'It's coming back to me,' he said. 'She traveled with twelve place settings of sterling flatware.'
'Surely not.'
'She recited a child's poem, something like, I'm tired of eating bread with crusts and going to bed too early, and something, something, something about her hair being curly.'
'But why did she travel with twelve place settings of flatware?'
He pondered. 'I think it was to prevent anyone at home making off with it.'
'Why did she come to the lodge? Did she fish?'
'Like a maniac, as I recall.'
'Ah,' she said, wrinkling her brow.
'So,' he said, ending his narrative of former days at Broughadoon.
'Everything's certainly different now,' she said. 'Anna says Bella is in a terrible state--but then, Anna doesn't look so well herself.'
'Let's not dwell on it,' he said, taking her hand. 'Where shall we worship on Sunday? Church of Ireland or Tad's place?'
'Tad's place, don't you think?'
They gazed at Ben Bulben, feeding what would soon enough be memory.
'I'm painting William this evening--by firelight. He said he'd have a nice wash today, and Anna will trick him out in his Sunday best. I've never painted anything at all by firelight--so many shadows, and most of them moving. Maybe I can't do it.'
'You can do it.'
She turned her head and looked at him, solemn. 'Thanks. I adore you. Who do you think stole the painting?'
'I've heard a good bit about Liam's brother and his urgent need for money.'
They hadn't really talked about what happened. The idea of leaving and then staying, plus the coming and going of Walter and Katherine, had largely occupied their thoughts since the Barret disappeared.
'Jack Slade,' she said. 'Let's say he did it. Then comes the awful thing at the fair and he gets himself locked away, and it stays wherever he hid it, and when he gets out of prison, he fences it and he's a very rich stone coper--I think that's the word Liam used.'
'I saw Liam this morning. He says Slade is done for--for a few years, anyway.'
'How was Liam, I haven't seen him.'
'Beating himself up. Not only was it something he loved, but it was important to his dad. Then there's dropping the ball on the insurance--they'll get something from the business coverage, but not much. Throw in the armoire business and the Tubbercurry incident, and it's been a while since I've seen such a hailstorm.'
The clouds today were swift; sunlight broke over the green hide of the ben, vanished, reappeared.
'The question is how anybody got it off the place at all,' he said. 'No fingerprints, no footprints, no tire marks. If someone could figure that out . . .'
She slapped at a midge. 'That's too hard for me. I'm more interested in who, not how. Maybe a former guest. Or a neighbor?'
'I haven't seen any neighbors,' he said. And Seamus was not in the lineup of possible thugs, he thought, absolutely not. 'Given the size of it, it would be awkward to carry any distance. Managing it would probably take two people. How about the wine merchant we met coming out when Aengus was driving us in? He parks his truck off-road, and he and a henchman slip down to the lodge ...'
'But if he walks down the lane, he leaves footprints--the Garda said the lane was muddy.'
'Right. Anyway, if he managed somehow to get there without leaving a trace, he and the henchman pop into the dining room, and in a flash they lift it off the two hooks and away they go.'
'How would he know the dining room would be empty then?'
'He watches through the French doors.'
'But he still wouldn't know that everyone was in the library, that nobody was likely to come back to the dining room and catch them at it.'
'Then it's an inside job. The wine guy knew when people would be out of the room and for how long.' He felt suddenly foolish in the guise of amateur sleuth.
'Would they have done it, Anna and Liam, for the insurance money? It's a horrible thought, I can't believe I said it. But would they?'
'If they'd done it for money,' he said, 'they would have beefed up the insurance policy. Anna says the coverage was minimal. Besides, I'm convinced Liam loved that painting.'
'I'm sorry I said it,' she confessed. 'Then what if Paddy insured it?'
'Could be. Who knows?'
'I wish I'd read more P. D. James. By the way, I don't think they say henchman anymore--you are so quaint.'
'Quaint,' he said with distaste. Being a village parson had turned him off the word entirely--it was something tourists occasionally said not only of Mitford but of him when trooping through town like they owned the place.
She was still laughing.
'Help yourself,' he said.
She narrowed her eyes, looked at him approvingly. 'It's been ages since you let me paint you.'
'You made me look like Churchill.'
She pulled a face.
'Or maybe it was Mussolini.'
'I could do much better now. What I'm after is that little quirky thing about your mouth, the one your mother had in pictures I've seen of her. It's so fleeting--but I feel I could catch it now.'
Save for her, he would have jumped ship on all this. But he was in and he was glad; it felt right.
'I'm excited about painting William--all those lovely wrinkles around his blue eyes, and that wicked scar on his temple. A fine nose, too--perhaps it was Roman before it was bashed in. Did the Romans come through Ireland?'
'The Romans came through everywhere.'
'William blames the Vikings for red hair, which he says isn't Irish at all. It came from th' bloody murderin' Vikin's, he says--from th' numerous rapes an' rampages that sullied th' black hair of th' Gaelic nation.'
'There's a view of history for you.'
She slapped her arm. 'I see how Liam has taken to you, just like your parishioners in Mitford--even people who weren't your parishioners. You attract that sort of thing like I attract midges. You never seem to mind.'
'Maybe it's some assurance to me that I exist, or have meaning--who knows? It's always been that way.'
'You're like both father and priest to Liam, Anna says. That's a lot to put on someone.'
'Like you're breath and life to me. That's a lot to put on you.'
'But I don't mind it. Not ever. Besides, you try so hard to keep that need hidden. You seem afraid it will take something from me. But it doesn't take anything away--it gives me something.
'That's what you do for people. It's a wonderful gift, but it drains you. You see someone in need and take the plunge--that's what God does, of course. But when you told Liam the police could jolly well come to you, I think you hit a home run.'
'A first,' he said, wry.
A young woman with an infant in her arms appeared on the narrow road, trailed by a border collie. The collie stopped, eyed them, barked. The woman lifted the tiny arm of the baby in a wagging salute to the couple at the chestnut tree, who waved back. He watched the trio disappear around a bend, praying for them as he had often done for the odd stranger or passerby, and even, on occasion, for the crew and passengers of a plane droning overhead. It was a private and instinctive thing, having little, or perhaps nothing to do with being a priest.
'I love Ireland,' she said.
'You haven't seen much of it.'
'But I feel much of it, somehow. What if every day had a title, rather like the title of a poem--Psalm of Life or The Wild Swans at Coole, like that?'
'Ah. So, what would today be titled?'
'You go first.'
'Free at Last.'
'Perfect!' she said. 'You win.'
The mild zephyr that shook the blue flowers trifled with her hair. 'I'm supposed to be painting Ben Bulben.'
'Never mind. Legions have already done it, I'm sure. Getting down to brass tacks--shall I have Liam drive me to Sligo and rent a decent car?'
'The world is full of decent cars,' she said. 'Let's rattle around, we'll remember it all'--she looked toward the Vauxhall--'more vividl
y.'
'Speaking of which, I just remembered ...'
'Tell me.'
'We didn't go to the country on my motor scooter.'
'When?'
'When we were courting--the time the bull chased me and we ate the raspberry tart.'
'Who said we went on your motor scooter?'
'I was thinking about it a few minutes ago, about you clinging on behind me, and it seemed so real. What I remembered was my fantasy about us going on the motor scooter. We went in the car.'
'I would never have gone on that motor scooter.'
'Right,' he said. 'By the way, when I asked you about seeing Balfour's place, how did you know what happened to it? You asked Anna?'
'I skipped ahead to the end of the journal. Just for a peek.' She slapped at a midge. 'But I've decided to read it in proper order, roughly in sync with you.'
'Do we want to keep reading it?'
'We do,' she said.
'What if it was an inside job?'
'Balfour's place?'
He stood up, stretched. 'The painting.'
'I wasn't going to talk about that anymore. But, yes, what if . . .' She sat up. 'I mean, why was Jack Slade at the fair when Bella was there, and why did he stab the fellow for talking out of turn to her? What business is she of his?'
'Good question. The Garda probably asked that, too. Speaking of--what is it, anyway? Garda with an a at the end or Gardai with an i at the end?'
'Beats me,' she said. 'I've seen it with two i's at the end.'
'Anyhow, let's up and away, Kav'na. Tempus fugit.' He checked his pant pockets, discovered the Connemara Black with its jagged barb--not a good thing to tote around in a pocket.
He helped her from the blanket; she looked curiously sober. 'Are we nuts to stay?'
'We're a little nuts even if we don't stay,' he said. 'So what's the difference?'
'Do we really want to visit a graveyard today?'
'Probably not today. Besides, you already know the epitaph.'
'Cast a cold eye,' she said, collecting the picnic leavings and stowing them in the hamper.
Nineteen
The party was over--the caffeine had caught up with him.
He had fallen asleep around midnight, trekked to the bathroom at three, and woke himself snoring at four. Awake at his usual hour of five, he wrestled briefly with the notion of getting up and unpacking their book carton, then slept again and dreamed. He watched his hands break the whole-grain loaf--look on the heart by sorrow broken, look on the tears by sinners shed--smelled the sour yeast as crumbs scattered onto the fair linen. The dream wheeled to the stone arch of Sewanee's Heaven's Gate and the sight of an old school chum--he threw up his hand--but no, it was Dooley, his mortal flesh radiant in a patch of light. Dooley at Sewanee!--so he hadn't gone down to Georgia with all those peaches and incinerating summers. A great happiness came to him, he called Dooley's name and woke himself.
He wondered if he'd disturbed Cynthia, but no, Rip Van Winkle was having at it.
Disgusted with the whole affair, he threw off the covers and made himself useful--splashed his face, shot the insulin, prayed the Morning Office by the floor lamp Maureen installed, then took the leather-bound journal in his lap and opened it to the placement of his bookmark. A cumbersome piece of work, this, not for casual reading at the beach.
The bulb blazed like the headlight of an eighteen-wheeler; he could see the weave of the linen in the yellowed pages.
14 June 1862
Have returned from Dublin to find matters here in utter ruin.
Unable to write these last days for the sick shame & rage I suffer at the upheaval in both home & worksite. C exhorts me to allow the fury to subside before I act--I cannot believe it will ever subside.
In my absence Balfour came to our Cabin & sought to have his way with A. Keegan was fishing & C had been at the garden--she said she felt some dull heaviness on her heart & hurried to the Cabin where she found A weeping & backed into the chimney corner fearing for her life. Balfour drunken & demonic--threatened A with worse if she cried out--C brandished the poker at him, not watching her words & drove him off the place. A heavy blade to us all. At the Mass Rock again pleading God's wisdom in how this unforgivable act should be avenged. I confess savoring the notion of putting him down with a single shot to his heart in which is housed a roiling nest of vile intentions. Have sent by Keegan an urgent letter of appeal to Father Dominic seeking prayer & counsel.
I remember my mother saying There's nothing so bad it couldn't be worse & thus Danny Moore has disobeyed my warning & betrayed our trust in his character. While I was away he told a stone mason of the higher wage he receives & the men went to pieces about it. Danny beaten & brutally kicked--theres one for yr bloody stump, they said--the worksite sundered by petty thefts.
A sullen & bellicose group now working away with no one confessing the blame. Keegan had broken up the violence toward Danny & suffered a crack which dislocated his jaw--though re-located it troubles him yet We have given the boot to two perpetrators--Keegan & I anxious for what unemployed men might do in retribution, even our own Irishmen in such a case. Have sent Danny off the job until further notice, not wishing to rush to judgment in a matter which concerns the wellbeing of seven people. His mother in complete agreement & as stricken by his action as by the loss of wages to their household. I take the matter as a grievous lesson for future dealings.
Some evictions going on east of us. When we think we have seen the last of this blasphemy the Enemy once again raises his head.
Holy Mother of God have Mercy on the Souls of all Your people in this Wild & Remote Region.
18 June 1862
Both Father Dominic & Caitlin advise me to do nothing. It is outside all convention that I refrain from avenging wound to my household. Balfour may forget the incident altogether, says Fr Dominic & C agrees.
As no possible good can come of confronting Balfour at this time, I am willing to receive counsel asked for.
Having disabused myself of the notion to put a bullet in Balfour--& confessed this impulse to Fr Dominic--I now harbor the continual image of slapping his face so violently as to send him reeling--in this waking dream, I have seen the snot & blood issue from his nose like a shot. He stumbles backward & falls onto the stone floor of the entrance to his stables thereby cracking his skull--& is dead within minutes. I am haunted by the face of his daughter appearing at the doorway as this murderous incident occurs.
Such grusome images so interfere with my Supplications that I am continually pleading God's forgiveness. Seventy times seven is a hard lesson to be learned.
I seldom write here of those lost to Death under my care, for C & I have done all in our might to save them.
God have mercy on the soul of Connor Gleason age 46 without kith or kin to mourn his passing.
1 July
Blistering heat, no rain in near two weeks
I had begun to believe we were well rid of him but he came again today--the snake in the Garden. He was all hail fellow well met & I decided to leave it at that. There has been rumor of fever outbreak in cabins some distance from here though I have seen no vestige of it in this Region. This rumor breaks out on occasion like a case of measles. Balfour made it clear to me that he wanted no contagion brought on land contiguous to his. As I do not consider the fever an actual threat, I agreed that I would not treat patients here with any true sign of yellow fever.
As I looked at him on his unfortunate mount, I confess I was murdering him with my very eyes. He went away without getting down & without the usual foul jollity with our men. Twas as if he knew the violent cast of my thoughts & was in a scramble to be gone.
May God give us faith & strength to finish the race here.
4 August
Warm, humid, rain in afternoon
In gratitude for the completion of the house & stables & in honor of the coming Feast Day of the Blessed Virgin I sent funds to Fr Dominic for the repair of the Church roof & other pressin
g needs. I am greatly relieved to thus thank Almighty God for the new home to which we have moved these last days. Twill be comfortable indeed if we can improve the kitchen firebox which smokes the plaster far along the stair hall. A great dither for the women.
Following Mass on Thursday 14, Fr Dominic to come and give us a proper blessing. All neighbors hereabout invited to share in a Feast. We shall have a crowd numbering that of the Roman legions.
C scoured the countryside & found five able women to man the cooking with herself & Aoife--Keegan has got us a labor force to roast the pig, the sheep & goats. Irish whiskey & barrels of Guinness (Keegan and I in disagreement about # of barrels) will be offered & that's the end of it. Although I am loth to do it given their recent behavior, have sent word to the workmen to attend with their wives & children. Danny Moore's family eager to come. Twould be wrong to keep them away but have warned him that the men will not suffer him kindly. The incident he caused has taught him a sobering lesson. He came to me hat in hand, proposing to play the Fiddle for the occasion & offering further entertainment by his sisters who sing the old songs in harmony. I am reminded that such as soothes the savage breast may be balm to the recent fury.
Keegan & I abroad these last weeks checking the quality of livestock & fowl raised for us for this occasion. I look at a fat ewe to be roasted & it is coughing. Keegan, I say, tell Paddy O'Reilly we will not pay for his ewe, it is coughing like a man. That's what sheep do, he says in his dry way--they cough.