Through Streets Broad and Narrow (Ivy Rose Series Book 1) Read online

  “I don’t want to.” Jem reared back in his chair, his hand patting the beard.

  “You are going to, Jem Ryan,” Ivy ordered. “You’re a young man and that beard and your wild hair are not attractive.” She nodded to give emphasis to her opinion. “I can’t even remember what you look like under all that hair.”

  “All right, all right!” Jem threw up his hands. She was right. The beard had to go. It would be remembered. Not that he thought there would be any questions asked about the dead woman but just in case. It made sense to change his appearance.

  “The men on the wagon,” Ivy had made a decision, “do they examine this paperwork?”

  “I doubt they can read. They were probably pulled out of school as often as I was. Someone has to earn enough to feed the family. They’re good men but I doubt they can read more than the cartoons in the paper.”

  “How do they know what the paper says then?”

  “A death certificate,” Jem explained, “no matter where the body is removed from, is an official document and has all kind of seals and markings on it. You know what it is from them more than the words.”

  “I have a death certificate you can show them,” Ivy whispered softly.

  “You have what?” Jem stared. “Whose?”

  “Me da’s,” Ivy gulped. “I have me da’s death certificate.” Her body suddenly shook with the force of her tears.

  Jem sat with his mouth open, staring at the crying woman across the table from him. Éamonn Murphy was dead. When? How?

  Chapter 13

  “Shh, it will be all right.” Jem stood and pulled Ivy up from her seat and wrapped her tightly against his body. He rocked slightly, patting her back, making nonsense noises, as he’d done for the child earlier in the evening. Without conscious thought he pressed his lips into the delicate skin of her forehead. “You cry all you like, alanna, get it all out.” Jem thought there were probably years of tears locked tight inside Ivy Murphy. She’d been the strong provider when she should have been petted and protected.

  Ivy’s body shook with the force of sobs that felt as if they were tearing her body apart. For the first time in her memory she was being held tightly in someone’s arms. The feel of Jem’s big strong body supporting her was an unexpected delight. His arms holding her tightly came as a complete shock to her system. She’d never before realised the comfort you could get from being held tightly in someone’s arms. This hug stuff was mighty.

  “When did your da die, Ivy? How?” Jem whispered.

  “He . . . he drowned . . . drunk as a lord . . . on New Years’ Eve,” she sobbed.

  “I’m sorry for your loss.” Serves the feckin’ bastard right, thought Jem, and gently kissed the top of her head.

  Jem would have been content to stand all night holding Ivy Murphy tight in his arms. But they had a dead body to dump. At the thought, his big body began to shake with suppressed laughter. If there really was a God he had to be looking down laughing himself sick.

  “What’s up?” Ivy pulled free. She stood wiping the tears from her face with the cuff of her jumper. She stared at Jem, bent over laughing like a madman.

  “Sorry, I’m sorry.” Jem shook his head at his own foolishness. “I was enjoying the feel of you in my arms and then I thought of the situation we’re in with your one below.”

  Ivy glared at him.

  “Well, I was enjoying it. You, Ivy Murphy, are a delightful armful and you can’t shoot a man for thinking that.”

  “I wasn’t going to shoot you!” Ivy snapped, completely confused.

  “That’s not what your eyes were telling me.” Jem grinned.

  “You are a daft man, Jem Ryan. I never noticed that before.” Ivy sat back down at the table with as much dignity as she could manage.

  “I’ll make a fresh pot of tea.” Jem turned to check the level of water in the kettle. “I’ll need to get more water.” He grabbed the heavy black kettle as if it weighed no more than a feather. “When I come back, Ivy, we are going to talk.” Jem disappeared with the kettle in his hand.

  Ivy listened to the sound of Jem’s boots going down the ladder and across to the tap. She pushed her chair back and jumped to her feet. She rushed over to the door and went outside.

  “If you have a bucket to hand, Jem, fill it up while you’re there!” she shouted from the rim of the loft. She looked guiltily over her shoulder – she kept forgetting the sleeping child. “We need hot water to wash your woman.”

  “No problem.” Jem shook his head in wonder. Ivy Murphy, she never seemed to stop thinking, planning.

  Back upstairs, Jem filled the metal teapot from the kettle of fresh water he’d carried up and put the teapot on the stove – he’d boil the water for tea in the teapot. He filled the kettle from the bucket and put that on the fire too. They’d need a lot of hot water. The dead woman had a lot of flesh to wash.

  “Do you have any holy water about, Jem?” Ivy asked.

  “I don’t know.” Jem looked over his shoulder at Ivy.

  “I’d feel better if we blessed the body with holy water and used a bit of oil on her forehead like the priest would do.” Ivy shrugged. “It would seem respectful.”

  “Well, the Church says it’s possible to baptise a child in a case of emergency. Maybe we could speak a few words over a drop of water and bless it ourselves?” Jem joined Ivy at the table.

  “Why not?” Ivy agreed. “We seem to be taking a whole lot into our hands tonight. What’s one more thing?”

  “We’ll do that then.” Jem went to make the tea. “It’s early yet – the pubs haven’t even let out,” he said over his shoulder. “We’ve time in hand.”

  “What are you going to do with the little girl, Jem, if you keep her?” Ivy asked when they were both seated and sipping at their fresh cups of tea.

  “I have no idea,” Jem admitted. “I’ve been chasing my tail ever since that stone hit the aunt’s head to tell you the truth.”

  “Well, you’ll need to think up a story to tell people.” Ivy selected a biscuit. “She’ll have to go to school.” Ivy glared at Jem. “She bloody is going to school.”

  “Of course she’ll go to school.” Jem had no idea where the heated glare in Ivy’s eyes was coming from.

  “Her eyes are green.” Ivy pointed her chin in the sleeping child’s direction. “It’s a rare old blessing that she has green eyes like you.” She nodded her head. “You can claim a relationship to her. Do you have a sister?” Ivy was surprised by how little she knew about Jem’s life.

  “I have several.” Jem’s eyebrows rose over laughing green eyes. He was enjoying himself. He didn’t know what was going to come out of Ivy Murphy’s mouth next.

  “Well, you can’t say one of them has died. That would be flying in the face of God. At a pinch you could claim to be her father but unless you invented a dead wife that would only cause the child more problems than it solved.”

  “Any lie causes headaches, you know that. A lie just keeps on growing. But we need to come up with a believable story before anyone claps eyes on the child.”

  “What’s this we, Jem Ryan?” Ivy huffed. “You got yourself into this mess.”

  “And you’re helping me out of it and don’t think I don’t appreciate that, Ivy Murphy.” Jem was feeling better than he had all evening. In fact Jem felt better than he had in a long time. He felt more alive, more vibrant. It was almost a tingling sensation in his blood.

  “Right!” Ivy slapped the table then looked guiltily over at the child who had stirred in her sleep. “We better start to get your one downstairs organised. There’s steam coming out of the kettle.” She pushed away from the table. The thought of what they needed to do was hanging over Ivy’s head, turning her stomach.

  “Right enough.” Jem stood. “Do you want to speak a few words over the water or will I?”

  “You better do it, Jem.” Ivy grinned. “I think I’ve been excommunicated.”

  “What?” Jem stared at Ivy, a look of profound hor
ror on what she could see of his face. Excommunication was no joking matter.

  “I’ll tell you about it as we go.” Ivy let Jem grab the kettle of steaming water. She couldn’t see a cloth they could use. She supposed he kept his cleaning rags downstairs in the stables. If the worse came to the worst, she’d tear a bit of the old sheet away and use that.

  “Grab the olive oil, Ivy” Jem pointed his chin to a small green bottle standing on a nearby shelf. The practically empty bottle had been standing in the same place for years. “We’ll need something to put the water in for blessing.”

  Ivy grabbed the oil and one of the teacups from the cupboard for the water. They were ready. Ivy took a breath so deep it shook her body. She wasn’t looking forward to this.

  “It’s a shame we don’t eat humans,” Ivy placed the cup and small bottle of oil on the stall floor well out of the way. Jem had uncovered the dead woman. “This one would keep the entire Lane fed for a month.”

  “Ivy Murphy, will you show a little respect for the dead?” Jem knew what Ivy was doing. He was feeling a bit like a monster himself. “Besides, this one was so sour if you ate her she’d turn your stomach.” He shook his head, amazed now at what was coming out of his own mouth this evening.

  “Do we even know her name to say a prayer for her?” Ivy whispered.

  “I suppose her name is somewhere in those papers you found.” Jem sighed. “I’ve no intention of searching for it now. I never heard the child refer to her as anything but ‘aunt’. It was all ‘Yes, Aunt, no, Aunt, three bags full, Aunt’.” He wished he could spare Ivy this chore but he was heartily glad of the help.

  “Well, if God is all-knowing I’d say he knows who she is.” Ivy couldn’t believe the wads of fat that covered the body. “We’ll just say we are returning his servant to his care.”

  “That’s nice.” Jem prepared to turn the rigid body over. “We should take her hair out of that bun thing. We need to brush the straw out of it before we put her in the sheet.” Jem grunted and had to use the strength in his legs to shift the body off the soiled straw.

  “Jaysus, even her hairpins glitter!” Ivy gasped when she touched the woman’s mousey brown hair. “What was she planning, Jem? I noticed she’d jewelled brooches on her hat and coat. Look, she has fancy rings on her fingers. Nobody in their right mind keeps this much wealth out in the open.” Ivy shoved the bejewelled hairpins and rings into the deep pockets of the men’s trousers she was wearing.

  “If I had to guess,” Jem continued to wash the body clean, “I’d say she was doing a runner. She had all that silverware and stuff. That belongs in a big house somewhere. I’ve heard tell rich women travel with silver-topped bottles and silver-backed brushes but this woman had a lot more than personal items packed away in all of those bags she had with her.” Jem allowed his thoughts to roam. It was a lot better than thinking about what he was doing. “I’d say she was going to dump the child then do a runner. She had her ill-gotten gains to keep her comfortable for the rest of her days.” Jem said. “We’ll probably be able to figure out where she was going when we examine the papers she carried. I’m no great shakes at the reading but between the two of us we should be able to work it out.”

  “You think the stuff is half-inched?” Ivy blushed at the very thought of admitting her stupidity to Jem Ryan. How could she tell him she couldn’t read anything, not even comics?

  “What’s ‘half-inched’?” Jem was pulling Ivy’s leg. He was from Sligo but he’d been living in Dublin for thirteen years now. He knew the slang terms.

  “Pinched, stolen,” Ivy explained.

  “Without a doubt,” Jem nodded his head. “Right, she’s clean. Give me a minute to wash out the stall. I’ll put more hay down before we bless her and wrap her.”

  “Fine.” Ivy stepped out of the stall.

  In a strange way caring for this woman in death was a balm to her spirit. She hadn’t been able to do anything for her da in death. She’d add a silent prayer for her da when she sent this woman to her Maker.

  Jem sluiced out the stall with buckets of water from the horse trough as Ivy waited, clinging to Rosie’s neck. The horse was looking out through the open top half of her stall door and seemed to be giving Ivy some comfort. Jem didn’t listen to the words Ivy was whispering in the old horse’s ear. Some things were private. He often talked to the horse himself

  “Right!” Jem called Ivy back into the stall. “We need to get this done.” He’d filled the teacup with water from one of the buckets he’d carried in. He stood holding it in his hand. “I’ll bless the water, you bless your woman.”

  Ivy stood over the naked body Jem had rolled onto the edge of the sheet he’d spread over the straw. She bowed her head waiting.

  “Father, you know we have no idea what we are doing here,” Jem croaked. “I hope and pray that you understand how we’ve come to this pass. I know nothing about blessing water,” Jem had been an altar boy at one time but this was outside anything he’d ever experienced, “so, I’m going to leave it in your all-knowing hands. Please, bless this water for us.” He made the Sign of the Cross over the cup of water. “In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

  “Amen,” Ivy croaked.

  “Right, your turn.”

  Ivy dipped her fingers into the water. She dropped to her knees by the body of the dead woman.

  “Come down here.” Ivy glared over her shoulder until Jem dropped to his knees in the fresh straw at her side. “Father, we are sending this woman into your care. I hope and pray you will be kinder to her then she was to the people down here.” Ivy used her thumb to make the sign of the cross on the woman’s forehead and chin. She dipped her fingers into the water Jem held again. She repeated the motion of making the Sign of the Cross down the woman’s body.

  “Father, we don’t know this woman’s name and what we know of her character isn’t wonderful but we commit her to your care nonetheless.”

  She touched the shoulders, the chest, the waist and hips. Ivy thought she might as well bless as much as she could with the water they had.

  “We are doing the best we can, Father.” Ivy used the last of the water on the woman’s feet and hands. “Give us a hand wrapping her in the sheet, Jem. We’ll use the oil on her forehead and chin. I think that will be enough.”

  “You’re doing fine, Ivy.”

  They made a pleat pocket over the feet with the sheet before tightly wrapping it around the body. They stopped when they reached her face. Jem took the almost empty bottle of oil. “Do you think we should bless the oil too?”

  “Couldn’t hurt.” Ivy bowed her head while Jem repeated his plea for God’s understanding and made a Sign of the Cross over the oil.

  “In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost, Amen,” Jem completed his prayer.

  “Amen,” Ivy tipped the oil bottle in Jem’s hand wetting her fingers. “Father, we are committing your daughter into your care. That’s as much as we can do for her now. I hope we haven’t displeased you, Father. In the name of the Father,” Ivy dragged her oil-soaked fingers over the woman’s forehead in the shape of a cross, “and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost, Amen.”

  “Amen,” Jem added.

  “That’s it then.” Jem stood and pulled Ivy to his side. They stared down at the wrapped body. They’d cleaned it, blessed it with water and oil and wrapped the body securely in the old sheet.

  “I’m going to get a bit of rope to tie around the body, Ivy. We don’t want that sheet peeling off.” Jem took Ivy’s hand and stepped from the stall, pulling her with him. He left Ivy standing while he grabbed rope from his stable supplies. With a sigh he returned to the stall and used the rope to secure the wrapping. He stood and blessed himself again before walking out and locking the stall door.

  The noise of drunken men stumbling down the lane echoed around the stables.

  “What exactly happened your da, Ivy?” In the soft dark night Jem thought it might be ea
sier for her to tell him about her father’s death.

  “He drowned. New Year’s Eve or maybe it was New Year’s Day.” Ivy sighed. “I don’t really know.” She walked over to run her hands through Rosie’s mane.

  “That was why Officer Collins came to see you.” Jem had wondered about that. “Jaysus, Ivy, that was ages ago! Why does no-one know?”

  “Father Massey wrote me da’s name down in the altar list of the dead but it can’t have been announced from the pulpit,” Ivy felt tears gather in her eyes, “because no-one has said a word to me.”

  “Why wouldn’t the Church pray for your father?” Jem was stunned. Éamonn Murphy had attended church every Sunday, every saint’s day and every day of obligation.

  “I don’t know. I told Father Massey but I had a bit of a run-in with Father Leary, and he must have decided not to allow me da’s name be mentioned from the altar.” Ivy admitted.

  “He’s a man of God, Ivy,” Jem insisted. “He has a duty to his flock.”

  “Not that I’ve ever noticed.” Ivy leaned in to the horse’s warmth. “But I don’t want to get into the whys and wherefores of that right now. I went to the church and told Father Leary me da was dead.” Ivy felt tired to her soul. She couldn’t force the parish priest to allow prayers be said for her da. The Lord knew she’d sent up enough prayers herself.