell of a flower. It had no perfume, but smelt dank and unclean, like an uncooked potato. She dropped it to the ground and rubbed her fingers in the earth to cleanse them of its stickiness.

      ‘The whitest flower will be the blackest flower,’ Ellen said to herself, wondering.

      All day they toiled in the field until twilight fell over the valley, hushing the sounds of the day. Michael did most of the digging, with Patrick being given an occasional turn at ‘man’s work’. Gathering, inspecting and ferrying the baskets full of potatoes to the cabin was woman’s work, in Patrick’s eyes. But he understood the urgency of what they were at and pitched in willingly, doing whatever was required.

      On one of the trips to the cabin, cradling the heavy sciathóg between her hip and the crook of her arm, Ellen caught sight of the fair head of their neighbour’s son coming towards her. A mischievousness took hold of her. She set her basket on the ground and waited for Roberteen Bawn to draw near.

      ‘Dia dhuit,’ she bade him, friendly-like.

      ‘Dia’s Muire dhuit,’ he returned, happy to see her.

      He was about to continue walking past her, abashed at finding himself so close to the object of his desires, when she said, ‘Wait a minute, Roberteen.’

      He turned towards her, his fair skin pinking at the cheekbones. Was the woman going to shame him here in front of the whole village?

      ‘Roberteen, I wouldn’t be stopping you from your work,’ she continued, an air of earnestness about her, ‘but it’s long the day has been, and the cradle of lumpers here getting heavier with each passing hour. Would you go by Michael and tell him I need his help – these lumpers are the weight of rocks?’

      Roberteen looked at Ellen warily. The basket wasn’t that heavy, especially for a fine strong woman like her. Sure, weren’t the children carrying them up all the time. What was it she was up to? She must have told her husband about him watching her and now she was after sending him to Michael for a thrashing. She had that smile on her – full of divilment, she was. He looked at the creel of potatoes on the ground. It dawned on him then – a way out.

      ‘Sure, Ellen, isn’t Michael busy lifting the lumpers from that fine field you have? What would he be thinking of a man to be running messages to him, bothering him, if I didn’t lift a hand to help you – me being a neighbour? I’ll bear them up to the cabin meself for you, Ellen, with a heart and a half,’ he said, delighted with himself. The red-haired woman wouldn’t catch him out like that! Emboldened, he didn’t wait for her assent but picked up the basket and set off for the O’Malleys’ cabin. He had got out of that one well. Now he could walk with Ellen Rua, and no one to say a word to him, only thinking what a fine good-natured fellow he was. Why, with all her schooling the Máistir’s daughter still couldn’t outwit Roberteen Bawn.

      Had he glanced back over his shoulder, he would have seen the mischief sparkling in those eyes.

      As they walked she chatted amicably with him, showing interest in his prattle and being grateful to him for his kindness. He found it hard to look straight at her, but was conscious of her nearness and the power she seemed to have over him. He couldn’t wait to tell her about all the work he was doing with the turf, and how he would soon live up to his father’s reputation for doing the work of a man and a half. But somehow the words all came out in a tumble and he wondered if he was making any sense at all to her. However, she didn’t seem to notice and, the times he did look at her, she smiled at him, which set him off talking ten to the dozen again.

      When they reached her cabin she asked him to put the creel over in the corner next to the hearth. He did as she asked, but when he turned to leave he found that she was leaning against the cabin door, having closed it behind her.

      ‘Now, Roberteen Bawn, my fair-haired boy, I’m very grateful to you, very grateful indeed, for sparing me the task of carrying that heavy load. Will you not wait a while and take something with me?’ she coaxed seductively.

      ‘No, no thanks,’ blurted out an alarmed Roberteen.

      ‘Sure, it’s in no hurry you are, Roberteen, and himself won’t be home yet a while to thank you for your kindness to me.’

      The thought of Michael arriving to find the door of his cabin closed against him, and he, Roberteen, alone in the house with Ellen, sent the fear of God through the youth.

      ‘I have to go now … the work … my father.’

      ‘Faith, Roberteen, I’ll be thinking you have no regard for me,’ she teased with mock hurt in her voice.

      Dar Dia, he thought, if anyone hears her, I’ll be ruined. Then involuntarily he heard himself say, ‘No, no, Ellen. It’s not that, it’s not that at all.’

      ‘Well?’ Ellen drew the word out slowly. ‘Sure, that would be a terrible thing for a woman to hear, and she walking to the lake every morning, and throwing her head to the sun for a man to be looking at her, and he not having any regard at all for her. Wouldn’t it now, Roberteen?’

      Why was she doing this? She was trouble, all right. He’d never bother with her likes again, as long as he lived. A red-haired woman was nothing but trouble to a man, nothing but trouble, and this one was the very divil.

      ‘I have to go now … I have to …’ he spluttered in panic, thinking that not only Michael but the whole village would soon know he was in here, alone with her.

      ‘Well, I’ll not be the woman to stand in the way of a man and his work,’ said Ellen, feeling some sympathy for the state he was in – and he, after all, only a simple gasúr, for all his nineteen summers. ‘But it’s a queer thing, all the same, you running off that way, and me offering you the hand of friendship only to have it dashed back at me again.’

      She stood away from the door and he bolted for it. But she was quicker, and again he found his way out blocked by her.

      ‘Now, one piece of advice to you, me fine buachaill …’ she said, her face now close to his.

      The smell of her womanliness, her talking to him this way – she was confusing him. Doing it on purpose. His plan had gone all wrong.

      Sensing she might have gone too hard on him, Ellen changed her tone. ‘There are plenty of fine young single girls out there, waiting to be taken off their fathers’ hands, for you to be watching a woman that’s married and with children nearly as old as you are. Isn’t that so, Roberteen?’ She was not scolding him now, just stating this in a gentle, matter-of-fact way.

      The СКАЧАТЬ