Jacob's Mother—Chapter 13
The Missing Piece
Jacob’s Mother is a serialized novel. Start with Chapter One.
Chapter Thirteen: The Missing Piece
A year had passed since Elizabeth had seen the Gancanagh in person, but he still frequented her dreams. Just like her mother, she learned to ignore the dreams as much as possible and move on with her life. For an entire year, James had tried tirelessly to court her, but she resisted. She did not want to hurt him. Although she cared for him deeply, and in her own way loved him, she just didn’t feel the same giddiness in the pit of her stomach when he approached. If she couldn’t love him fully, then she just would try not to love him at all.
He was relentless, bringing wildflowers, visiting Elizabeth and Moya almost daily, chopping wood for their oven, and even gifting a sheep to them. Moya, who had kept her hair cropped close to her head at Elizabeth’s request, welcomed him with a huge smile every time he stopped by and fed him and fawned over him. This irritated Elizabeth, because she refused to lead him on. She was even quite mean to him on occasion, but he just laughed it off, revealing his enchanting toothy grin. Elizabeth even forced Moya to sit down with James to explain the curse, and how she could never fully love him, but James just approached the whole thing as a challenge that he could somehow win.
One day, Elizabeth was walking along the stacked stone wall that separated the properties in her village. She was returning from delivering a wee babe. She was exhausted, and it was pouring rain. The rain was nothing new, it rained almost everyday during this time of year in Wicklow, but Elizabeth was tired and chilly and cranky as she slogged up the road. She passed through the center of the town and decided to stop in Mac Liam’s Pub to warm herself.
A crackling fire kept the pub warm, emitting a cheery light which made everything the color of golden beer. Aideen was wiping down the wooden tables, and Mr. Mac Liam was drying a glass behind the bar. Other than Mr. O’Murchadh, who was always there, caressing a quarter gill of whiskey, the pub seemed empty. Elizabeth set her basket of supplies down and went up to the bar. When she sat down, she almost got right back up. James McLaughlin was slumped in the corner with his hands cupping a glass of half drank whiskey.
Mr. Mac Liam noticed Elizabeth staring at James with concern. “Lil, he has been coming in here and drinking his pain away for the last three days.”
Elizabeth turned to Sean Mac Liam, “I have never seen a McLaughlin who has had too much drink. I didn’t know it was possible for drink to get the better of a McLaughlin!”
James snorted in the corner, then went quiet.
“So what will it be?” Mac Liam asked.
Elizabeth peeled her wet gloves from her fingers and placed them carefully on the bar. “Just something to warm me, before I head home.”
“Give the girl a whiskey!” Aideen yodeled across the room. She walked over to James, all of her heft jiggling merrily as she crossed the pub. She lifted his head up by a handful of his red hair.
“Ach! Stop it woman!” he yelled, blurry eyed.
“And a strong cup of tea for this young lad!” Aideen let go of his head, and it fell onto the table with a thud. James woke up then. He looked up, saw Elizabeth, then looked down at the table. Aideen crossed over to Elizabeth, gently took hold of her arm, and whispered in her ear, “He’s been in here drinking away his sorrows. Why must you torment him so? What on earth is wrong with James? He loves you more than I have ever seen a man love a woman. I really don’t think you could do better than James McLaughlin.”
Elizabeth looked sadly at Aideen. She didn’t know what to say, so she didn’t say anything.
“By the Gods!” Aideen pleaded. “The two of you are the saddest creatures I have ever seen!”
Mr. O’Murchadh grunted and raised his glass to her from the other end of the bar. Elizabeth turned around and faced Aideen again. She sipped slowly on her whiskey. It burned going down and then warmed her belly, not unlike the feeling she used to feel with James, before the Gancanagh. She couldn’t win. She hurt James if she ignored him, and she would hurt him if she married him. Everyone was silent as she finished her drink. They were all waiting to see what she would do. She placed the glass on the counter, paid with a copper piece, put on her gloves, and walked out the door.
Rain pelting off her face, she trudged back towards her cottage. As she walked, tears streamed down her cheeks and mixed with the rain. She clutched the triskele that hung around her neck. The wind whipped around her, and she thought it sounded like a woman wailing.
Suddenly, someone grabbed her arm. Her heart stopped, afraid the Gancanagh had returned, but it was James. His wet curls were plastered to his head. He wore no hat or gloves, and even though it was freezing, Elizabeth could still feel the warmth of his hands through her wet coat.
“You forgot this,” James slurred. Holding out the basket and ignoring the rain pelting down on him.
“Oh, yes. My basket.” Elizabeth snatched it back. “Thank you, James.” She turned to go.
“Lil! I love you!” He took a step towards her, swaying towards the left.
“James, you’re drunk.”
He clutched at her clumsily, “I love you! I love you!” He looked hopefully at her through glassy eyes. She couldn’t help noticing his full lips. Would she feel anything if he kissed her?
“You’re drunk. Let’s get you home.” She certainly couldn’t let him walk home alone in that state in the rain. Who knows what could happen?
James put his arm around her and they stumbled back to his farm, which luckily was on the way to Elizabeth’s cottage. Even with the rain pelting down on them, James reeked of whiskey. Elizabeth wondered what he would remember of this night. They trudged past the barn, the smell of wet sheep filled the air. Finally at the door, Elizabeth pounded to be heard through the pouring rain.
Johnny, one of James’ burly red headed brothers swung the door open. “Elizabeth! What a pleasure.” He pulled the slumping James off of her shoulder. “God save us! What have we here?” He laughed and two more brothers came to the door, saw the predicament and laughed out loud as well. They helped James to a sleeping mat, conspiring on what prank to pull on their brother while he was passed out from drink. Elizabeth stepped through the threshold to get out of the rain for a bit.
“Let’s smear sheep shit on his face!” Jack, the youngest brother squealed.
Jarlath, the strongest of the red headed brothers slapped Jack on the back of the head. “Idiot!” he scolded. “You want to stink up the whole cottage?” Jarlath, went to the hearth, and smeared his finger on side of it, collecting a sampling of black soot. “Let’s give him a mustache!”
Johnny laughed at his younger brothers as they proceeded to smear soot all over James’ face. He turned to Elizabeth, and grinned. “I knew it,” he said.
“What?” Elizabeth asked, slightly taken aback.
“I knew you were a drinker! You drank James under the table! Sláinte!”
The boys roared with laughter.
“Not exactly,” Elizabeth said. “I just--”
“Did you drink tonight?” Johnny interrupted.
“Why, yes.”
“Then you drank James under the table!” More raucous laughter from the brothers. “James was one upped by a lass!”
Elizabeth felt out of place, in the house of brothers. It was as if she just couldn’t feel the obvious mirth and merriment that the McLaughlin’s strived upon. It wasn’t a bad life though, she thought. Her own life lacked laughter and was consumed by seriousness and worry. She envied these freckled men who seemed not to have a care in the world. They have done well for themselves, keeping the sheep farm operating after their parents passings. Obviously, their cottage could use a woman’s touch, but they were fiercely happy. They knew nothing of the burdens of women, living only in the moment, believing everything always worked out for the best.
“Care for a nipper, Elizabeth?” Johnny cordially invited her in as if she was one of the boys.
“Thank you, no.” Elizabeth replied. “I must be going.”
“Aww, well.” Johnny motioned to James, in a drunken stupor on the sleeping mat, a large curling mustache of soot on his face. “Before you go, I thought you should know that my brother fancies you.”
Elizabeth felt her cheeks blush with embarrassment and looked down at the hard packed floor, a pool of water forming from the rain water dripping off her skirts.
“I mean really fancies you!”
“Well,” Elizabeth stammered. “I must be going.”
With that she quickly exited and closed the door behind her. She could hear the McLaughlin boys laughing merrily the whole way back to the road. Could she be a part of that life? Could she be merry and jovial? Her collarbone burned. She clutched the triskele around her neck, and had a strong urge to rip it off and throw it into the muddy road.
When she arrived home, Moya was spinning wool into yarn. The smell of stew filled the whole cottage as it bubbled in the cauldron over the fire. Her mother’s hair was almost completely grey and stuck out in little tufts around her head, looking like a halo in the firelight. Even still, Moya was beautiful with very few lines on her face and a full bosom that was barely contained in her dress. She looked up from her work as Elizabeth entered.
“Daughter,” she smiled. “You look like a drowned rat! Come in and warm yourself by the fire.”
Elizabeth peeled off her wet clothing, except for the triske
le of course, and shivered in the the blanket that Moya wrapped around her. It was made out of the same type of woolen yarn that Moya was making, heavy, slightly itchy, and warm. It reminded her of a hug from her dear old da, and in that instant, she missed him terribly. She remembered the long walks they took together through the hills, and how he could identify each plant or bird. Da loved to walk, even though he needed to use his cane. He always seemed so happy, and she wondered how that could be if her mother couldn’t love him with her entire heart. She sat near the fire, feeling the heat burn her cheeks. He da’s cane still leaned against the wall by the door, ready to go for a walk, even after all these years.
Moya ladled a large helping of stew into a bowl and handed it to her. “How did the birth go? Do we have a new babe?”
“Yes, everything was fine. It was Mrs. O’Flanner’s ninth child. I don’t even think she needed me there.”
Moya laughed. “A midwife is always needed and welcomed, even if it is just for moral support. No woman wants to be alone during a birth. This you will learn soon enough, my daughter.”
“Will I?” Elizabeth wondered out loud, fingering the triskele around her neck.
“Possibly a red headed babe in a few seasons,” Moya joked. “I have always wanted a feisty grandchild.”
“Mother, I’ll not be marrying James McLaughlin. I can’t do that to him.”
“My child, the farmer who loses an arm, still tills the field the best way he can. Just because a part of you is injured, doesn’t mean you should miss out on life. James loves you and accepts you as you are. That is a gift.”
That night, when Moya and Rounder were sleeping soundly, Elizabeth stood at the window, staring in the direction of the McLaughlin’s farm, wondering what she would do. She shivered in the cold room and pulled her blanket closer around her. She wondered if she could ever have the life her mother wanted for her. Did she even want that life?
Continue to Chapter 14.
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Jacob’s Mother is an original publication by Laura Ellis. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law and fair use.