Winter Song by James Hanley Page A

are the only one of my sons who ever feels uncomfortable in a holy place. May God look down on you kindly one day, that’s all I have to say. Their goodness makes you feel awkward, I know, it always did—it would never shame you—you haven’t that in you.’
    â€˜Oh God,’ he thought, ‘so it’s come to this, in the worst moment of her life, when she must dread the shock of seeing that smashed old man, that all she can remember, is the old time.’
    â€˜Mother! I came down here last night. I came to see dad. I was so pleased to hear the news. Pleased for you both. You can believe that, or you can do the reverse. I told you a year ago that though we could never be happy together—for we don’t see eye to eye—I would see that you never wanted. I still mean that. I really do. I am sorry for dad and you, that, at the end of your days, you should find yourselves only where you had started. Please believe, mother, that I am sincere in that, and I am honest. I’ve said I hate the Church, and I hate it.’
    He stared down at the clean scrubbed floor, at the coloured rug. When he looked up, the room was empty. She had gone. ‘She must have crept out,’ he told himself. ‘I never heard her go. Poor mother. Christ! Why should it have come down to wrangling. She’s shaken, the creature’s fair torn indeed—I saw it—it was sad.’
    He rose quickly as the door opened. A Sister came in. She came up to him and as she did so, he was conscious of two things, her apple-red cheeks, the shining frankness in her eyes. She was very young, he saw that at once. But she was very grave.
    â€˜Mr Fury, would you please go. Your mother will not return here until you have gone.’
    â€˜Very well … Sister,’ he stuttered, ‘very well. You’ll see to her. She’s frailer to-day than I have ever known her.’
    â€˜And you don’t understand,’ the nun said, and followed him out of the room.
    â€˜Goodbye,’ she said, showing him out.
    â€˜Goodbye, goodbye,’ he replied thickly, and she saw him striding down the path, kicking up gravel as he went.
    â€˜A terribly impudent man,’ said the nun and closed the door.
    â€˜He is gone now,’ she said, and taking the woman’s arm, led her back to the room.
    â€˜It’s always the same. I wish he had never come. We upset each other,’ she said.
    â€˜You mustn’t speak of him like that, my dear. Besides, you must think of the other. You must get yourself ready. You said yourself that you wanted to look nice to see your husband, lost for so long, and now coming home to you.’
    â€˜I’m frightened,’ Mrs Fury said, ‘I don’t know why. I am frightened.’
    She stood in the centre of the room, undecided, and the young nun said, ‘Sit down.’ They sat down together.
    â€˜In half an hour he will be here. Think of that and nothing else.’
    â€˜I’ve been so foolish.’
    â€˜How so?’
    â€˜I have, that’s all. I shouldn’t have done it. I shouldn’t have been so hasty. I’ll have to tell him everything. But he’ll never know how sick I was of it all. All them things happening and all them nights after, I could hear that old sea washing about in my head. What’ll I say to him now, except there’s nothing.’
    The Sister sat up. ‘Now you’re beginning to feel sorry for yourself and that is bad. Thank God this very hour he is restored to you, alive. Given back to you by the sea that’s taken many a man down.’
    â€˜Oh! I’m ashamed of myself.’
    â€˜Come now, we’ll look for that nice blue dress you wear. You must look nice when he comes. And think how much he must be longing to see you.’
    She put her two hands on the woman’s face, ‘Smile mother,’ she said, ‘smile now.’
    And the woman smiled.
    â€˜I couldn’t