With Love From Ma Maguire Read Free

smile. ‘Why me?’
    He swallowed, glancing over his shoulder towards a house across the street. ‘Because . . . because you’re a . . . a . . . wi—We know you make cures and that . . . Because me mam says as how you know things, like.’
    ‘I do. Sure enough, I know things. We all know things, don’t we now? But I’m not a witch, son—’
    ‘I never said—’
    ‘Indeed, you didn’t. You didn’t say a thing. So, let’s away and see what’s to be done just now.’
    She took the startled child’s hand and led him home. The smell at the front door was enough to confirm her worst fears. How many more would perish of this dreaded summer sickness and May not yet over? The room was crowded with inquisitive neighbours and family members. Philomena pushed her way through to the couch where a pale woman lay, legs drawn up to her chest with cramp. A clawlike hand reached out. ‘Can anyone help me? The baby gone with it, now it’s taking me . . .’
    ‘What has she eaten?’ The whole room fell silent as soon as Philomena spoke.
    ‘Pobs,’ replied the little boy.
    ‘Bread and milk? Holy Mother . . . Look child, how many are you in the house?’
    ‘Seven with me dad.’
    ‘Then the six of you will remain upstairs except when it is unavoidable. Stay out of this room.’ She turned to face the small crowd. ‘Will one of you go into my house and fetch my fly killer? It’s an odd contraption made by my husband – a sort of rubber ball fastened to a stone jam jar. Don’t spill the contents on your skin. And I suggest that the rest of you go out of this place and pray.’
    The visitors turned to leave, but she continued to shout after them, ‘Clean your drains every day, kill flies and burn old food. Put fire ashes down the closet morning and night . . .’
    They were gone, melted into the dusk. Grimly, she rolled up her sleeves and set to work, washing the fevered woman on the couch, boiling a pan of water for drinking after it was cooled, searching dingy cupboards for necessary ingredients, then finally laying-out the tiny corpse of a baby girl.
    She turned from these unpalatable tasks to find Edie Dobson standing behind her.
    ‘I’ve . . . er . . . fetched your contraption, Mrs Maguire.’
    ‘Thank you.’ Philomena took the item, a crude spray made up of tubes, jar and metal funnel. ‘It’s a bit hit and miss, but it kills a fair few of them.’ And she squirted the vile-smelling droplets into the room. ‘’Tis the flies bring the illness, Mrs Dobson. And in your condition, you had better be going home.’
    ‘But . . . what about you?’
    ‘I’ve had a touch of it, so I hope I’m still fighting. The mill, you see. I keep the house clean, but the spinning room’s a breeding place for this sort of thing. And I’m strong, Mrs Dobson. How many babies have you lost? Didn’t you give up your place at the loom to carry this one?’
    ‘Aye. But I didn’t know you knew . . .’
    ‘I hear things, I’m not deaf. But let me tell you now – if you want that child in your belly to thrive, keep Mother Blue out of your house.’ She turned to stare at the writhing figure on the couch. ‘The old woman delivered this last one, I believe. And I’ve no doubt she killed it too.’
    ‘I’d . . . best be off, then.’
    Philomena followed her neighbour to the door. ‘Leave some things on the step for me, would you? Go into my kitchen and fetch pearl barley, some lime water and the arrowroot. I shall be here till morning.’
    Edie Dobson turned on the pavement. ‘But what about your work, Mrs Maguire?’
    ‘Ah, no matter. I’ve been up many a night at a calf-birthing and with my own mother’s labours too. There’s no rest for the wicked, is there now?’
    ‘Right enough.’ Edie paused and studied this odd, tall person who had been labelled ‘queer’ and ‘witch’. ‘Only you’re not wicked, are you?’
    Philomena smiled. ‘Ask my husband – if you can find him.