The Hamiltons of Ballydown Read Online Free Page A

a creamy froth of cow parsley lining the sides of the road, dusky pink spikes of valerian sprouting from the tops of the stone walls.
    She took in the colour and the light. What a pity to spoil such a lovely day with such anxious thoughts. Yet she sensed it was the day itself thatmade her so uneasy. Life had been so good since they’d come to Ballydown. Just like a summer day. But summer is a short season. Like the challenge of winter, the years ahead might make a demand upon her she’d be hard pressed to meet.
    ‘Come on Rose,’ she said aloud, ‘You must do better than this.’
    Rather than worrying herself about the future, she ought to be giving thanks for all the good things the last seven years had brought. How silly to let such sad thoughts cloud Sam’s big day.
    The smile he’d sent winging up the hill had so delighted her. It was that same slow, warm smile he’d give her when he came back from the Tullyconnaught Haulage Company while he was still at school, his eyes bright, his forearms streaked with axle oil. He’d spent as many Saturdays and holidays as he could down at their maintenance sheds. Since he was a little boy, he’d wanted to drive an engine, a railway engine, or a road engine, he didn’t mind which and he made himself so useful down at the sheds, a job was waiting for him the moment he left school.
    It was their good friend James Sinton who’d persuaded him he needed to stay at school till he was thirteen, however, and then do a proper apprenticeship. Now, three years later, he’d done it. He was not just a young man who could
drive
an engine, he understood them. He could service themand maintain them, coax and persuade them to work to their greatest capacity without strain. That’s how he came to be trusted with the precious new Fowler this morning. No wonder William Auld, the senior flagman, sent his son to tell them all to look out for Sam.
    A few minutes later Rose was back in her kitchen, giving her full attention to the bread. She tapped the soda and wheaten with a practised finger. The dull, hollow sound told her they’d taken no harm. The bread might be a touch drier than usual, but that was no great mischief when there was plenty of butter to spread on it.
    She set the cakes to cool in the dairy, wiped the kitchen table and washed up her mixing bowl and measure. Although the stove was still alight, it was pleasantly cool in the big kitchen, the shadows on the floor visibly shortened now the sun had reached its highest point. If the weather settled in as warm as this, she could leave the stove unlit and do her cooking on the gas rings at the far end of the dairy.
    The gas had been laid on when the house belonged to the manager at Ballievy Mill, piped all the way down from Hugh’s own gas plant at Rathdrum. He’d set it up as an experiment while he was still in his teens and it had been such a success, he’d been encouraged to introduce gaslight in all his mills.
    She thought back to the days when they’d lived in the cottage opposite the forge. It hadn’t even got a stove. There were times she’d come home from shopping in Armagh and find the banked up fire on the hearth had burnt itself out. If the children were home before her, they’d have to sit in the dark because she couldn’t let them light the Tilley lamp. She couldn’t even make a cup of tea till she’d coaxed the turf back to life, just when she was tired and aching to sit down. If the stove was really slow these days, there was the gas to fall back on and after dark there’d be the soft glow of the lamps on either side of the mantelpiece.
    The lamps were the first thing Hannah noticed on the day they arrived. While Sarah was fascinated by the tap in the dairy, turning it on and off and watching the water gurgle down the plughole in the deep white sink, Hannah was examining the delicately engraved shades and the fine wire chains that hung below them. They were so easy and safe to get going even Sarah had been