Free The Black Dress by Pamela Freeman Page A

sounded angry...
    ‘What’s happened?’
    ‘Your Papa has mortgaged this farm away from under us!’ Mamma drew a deep breath and stopped sobbing, as though saying the words aloud had helped her somehow. ‘He gave Uncle Peter a mortgage on the property to pay for his trip to Scotland. A year’s mortgage. And now the time is up and Peter wants to foreclose. And where we are to find the money I don’t know!’
    It was too big a thing for me to take in. But there was one thing I realised. Papa! Always Papa! Mamma was right, it was always Papa!
    ‘Didn’t Papa tell you about this before he went?’
    Mamma hesitated. ‘It was all arranged so quickly ... I suppose he thought I would be worried if I knew about it ... and he must have trusted Peter.’
    ‘He should have told you. We might have found the money if we’d had a year to work at it.’
    Mamma shook her head. ‘It was a lot of money, Mary. But I’m sure our friends will help.’
    ‘If we get the money, he can’t foreclose, can he?’
    Mamma shrugged. ‘I don’t know, child. I don’t know anything about mortgages and contracts.’
    Well, you should know. You’re a grown-up, you’re supposed to know these things. I closed my mouth tightly. It wasn’t Mamma’s fault. It was Papa’s. And Uncle Peter. Uncle Peter should not have foreclosed on his own kin. Grandfather would not approve of that.
    ‘Grandfather. Can’t he stop Uncle Peter?’
    Mamma sat down heavily in Papa’s desk chair. ‘He wouldn’t let us starve,’ she said slowly. ‘But you know he never approved of your Papa going to Scotland. Perhaps he will think this is just punishment.’
    ‘It’s not Papa who’s going to be punished. He won’t be thrown out.’
    Mamma set her mouth. ‘Nor will I. God will provide.’
    Mamma had the wagon harnessed straightaway.
    ‘I am going to see Mr Bullen,’ she told me. ‘You and Bridget look after the little ones until I get back.’
    It was a strange day, with Mamma gone, and a stranger night. Bridget got the baby settled, then she and Maggie and Annie and John and Mary sat down to evening prayers.
    ‘O my God, at the end of this day I thank Thee most heartily for all the graces I have received from Thee...’
    The familiar words were comforting. No matter how our lives were torn apart, God would love and care for us.
    ‘Now,’ said Bridget, ‘I think we need to call in the heavy guns.’
    She collected the children’s attention with a glance, then launched into Mamma’s favourite prayer. ‘Remember, O most Blessed Virgin Mary, that never was it known that anyone who fled to Thy protection, implored thy assistance or sought Thy intercession, was left unaided. Inspired with this confidence, we fly unto Thee, O Virgin of Virgins, our Mother; to Thee we come, before Thee we kneel, sinful and sorrowful. O Mother of the Word Incarnate, despise not our petitions, but in Thy clemency hear and answer them. Amen.’
    We all made the Sign of the Cross and got up, Bridget dusting off her skirt as she stood. ‘There,’ she said with satisfaction. ‘That’ll sort out those money-grubbing pests.’
    John giggled, but I glared at him. I wasn’t at all sure that Bridget was right. Of course, the Holy Mother would answer our prayer. But it didn’t seem right to want to ‘sort out’ someone by praying to the Blessed Virgin.
    ***
    Mamma came back before dinner the next day, jubilant. Mr Bullen had lent her the money. All would be well. And, unlike Uncle Peter, Mr Bullen did not require payment until after Papa returned.
    Mamma sent one of the men with a message to Uncle Peter. ‘Let him come here to get it,’ she said. ‘I’m too tired to stir further.’
    She was tired, I could see. But underneath the tiredness was a satisfaction. Not only that she had saved us from eviction, but that she had done it unaided.
    Uncle Peter came before dusk, and left only 15 minutes later.
    Mamma came to the verandah to watch him leave. The children followed