In the Company of Others (8 page)

A couple of miles out, it dawned on him that this contraption would fly if you gave it its head. ‘Where’s the speedometer?’ he shouted.

William pointed.

He whistled. ‘Eighty miles an hour?’

‘’t is broke,’ said William. ‘More like forty.’

‘You said your father spoke Latin?’

‘Aye, a bit, and proud of it. My grandfather was a pupil in th’ last of th’ hedge schools where a lad got a proper education in th’ classics. Of course, ’t wasn’t in th’ hedges by then—’t was in a cow barn with th’ stalls mucked out. Many a potato farmer in th’ oul’ days could quote your man Virgil. As a lad, I knew off a line or two, m’self.’

‘Can you recite any of it?’

‘Don’t know as I can, but let me see, now.’ William closed his eyes, bowed his head, thumped his cane in a long meditation. ‘For th’ love of God, ’t is like scourin’ for a needle in a haystack.’

‘Don’t fret yourself,’ he said. ‘I can read Virgil in Broughadoon’s own library.’

‘Here it comes!’ shouted William. He threw his head back, eyes still closed.

‘In th’ dawnin’ spring,’
he orated over the clamor of the engine,
‘when icy streams trickle from snowy mountains, and crumblin’ clod breaks at th’ Zephyr’s touch, even then would I have my bull groan o’er th’ deep-driven plough, and th’ share glisten when rubbed by th’ furrow.’
William looked at him, nodded in triumph.

‘Well done, sir, very well done. The deep-driven plough. The glistening share. Very fine.’

‘An’ that’s th’ end of it. ’t would be squeezin’ water from a stone to give ye another word. Are ye poet-minded, then?’

‘Since I was a boy. I like the old fellows who wandered over hill and dale with their knapsacks. John Clare, Wordsworth, Cowper. My brother’s a poet.’ Speaking of Henry gave him an unexpected rush of pride, something like happiness.

He turned off the highway, into the long lane to Broughadoon.

‘Where does your brother keep ’imself?’

‘Outside Holly Springs, Mississippi. He’s retired from the railroad.’

‘I was after goin’ to America as a lad an’ ridin’ your railroad. I had a mind to see Texas, but too late now.’

‘Can’t do everything, William.’

‘Aye.’

‘Were you at Broughadoon when I was here ten years ago?’

‘Anna says I was off to visit my oul’ brother, John, who passed two years back. I’m th’ last of five, so.’

They were hitting the rain puddles pretty hard.

‘You were saying you met a woman in Collooney. ’

‘Th’ most beautiful woman you could imagine, if you was to imagine a woman.’

William was sullen for a time, gazing ahead.

‘I promised her I’d come back an’ marry her, ’t was what I wanted above all else, an’ she wanted it, too—so she said. But I was makin’ a name for m’self, an’ they were callin’ for me in Dublin an’ Wicklow an’ Waterford an’ all th’ rest.

‘’t was th’ agent after th’ Enniskillen chancer had th’ big dream, said he’d fashion me as th’ modern Gentleman Jim Corbett. So he takes me an’ m’ swelled head an’ we make th’ crossin’ from Dún Laoghaire to Angelsea, an’ board th’ train to London. I was feelin’ royal by then, struttin’ th’ streets in me first pair of dacent shoes and money janglin’ in every pocket.

‘But I should’ve stuck where I was, Rev’rend, for then they ran me up to Scotland for a full two yares, which is where I got th’ lovely nose I’m wearin’ an’ th’ scar on me forehead. Mother of God, th’ Scots were a brutal lot.

‘I was niver much of a drinker, I’d like ye to know. Love of th’ drink is th’ curse of th’ land—makes a man shoot at ’is landlord, an’ makes you miss ’im.

‘Instead of leakin’ me money away, I was savin’ for a cottage—on a hillock proud of a little bogland, where a man might raise a family. I remember I could see it plain as day—a bench by the door an’ a byre to th’ side, and a clock with weights an’ chains.

‘Wherever I was, I would go out in th’ night and look up at th’ great swarm of th’ Milky Way an’ talk to th’ heart of th’ girl in Collooney. Aye, an’ she would talk to me—not in a voice you could hear outright, but I felt th’ sweetness of it in my blood, an’ I’d tell her to wait for William Donavan. Wait for me, lass, I’d say, I’m comin’ back.’

‘And did you get back?’

‘Ah, no, not for seven yares.’ William gave him a fierce look. ‘She was married to another.’

They passed the cow barn with its single blue shutter.

‘I don’t know much, William, but I do know this: Talking to the stars will not get the job done with a woman. I can personally vouch for it.’

William’s face was dark with memory. ‘The oul’ termagant,’ he said.

Nine

‘Didn’t know if it was worth mentioning,’ he said, ‘but there you have it.’

‘Tall, you say?’ Liam’s blue eyes had the gray look.

‘Yes.’

‘And thin.’

‘Very.’ Ichabod Crane personified.

‘Riding a black bike.’

‘Yes.’

‘Would there have been a basket at the rear?’

‘There was, actually.’

‘God help us.’

‘Someone you know, then.’

‘Jack Slade. Th’ blaggard I booted off th’ job. He worked up at Paddy’s a few times, that’s how I found him. I had a hunch about him, figured he was using drugs of some sort, but there’s a lot of that in th’ trade.’ Liam rubbed his forehead. ‘I turned a blind eye to ’t because he was a star at th’ coping.’

‘He was wearing sunglasses, if that means anything.’

‘He worked in sunglasses, almost never took them off. I’ll call th’ Garda, see what they think. Which direction was he headed?’

‘South.’

‘He has a place a few kilometers south. Did he see you, look your way? He would have recognized the vehicle.’

‘He may have seen us as he topped the hill, but no, he didn’t turn his head our way. O’Malley’s shirt is still missing, I take it.’

‘We tore the place apart this morning. Nowhere to be found.’

He wouldn’t mention his cell phone yet—he wasn’t absolutely certain he brought it. ‘Any word on the fingerprints?’

‘They said it could be a while—a lot of latent fingerprints from previous guests. I know a detective at the Garda station in Riverstown, a fellow named Corrigan. I’ll give him a call with this.’

‘Another piece of bad news,’ he said, handing over the keys and hating the remorse. ‘I drove too close to the wall and ruined the driver’s-side mirror. I’ll replace it. I’m sorry.’ He couldn’t remember so many regrets being exchanged in such a short span of time.

‘If that was all the bad news to be had around here, I’d be dancin’ at th’ crossroads. How did it go?’

‘Always the silver lining, as you say—I think I nailed it. But—we met only eight or ten cars on the highway and nothing in the lane, so no great challenge.’

Liam managed a smile. ‘’t is what’s in th’ lane that makes th’ Irish driver. Have another go, anytime. William behaved himself?’

‘We made a short visit to Jack Kennedy. Hope that was all right.’

‘Aye, William will be talkin’ about it for days.’

‘I’ll need to use your mobile to call New Jersey.’ He checked his watch. Still a bit early. ‘Will pay for the call, of course. Can’t seem to find my cell phone.’ For all he knew, it had gone the way of O’Malley’s pullover.

‘I’ll call th’ Garda. Let me know when you’re after usin’ my mobile, and thanks for being buggered into the bridge game. Feeney’s without mercy when it comes to scaring up a fourth. I’ll drive you up a half-hour early tomorrow, if you don’t mind. Seamus is after givin’ you a tour of the place.’

‘Perhaps my wife could come along, just for the tour?’

‘Ah.’ Liam closed his eyes a moment. ‘My mother doesn’t care for attractive women, and your wife is a very attractive woman. If we could wait ’til another day—when Mother’s havin’ her drop-down, as she calls it, I’m sure we can work something out. God’s truth, my mother’s a terror.’

Liam fidgeted, uneasy.

‘And Rev’rend . . . if you could possibly wear a tie tomorrow ...’

‘I would normally wear a collar.’

‘Ah, God help us, she likes th’ Protestant cleric to wear th’ tie.’

‘Not this Protestant cleric.’ He said it mildly enough, he thought.

Buying time, he browsed a recent
Independent
, then rang Walter. Hurtling through midtown Manhattan in a cab at seven A.M., his cousin expressed dismay over the peevish star this trip had come under; he and Katherine were nonetheless looking forward to connecting at Broughadoon and reworking the schedule; and love to Cynthia who would be in their prayers, God bless ‘er.

He hailed Maureen as he came along the stair hall. ‘How did our patient get on while we were out?’

‘Bella was after givin’ her a hand, but she went up th’ way she came down, except in reverse! She’s a dote, she is, an’ no wonder, with a drop of th’ Irish in ’er. I’ve just done a good cleanin’ on th’ side she goes up an’ down, to keep th’ dust off her skirts. How was your drivin’ lesson?’

‘We made it in one piece.’

‘I hear Jack Kennedy stood you a glass.’

‘He did.’

‘Did Liam tell you we’ve a big surprise for th’ guests tomorrow evenin’? Cynthia says she’s up to it, if th’ rev’rend is.’

‘Consider it done, then.’

She was sleeping, curled like a cat beneath the comforter, the armoire door open, the window closed. He undressed and crawled in beside her and was out like a light.

He woke when he heard her cry out in her sleep, and rolled over and put his hand on her shoulder. ‘It’s all right,’ he said.

She turned to him; he was alarmed by the look on her face.

‘The man . . .’ She covered her face with her hands.

‘It’s all right, it’s okay. It won’t happen again. Would you like to get out of here? Just say the word. We can take a hotel in Sligo.’

‘It was only a dream, I’ll be fine.’ She shivered a little.

‘You always say that when something goes wrong.’

‘And, of course, I’m always fine.’ She sat up and rubbed her eyes and squinted at his watch. ‘I’m hungry as a bear, and it’s time for you to eat something, too. Did you take the raisins with you?’

‘I did not.’

‘Did you smash into anything?’

‘I did. Tore off the driver’s-side mirror. But I think I got the hang of it.’ He told her about the bike rider he’d seen on the highway, which made her mildly anxious, then reported his phone call to Walter. Her relief was as palpable as his own.

‘I asked the operator for charges,’ he said. ‘Sixty bucks.’

She wasn’t currently into finances. ‘I missed you,’ she said.

‘You did?’ He was a sucker for being missed.

‘I was stuck with Bella as my caregiver.’

‘Tell me everything and I’ll bring our lunch up.’

‘The little wretch. Needs a swift kick in the pants.’

‘On the order of what you used to give Dooley.’

‘Yes, and of course it worked; they beg for it, I think. Needless to say, she’s starving for love—and since I’ve nothing better to do, I’ve decided to give it to her, though she’ll put up a terrific fight.’

‘You’re amazing.’

‘She’s very bright. I asked why she chose the butterfly tattoo, what it means to her. She opened up a little, then, but only a little. The butterfly, she said, has a very short life span. I took that to signify her teenage angst, which can definitely have a suicidal edge.

‘She’s partial to the monarch, which flies from Canada to Mexico, covering two thousand miles in two months—isn’t that amazing?—but only when conditions are perfect and against the most terrible odds. So maybe she’s thinking to fly the coop when the timing is right, and the further away, the better.’

‘How do you know these things?’

‘Very simple. I was a teenager. She did something I wouldn’t have expected. She recited two verses from Frost, from his poem My Butterfly. She seemed to . . . grow softer, somehow, when she spoke the lines.

‘There’s a collection of Frost poems in the library, so I wrote down the verses.’

She took her sketchbook from the bedside table, and read aloud.

‘It seemed God let thee flutter from his gentle clasp / Then fearful he had let thee win / Too far beyond him to be gathered in
/
Snatched thee, o’er eager, with un-gentle grasp
.

‘And so in the poem, the season ends and the flowers die, and the butterfly, too, and she quoted this:

‘Then when I was distraught / And could not speak / Sidelong, full on my cheek / What should that reckless zephyr fling / But the wild touch of thy dye-dusty wing.’

The sound of a power saw keening beyond the window.

‘Such a sorrowing in her,’ she said.

He saw the sorrowing reflected in Cynthia’s face. If there was ever one to say,
I feel your pain
, and mean it, it was his wife. ‘Lunch!’ he said in what she called his pulpit voice.

‘Yes. Well. Any sort of sandwich on soda bread with a bit of fruit and tea, and I’ll be your slave.’

‘You’ll forget that heedless remark, but I’ll remember it.’

He pulled on a pair of jeans, a shirt, tennis shoes. ‘Back in a flash,’ he said. ‘And by the way ...’ He flipped the light switch at the door—on, off, on, off.

‘Hooray!’ she said.

‘The hot bath you’ve been dreaming of.’

He knocked on the kitchen door. Bella opened it, but said nothing. Lunch wasn’t usually served at Broughadoon, but Anna had made special arrangements for the Kavanaghs.

‘If we could get a couple of sandwiches? Anything on soda bread, with fruit and tea.’

She stared, cool.

‘Thank you,’ he said.

She closed the door. Robert Frost or no, it would take more than a swift kick to get that job done.

He sat at the table and looked out to the view, noted the faint scent of insect repellent, and remembered hearing that all fishing lodges smell that way, especially in August when the midges are out.

Tonight he would finish the letter—find an envelope large enough for the drawing to be mailed flat, take a wild guess at the weight, put stamps on the whole business, and sayonara. No wonder the postcard was such a popular item when traveling.

Bella entered the dining room with the tray. ‘Shall I take it up, then?’

‘Many thanks, but no, I’ll take it.’ He was pleased to return her attempt at being civil. ‘Mrs. Kav’na loves your soda bread.’

‘Is there anything Mrs. Kav’na doesn’t love?’

Her tone was chilling, he felt the venom in it. ‘Men jumping out of cupboards would be one,’ he said, seizing the tray.

In their room, he set the tray on the foot of the bed.

‘Love her if you like, but leave me out of it.’

She was clearly amused. ‘She’s a terrible pain.’

‘Man,’ he said, quoting Dooley. He needed to get out of here—be a tourist, see a castle, anything. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to get a room in Sligo? We can call Aengus Malone to drive us.’ He’d be happy to dodge running up the hill tomorrow to the den of a fire-breathing dragon who devours Protestants and sucks the marrow bones.

‘Calm down, sweetheart. She’s testing us. She’d be thrilled to know she’s upsetting you like this.’

‘What happened to her, anyway?’

‘There was a divorce years ago. She lived with her mother until she was twelve, then went off to Dublin to her dad, a very famous Irish musician. Apparently, his influence hasn’t been the best; she was quite free to do as she pleased, and now his new girlfriend has moved in. It’s someone Bella despises, and so she’s back to her mother after six years.’

‘Eighteen, then.’ His heart was oddly moved, if only a little. He’d been through this himself, through years of Dooley’s arrogance and rage—and then the miracle issuing forth, albeit slow as blood from stone. ‘How do you know this?’

‘Maureen.’

‘She volunteered it?’

‘I asked her.’

‘When it comes to meddling, my dear, you make clergy look like amateurs.’

‘Maureen believes in her. I think Maureen is the unofficial grandmother—Anna’s mum, she says, died in childbirth. Oh, and Bella’s Irish name is K-o-i-f-e, pronounced Kweefa . . .’

Two castles. A ruin, even.

‘Eat something,’ she said, laying into her sandwich.

Yes. He didn’t want to rile his diabetes, anything but.

He was washing up when the knock came.

Liam’s piercing blue eyes were gray. ‘Corrigan would like us to come to the station at Riverstown. They want to hear what I know about Jack Slade, and what you saw on the highway.’

Come here, go there, do this, do that. ‘What I saw could be told on the phone.’

‘Aye. Of course. I’m sorry.’

He couldn’t tolerate another apology, from himself or anyone else.

‘If they want to talk to me in person, I’d be glad to do it here.’ He would mention the business of his cell phone then.

‘I’ll see to it,’ said Liam.

‘Before dinner, please.’

How simple it was to say no. And it had only taken seventy years.

‘I have an idea,’ he told Cynthia.

‘I love ideas.’

‘After dinner this evening, I’m taking you out.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘It’s a surprise.’ They would have daylight until nearly ten o’clock.

He shifted what had become ‘his’ wing chair to face the view, and sat with his notebook and pen.

... are staying here at Broughadoon.

He completed the sentence that had dangled for—how long? It seemed weeks.

Much has transpired since this letter was begun.

In brief, Cynthia was surprised by an intruder in our room, which caused her to wrench her bad ankle—all this followed by police, fingerprinting, and the visit of a local doctor who ordered her to stay off her foot for up to ten days. This, of course, cancels a good bit of our tour with Walter and Katherine.

Happily, W and K don’t mind the upset of plans. They arrive day after tomorrow to spend one night, then on to Borris House and beyond, after which we join up for the last leg (north to Belfast, down to Dublin).

A bit of an expense to cancel rooms on short notice, but worth it, and fortunately our room here remains available. W and K insist they’re grateful for time to themselves, W having been consumed for months by a disagreeable legal case.

C in good spirits and learning to navigate on crutches and true grit. She sends her love along with this watercolor view from our bedroom window. As ever, the very soul of her subject is called forth by her brush.