The Tide Between Us (O'Neill Trilogy #1) by Olive Collins

Author:Olive Collins [Collins, Olive]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-12-27T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirty-Two

Yseult returned to her bedroom and carefully picked her hearing aids from their holder. All these months later she was still fascinated by their small size and the new strength they loaned her. Those minute little clear spidery objects changed so much. Like the binoculars, her hearing aids kept her informed. They were her new secret toy. Last night Brendan talked loudly as if she was still the deaf difficult old lady. Yseult admitted she remained difficult and old but no longer deaf. Thanks to a man in Limerick city she had the hearing of a youthful woman. After the initial period of getting used to them, Yseult was surprised and delighted to hear sounds she hadn’t heard for years. The tyres on the gravel, the birds singing, and one day she stood still to listen to the wind howl. It lifted her spirits tremendously. Nobody knew about her new hearing aids. Her daughter did but thought Yseult had discarded them, not having the patience to get used to them.

Yseult descended the two flights of stairs to the kitchen, thinking over the plans she had made for the day. Today she had intended to check the fencing in the lawn field and high wood, prepare the sheds for the cows about to calf. This afternoon she’d go to town to settle a few bills. As she approached the kitchen she could hear voices – Brendan the farm manager and two workmen. They normally ate their breakfast at nine. That was a valuable lesson she had learned from her days when she frequented Mary O’Neill’s house. Well-fed men worked harder – not only did it keep up their energy levels, it brought out a sense of loyalty. It was nature, as Mary said all those years ago: “The dog remains fondest of his feeder.”

Yseult hesitated at the door. She could hear Martha, the new housekeeper, say, “It beggars belief.”

“Fucking creepy,” one of the farmhands said.

Yseult shook her head in exasperation. More and more people used foul language – it rolled unconsciously off their tongues as if it was part of the local dialect. Not only farmhands or coarse men but women too, and from every class of society. Her own daughter was fond of the “fucking” word. Disgusting, she thought.

Suddenly there was silence. Yseult heard a low whine from the other side of the door. The dog had given her away. She smiled at the thought of her eight-year-old sheepdog, Laddie, thrashing his tail wildly, waiting at the other side of the door. Slowly she entered and then bent to pat the dog.

All remained quiet.

Then Brendan spoke. “There are graveyards all over Ireland,” he said.

“Good morning,” Yseult said as she moved to the sink to fill the kettle.

“Morning, Mrs Ffrench,” Brendan said while the others murmured a response. He continued talking. “It makes sense – we could be sitting on dead bodies right now.”

The others shyly muttered replies.

“Maybe.”

“True.”

Yseult was accustomed to the silence when she walked in on their conversations. They were not afraid of her – however, they were not comfortable with her either.

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