Page 157 of The Missing Sister
‘All right. Well, why don’t you go home now, explain what Ambrose has proposed and, if you wish, bring your husband here so I can confirm everything?’
‘But your supper, Father, I’ve not yet served it, or cooked the cabbage.’
‘I’m sure we can see to ourselves,’ said James. ‘If this is to happen, it’s vital the baby leaves with you tonight. We wouldn’t want Mrs Cavanagh knowing about it, would we?’
‘No, Father, we wouldn’t. Well, I’ll be off home to see Himself, if you’re sure.’
‘I’m sure,’ said Ambrose. ‘We’ll take care of the baby until you’re back.’ He stood up to collect the child from the sling.
Once Maggie had left, the two of them plus baby went to the kitchen where James took what smelt like a meaty Irish stew out of the range.
‘If it’s all the same to you, I won’t be cooking cabbage. ’Twill be good to have a night off from it,’ said James. He looked at his friend, whose attention was focused on the baby as he rocked her gently in his arms. ‘May I ask how much you offered her?’
‘You may not.’
‘The only reason I ask, is I’m thinking that there is a possibility they may take the baby simply for the grand sum.’
‘It certainly is enough to encourage them to take the baby, and for Maggie to put some weight on that frame of hers, yet not deck it out in grand clothes. And yes, to help them live a slightly more tolerable life. The baby is really quite beautiful, isn’t she?’ he murmured.
‘You’re smitten, Ambrose. Perhaps she will finally change your mind about having some children of your own.’
‘Impossible, but I’d certainly want to keep a fatherly eye on her as she grows. And so must you when I’m away in Dublin.’
‘Of course, but first, let’s see if the husband agrees. Now, come and try this stew. It tastes delicious.’
An hour later, Maggie was back with a brawny, handsome young man by her side. He’d obviously put on his best clothes for the occasion and was wearing the peaky, flat cap that most of James’s male parishioners wore to Mass.
‘Please come in,’ James said as he ushered them inside and quickly shut the door, glad of the five windswept acres around the priest’s house, which meant no nosy neighbours. He took them into his study, where Ambrose had placed the baby in the basket she’d arrived in. He knew that the husband might think it strange to see a man tending to a newborn.
‘This is my husband, John,’ Maggie said shyly.
‘And this is my Dublin friend, Ambrose Lister, a Fellow at Trinity College.’
‘’Tis a pleasure to meet you, sir,’ mumbled John.
James could see how uncomfortable he was – so many of the farmers around here spent much of the day outside on the land, and often only spoke to others beyond their immediate family for a few minutes after Mass on Sunday.
‘Good to meet you, Mr O’Reilly,’ Ambrose said, noting John’s body stiffen instinctively at hearing his English accent.
‘Shall we all sit down?’ James suggested. ‘John, you and Maggie take the chairs by the fire.’
James went to sit in the chair behind his desk, actively separating himself from Ambrose and the two prospective parents, because it was vital that this ‘deal’ did not include him. Ambrose sat down in the wooden chair in front of the desk. He saw husband and wife sit down tentatively beside the fire and stare down into the basket.
‘Please, Maggie, take the baby out if you wish to,’ said Ambrose.
‘No, sir, I’ll leave her there until... well, for now.’
‘So, Mr O’Reilly, Maggie will have told you of my thoughts,’ he began.
‘That she has, sir, yes.’
‘And what are yours?’
‘I suppose I’d be asking you why you’d do such a thing for the babe?’ John didn’t meet his eyes.
‘Well, that, Mr O’Reilly, is a very good question. And the simple answer is, I am a bachelor who lives in Dublin, and am lucky enough to receive a private income that supports my current studies at Trinity College. Before you ask, I am Catholic,’ Ambrose added hastily, realising that even though John O’Reilly was a simple farming man from West Cork, he may well have heard that the famous Trinity College had been originally founded in the Protestant faith.
Ambrose braced himself to continue, knowing he must choose his words carefully: ‘As such, I have disposable income. When this infant turned up on Father O’Brien’s doorstep this morning, and he told me her fate would be an orphanage, I found myself wondering what I could do to help. And then, of course, your wife arrived and told us of your tragic loss... Put simply, I saw a way that the baby could be helped to receive a family upbringing, and at the same time, could perhaps relieve a little of the grief you both must feel over your loss.’
