Free Till the Sun Shines Through by Anne Bennett

she’d had plenty of help from her herself. ‘Are you going to show Mammy and Daddy?’
    â€˜D’you think I should? I mean what if Mammy doesn’t like it?’
    â€˜Why shouldn’t she?’
    â€˜Well, you know,’ Bridie said. ‘It’s so low. Won’t she give out?’
    Mary laughed. ‘She won’t dare. It was Aunt Ellen’s choice, don’t forget. Tell her you’ll keep the stole wrapped around your shoulders all evening.’
    Sarah was inclined to say plenty when she saw her daughter come out of the room, but any misgivings she had were forestalled by the cries of admiration from Jimmy. Because Bridie was so small and because her shape had been hidden for so long – for even the few dresses she had already did little to flatter her – he’d not believed she’d changed much from the wee girl who used to trail after him. Now, it was as if the caterpillar had turned into a butterfly before his eyes.
    Jimmy wasn’t usually given to much praise of how a person looked: he and Sarah always believed it led to a person thinking too much of themselves. But now Jimmy crossed the room and put his hands on Bridie’s shoulders and said softly, ‘Darling child, you look so lovely.’ His gaze took in all around as he asked, ‘Did you ever see anything so beautiful?’
    â€˜Thank you, Daddy,’ Bridie said, relieved he wasn’t shocked, disgusted even, at the cut of the dress. She stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek and he put his arms around her. She met Ellen and Mary’s eyes across the room and they all knew, with Jimmy’s open approval, Sarah would say nothing detrimental about the outfit.
    Bridie was sorry to see her sister and aunt leave, and not just because they had shared the burden of work, allowing her free time to get to know and play with her nephews, but also because of their cheerful company.
    But she was too busy to miss them for long, as the hay was ready to be cut and stacked in the barns for the winter feed. Francis and Frank came to help as they did every year and Jimmy and Bridie would then help them in return at their farm, Delia keeping them well supplied with sandwiches and tea as Sarah wasn’t able to.
    As she toiled alongside the men, slicing through the hay with her scythe, Bridie couldn’t help recollecting the harvest time when she was small. She remembered what fun Uncle Francis he’d been then. His good humour and stock of jokes seemed to take some of the ache from bent backs and threshing arms. He’d always seemed tireless himself. Even after a day’s work, he would think nothing of tossing Bridie and Rosalyn up on top of the stacks.
    Bridie remembered the smell of newly mown hay, the thrill of fear as they slid down the sides of the stack and the way the bits of hay went up her nose and in between her clothes, tickling her. She was often tired, hot and dusty, yet she’d enjoyed the harvest then and had to admit most of that enjoyment had come from her uncle Francis. Now, she kept as far from him as possible and knew she’d be glad when it was over and she wouldn’t have to work near him at all.
    After the harvest was safely in, they all visited the peat bog together. Again, Bridie remembered her trips as a child, with her and Rosalyn thrown into the back of the cart, with her father and Francis up in front, and Terry and Frank walking behind. Uncle Francis would sing rebel songs all the way there, his voice rising in the mist of an autumn morning.
    Bridie had always loved the damp mossy smell of the bog and the way the spade slid so effortlessly into the peat. Usually black sludge would seep along it, squeezing between her bare toes and slapping up her legs. She liked the feel of it and never minded the icy coldness. She remembered how her mother would often give out when they arrived home and have her stand in a basin of warm water to be washed down before any