A Daughter’s Secret. Anne Bennett

small baby – even wee Finn, who would spend hours just gazing at her.

      ‘Don’t you try lifting her out of there,’ Biddy said to her small son one day, catching him by the side of the crib.

      Finn looked quite astonished that his mother might think he had such a notion. ‘I wouldn’t,’ he said. ‘I might hurt her.’

      ‘You could well,’ Biddy said grimly. ‘And that goes for you too, Tom and Joe. Don’t you two be thinking of playing with her, for you are too big and too rough altogether.’

      Tom thought his mother didn’t need to say that to him. He had left school now and was at work full time alongside his father. With his hands chapped and callused he wouldn’t touch the child at all, and as for holding her, she was so petite and delicate-looking, he would be afraid that she would break.

      ‘They are stronger than you think,’ Aggie told him one day when he said this.

      She was lifting the child as she spoke and Tom marvelled at the easy way she did this. She laughed, but gently, at the look on his face. ‘It’s easier for a woman,’ she said. ‘And that’s how it must be, of course, for I will probably have my own weans one day.’

      ‘Aye, and meanwhile you are mooning after him, McAllister …’

      Aggie flushed with embarrassment and guilt but she denied the accusation vehemently. ‘I am not.’

      ‘Yes you are,’ Tom maintained. ‘You just be glad that Mammy hasn’t noticed.’

      ‘There’s nothing to notice,’ Aggie said heatedly. ‘This is all in your imagination.’

      ‘No it isn’t,’ Tom said. ‘And for the life of me I don’t see what the attraction is. He is an old man and a well-married one too.’

      ‘You don’t understand,’ Aggie said, and as Tom shook his head at her, Aggie hid a smile. At home she was just good old Aggie to her father and brothers, and an extra pair of hands to her mother, especially now, and her life one of boring drudgery.

      Twice a week she was Agnes Sullivan, talked and listened to as if she wasn’t a child any more, especially when she attended the special Wednesday evening dancing classes with Cissie. And that was all down to McAllister. He wasn’t exactly old either – not like her daddy was old, anyway – but he was mature. The lines on his face just added to his character, and he had the darkest brown eyes. But what was the point of saying any of that to her brother? He’d laugh himself silly if she tried.

      Of course, when he was in the farmhouse, teaching her brothers or drinking with her father, he had to be far more proper towards her, seeming to know without her having to say anything that her parents wouldn’t like any sort of familiarity. If he addressed her at all, he called her ‘Aggie’ and she called him ‘Mr McAllister’, but on Saturday, after the younger children had left, and especially on Wednesday evening, she was Agnes and he was Bernie. He also kissed her and Cissie on the cheek when the class was over, making them blush at first, before they began to enjoy it, but the two girls were sensible enough to say nothing about this at home.

      Aggie did daydream about Bernie McAllister sometimes, and her nights too were punctuated with fantasies about him. Sometimes, she would imagine that he would hold her in his arms and kiss her properly. She had no idea what a proper kiss was; she just knew people seemed to hold great store by it, as a sign that one person liked another. She never allowed herself to go further than that kiss, though, and yet in the morning she would be ashamed of herself. She never even whispered these thoughts and dreams to Cissie, fearing she would be shocked.

      It was more than three weeks before Christmas when Aggie got to the church hall one Wednesday evening to find that Cissie hadn’t arrived. That was strange, as she was always there before Aggie. Usually, as Aggie was going out the door, her mother would find another job for her to do, for though she wouldn’t openly defy Thomas John and forbid Aggie to go dancing, she resented it bitterly. She particularly disliked the Wednesday evening sessions and so would deliberately make Aggie late, and she would arrive red and out of breath, having run every step of the way.

      That night was no exception. As she stood framed in the doorway, McAllister’s breath caught in his throat. She was truly beautiful, with her flushed cheeks, heaving bosom and dancing eyes. Cissie was a bonny enough girl, but she didn’t hold a candle to Agnes, and the girl was totally unaware of it too.

      ‘Where’s Cissie?’ Aggie asked, scanning the room.

      ‘Cissie isn’t coming tonight,’ McAllister said, crossing to stand beside her. ‘She has the measles. Her mother caught me in the town and told me, but I came on here to wait for you.’

      ‘How awful for her,’ Aggie said. ‘Poor Cissie.’ And then disappointment trickled through her body as she said uncertainly, ‘Well, I had better go then.’

      ‘Why?’ McAllister said, drawing her into the room and closing the door with his foot. ‘Do you want to go?’

      McAllister’s face was very close, and Aggie said, ‘No, not really but—’

      ‘You are very lovely, you know, Agnes,’ McAllister said, cutting across her.

      No one had ever mentioned loveliness to Agnes and her eyes opened wide. ‘Am I?’

      ‘You are,’ McAllister said emphatically. ‘Did no one ever tell you that before?’ he asked, knowing just how unlikely that was.

      ‘No, never.’

      ‘Anyone ever tell you how your eyes sparkle brighter than the stars in the sky?’ McAllister asked. As Aggie’s face flushed further with embarrassment he added, ‘And that you look so enchanting when you blush.’

      ‘Oh, Bernie, really,’ Aggie said, flustered. ‘Please don’t say such things.’

      ‘Why?’ McAllister asked. ‘Don’t you wish to hear them?’

      ‘No, not really. I’m sure it is wrong to make a person think too much of themselves, especially when the things said are not true.’

      ‘Who said they were not true?’

      ‘Exaggerated then …’

      ‘Not a bit of it,’ McAllister cried. ‘Look into a mirror, Agnes, my darling girl, and you will see it all for yourself.’

      ‘You have me all of a dither.’

      McAllister caught up her hand and said, ‘Don’t be ashamed or embarrassed, for as you grow up you’ll hear many such comments. And you must learn to accept them gracefully and thank the person applauding you so.’

      ‘Oh, I do thank you, Bernie,’ Aggie said earnestly. ‘It was just that it was so unexpected. I am not at all used to hearing people say such things about me.’

      ‘That’s all right,’ McAllister smiled. ‘And now to show you that I really mean the things I said, I will give you a wee kiss!’

      Aggie returned the smile and, expecting the type of kiss that he gave both her and Cissie when they were leaving each Wednesday evening, she said, ‘All right.’

      McAllister caught Aggie’s face up between his hands and kissed her mouth gently and then, as if Aggie’s arms had a life of their own, they encircled his neck. His kiss became more ardent and demanding, and Aggie’s whole being began to shake, and she knew she wanted that kiss to go on and on for ever.

      When they broke apart at last, both were breathless. Aggie dropped her arms and pulled herself from McAllister’s embrace before allowing herself to look into his eyes. She saw the yearning there and though she didn’t understand it, she was a little alarmed by it. But what was more worrying by far were the strange longings she had coursing through her own body, feelings the like of which she had never had before and wasn’t sure they weren’t downright sinful.

      ‘Oh, Agnes,’ McAllister said, ‘that was truly wonderful.’

      ‘I know. But