Free The Jarrow Lass by Janet MacLeod Trotter

twice in one day. It was more than she had danced in the past two years!
    â€˜Glad to see you’re enjoyin’ yersel’,’ John shouted above the noise of the revellers, in mid reel.
    â€˜Aye, I like a good weddin’,’ Rose called back.
    When the dance finished, John took a quick swig from a jar of whisky while holding on to her with his other hand. Rose looked around for Lizzie but could not see her in the dark. The fiddler struck up again and John pulled her into the next dance.
    â€˜Since when have you been so keen on dancin’?’ Rose teased.
    â€˜Depends on the company,’ he said, giving her a drunken grin. She had never seen him so animated.
    They danced again and at the end Rose insisted, ‘I need a sit down.’ She went and squatted down on a neighbouring doorstep.
    â€˜We could gan for a walk,’ John suggested. ‘Promise it won’t be the Slake.’
    Rose looked at him in surprise. Why was he showing her all this attention? Could Lizzie’s teasing remarks about him being sweet on her really be true?
    â€˜I’m too tired to walk,’ she replied.
    He flopped down beside her. ‘You weren’t too tired an hour ago.’ He nudged her. ‘I saw you ganin’ off with that stuck-up Fawcett lad.’
    Rose blushed. ‘He was telling me about the monastery. It was very interesting.’
    John laughed in derision. ‘Didn’t look like he was giving you a lecture from where I was standing.’
    Rose was incensed. ‘Were you spying on me, John McMullen?’
    â€˜Your father wouldn’t like to hear you’d been wanderin’ off with a lad, now would he? I was worried for your safety.’
    â€˜It’s none of your business to worry over what I do!’ Rose replied at once.
    â€˜But I do, Rose,’ John said, leering over her. ‘What do you see in that lad any road? Don’t you want to be kissed by a real man?’
    Before Rose could dodge away, John had hold of her roughly and covered her mouth eagerly with his. She was enveloped in his sour breath, his wet lips hungry for hers. After a moment, Rose managed to shove him off and turn her face from his in disgust.
    â€˜Don’t you dare try that again!’ she hissed, not wanting to draw attention to them.
    John laughed. ‘Just a bit fun on me brother’s weddin’ night. It’s not asking much.’
    â€˜I never heard you asking,’ Rose retorted, trying to stand up. He grabbed at her skirt.
    â€˜Haway and sit down wi’ me! Didn’t mean to upset you. You must know I’ve taken a fancy to you?’ John slurred.
    â€˜I know it’s the drink talking,’ Rose said, wrenching her skirt from his hold. Her heart was thumping with something that felt like fear. Why did he always make her feel so uncomfortable?
    â€˜Think yourself above us McMullens, don’t you, Rose Ann?’ He turned suddenly aggressive. ‘Well, your father would think you lucky to have the likes of me - a real Irish patriot - and true to the Faith!’
    Rose laughed scornfully. ‘When’s the last time you went to confession?’
    He staggered up and blocked her path. ‘Not like your little altar boy, eh? Pure as the Virgin Mary,’ he taunted.
    Rose was offended. ‘Watch your tongue!’ She pushed past him and hurried to the safety of other company. Behind her she could hear him cursing her for a prude and a snob. Hot with the shame of the encounter, she looked quickly for her sisters. They were sitting in the parlour singing with Danny Kennedy and some of John’s brothers.
    â€˜It’s time to get Da home,’ she told them brusquely. They knew from the look on her face not to argue.
    A few minutes later they were out on the street, steering their maudlin father between them, as he sang snatches of half-forgotten Irish songs. John was still there, taunting her as she went.
    â€˜Ta for the