LITTLE LOVES
I
To Norah Ryan the days passed by, at first remorselessly slow, burdened
with longings and regrets, clogged with cares and sorrows which pressed
heavily on her young heart. Each passing day was very much like that
which had gone before, all had their homesickness and longings. She
wanted so much to be back in her own home, picking cockles from the
Frosses strand or driving the cattle into the shallow water when the
heat of summer put the wild madness into their dry hooves.
All day long she trailed in the fields, her knees sore, and the sharp,
flinty pebbles cutting them to the bone; and at night when she undressed
she found her petticoats and stockings covered with blood. Gourock Ellen
showed a great interest in the girl, bathed Norah’s knees often, and
when near a druggist’s bought liniments and ointments which she applied
to the wounds. Usually the sores, though they healed a little during the
night, broke afresh when work started again in the morning, and six
weeks went by before the girl hardened sufficiently to resist the rough
pressure of the stones which she had to crawl over when at her work in
the fields. Her hands also troubled her for a while; they became hacked
and swollen and pained her intensely when she washed them at close of
evening. Gradually these physical discomforts passed away, and with them
went many of the girl’s regrets and much of her homesickness. True, she
wished to be back with her mother again, and that wish, unable to be
gratified, caused her many poignant heartaches which she bravely
concealed from her companions. Every Sunday afternoon she sat down and
wrote a long letter home, telling her mother of the wonderful land
across the water and the curious things which were to be seen there. Her
mother, not being able to read or write, answered very seldom, and her
letters were all penned by the new master of Glenmornan schoolhouse.
The members of the squad lived a very stirring life, changing almost
weekly from one farm to another, travelling on fast trains and wonderful
steamers. But in the midst of all this excitement Maire a Glan never
forgot to tell her beads, Owen Kelly to save up his money, Micky’s Jim
to swear about nothing in particular, and Norah never forgot to speak
about home when any of the Frosses people were in the mood to listen.
Dermod Flynn, ever eager to hear about all that had passed in his two
years’ absence, was a ready talker on matters that concerned the people
of Glenmornan and Frosses. But in other respects he was still the same
dreamy youth who had spent the greater part of his time at school in
gazing out of the window. Even now he would sometimes forget his work
for a long while to gaze at a worm which he picked up from the ground
and held between his finger and thumb. Whenever Micky’s Jim saw this he
would assert that Flynn was rapidly going mad. Norah herself often
wished that Dermod would not take such an interest in things which, when
all was said and done, were useless and made the boy the laughing-stock
of the whole squad. But she always felt sorry for him when the rest of
the party laughed at his oddities. Why should she care if everybody in
the country laughed at a fool who took a great interest in common
worms? she often asked herself. But never was the girl able to find a
satisfactory answer to this question.
Dermod had a curious habit of going out into the fields and lying down
on the green sod when the evening was a good one and when the day’s work
was done. Norah noticed this and often wondered what he did and thought
of when by himself. The youth fascinated the girl in some strange way;
this fascination she could not explain and dared not combat. She even
felt afraid of him; he thronged into her mind, banished all other
thoughts and reigned supreme in her imagination. Sometimes, indeed, she
wished that he were gone from the squad altogether; he made her so
uncomfortable. He said such strange things, too. Once he remarked that
there was no God, and Norah knew instinctively that he meant what he
said; not like Micky’s Jim, who often said that there was no Creator,
merely with the object of startling those to whom he was speaking. If
Dermod did things like other people, if he played cards, passed jests,
she would not fear him so much. Even now, when he spoke to her of home,
there was a strange intensity in his voice that often unnerved her.
II
One evening in September Dermod Flynn stole away from the fire as was
his custom and sat down in a field near the sea, where he was speedily
buried in the quiet isolation of his own thoughts. Norah Ryan followed
him; why, she did not know. Something seemed to compel her to go after
the youth: a certain wild pleasure surged through her, she felt as if
she could run and sing out to the light airs that fanned her cheeks as
she moved along. Presently, looking through a row of hazel bushes that
hemmed the farmhouse, she espied him, lying on the green grass,
seemingly lost to everything and gazing upwards into the blue heavens
where the first early star was flickering faintly through the soft loom
of the evening. Below him the Clyde widened out to the sea and a few
black boats were heaving slowly on the tide. As if under the spell of a
power which she could not resist, Norah Ryan parted the boughs of the
hazel copse and stood before Dermod Flynn.
“Is it here, Dermod, that ye are, lookin’ at the sea?” she asked
involuntarily.
“I was lookin’ at the star above me,” he replied.
Norah wore a soft grey tweed dress that became her well. She had bought
it in Greenock a week before, and when Dermod looked at the dress with a
critical eye she wondered why she had put it on. But his look turned to
one of admiration when his eye fell on the sweet face of the young girl,
the eyes gentle and wistful, the white neck and the pure brow half
hidden by the brown ruffled tresses. Something leapt into the heart of
the young man, a thought which he could not put into words flashed
through his mind, held him tense for a moment and then flitted away.
“Why do you keep watchin’ me?” Norah enquired.
“I don’t know,” Dermod answered, lowering his eyes. “D’ye mind the night
on the Derry boat?” he asked. “All that night when you were asleep I had
your hand in mine.”
“I mind it very well,” she said, and a slight blush stole into her
cheeks. They clasped hands, the girl’s fingers stole over Dermod’s and
their eyes met. For a moment it seemed as if one or the other was going
to speak, but no voice broke the stillness. The fear had now gone from
Norah’s heart; it seemed quite natural to her that she should be there
clasping the hand of that ragged youth who always attracted and
fascinated her. That she should desire to sit beside him, to press his
hands so very tightly, did not appear strange to her and above all did
not appear wrong. Dermod saw in her eyes a childlike admiration, a look
half a child’s and half a woman’s. A vague longing, something which he
could not comprehend and which caused him a momentary pang of fear, rose
in his heart. What he had to be afraid of he did not know, as he knelt
there in spirit before the most holy sanctuary in the world, the
sanctuary of chaste and beautiful womanhood.
Many evenings they met together in the same way; they became more
intimate, more friendly, and Norah found that her fear of Dermod was
gradually passing away. When evenings were wet they sat in the byre or
cart-shed, where the fire burned brightly, and talked about Glenmornan
and the people at home. One day Micky’s Jim said that he himself had
once a notion of Norah Ryan. When Dermod heard this he flushed hotly.
Norah’s cheeks got very red and Jim laughed loudly.
“I have no time for them sort of capers now,” said Jim. “Ye can have her
all to yerself, Dermod, and people like yerselves will be always doin’
the silly thing, indeed ye will!”