Vincent watched, listened, and laughed at the right moments. All the time, he considered his options. Suppose they won't go out of doors after dinner, what should I do? Worry about that when it happens. This seems like just the sort oft night when people would go and look at the river after dinner. And I only need him to come. I can come back for her.
The meal traveled on; they crossed landscapes on that cream damask tablecloth with its Carrickmacross lace, handmade two centuries earlier by Ellie's great-great-grandmother. And they settled worlds and peoples in the gleam of those candles and knives, forks, and spoons that had been in the family for four or five generations.
Slowly, slowly, Robert Shannon's face cleared and he began again to look like the figure he had once been— an elegant young man of intelligence and bravery.
At the other end of the table sat the woman whom an uninformed observer might think was his wife. Ellie, at last, had begun to relax. Michael Joyce had told her in Amiens, in that brief and desperately loving bedroom, that her smile could stop a tank. It could— or a heart, as it now stopped Robert's.
Between them, on one side of the lovely dining table, sat their killer. He looked from one to the other like a man at a slow tennis match, the hands bigger than weapons resting on the wonderful old linen. He smiled when they did, he laughed with them; he grew serious at their ideas. Almost there. This is good. Almost there.
Two things happened within minutes of each other, one not unexpected, the other not expected at all. Both events shook the house, and one shook those three lives— forever.
Robert had begun to tell, haltingly and with Ellie's help, the story of the Shannon legend. She had encouraged him to write it down and said she'd correct it with him. Vincent's arrival had delayed that exercise.
“There are nine of these trees,” he told Vincent. “You know hazelnuts? They grew on these trees, and they were magic hazelnuts—”
At the word magic, the curtains billowed in a great whoosh! And the breeze coming into the room almost blew out the candles. All three laughed, and then came the noise of the thunder and the rain. Ellie raced to shut the windows and got them closed just in time.
“The front door,” she said, and Vincent jumped from the table, ran into the hallway, and slammed the front door shut just as the rain began to hit the flagstones on the hall floor. The dog whined and went under Robert's chair.
Directly overhead, the thunder crashed; it sounded like a mountain falling. The deep rolls ended in sharp cracks as the boulders of the skies collided.
“We used to say, They're bowling in Heaven” said Robert. He could barely make himself heard above the noise. More thunder, louder.
“This is like a play,” said Ellie, rubbing her bare arms.
The dog whined, shifted, turned around seven times, and lay down again. The three people sat there in a kind of apprehension, a little scornful of the awe they felt.
Then they heard a new noise, a hammering, an insistent, almost rude hammering. Ellie looked at the two men's faces. She thought she heard it first above the thunder and, though not sure, she rose from her place and went to the dining room door.
When she opened it they all heard the hammering, as loud as the thunder itself. The men left their places. Ellie walked forward to the thick front door, which shook on its old hinges. As Vincent and Robert stood behind Ellie in the hall, she opened the heavy door.
Unforgettable. A sight from somewhere wild. A crazy vision. In the doorway stood a huge shape, gesticulating, throwing out arms. Behind the shape, lightning flashed— just once, a vivid sheet flash— and the three people in the house saw the flash reflected in what seemed like goggles. Water seemed to flow down the shape and the water caught the light, this time from the oil lamp in the hallway.
“Is Father Robert Shannon here?” said the voice, the unmistakable voice.
In he came, all six feet five of him, dripping water from that nose, that elks head. He peeled off the goggles and with them came the cap, the tweed cap that now had enough water in it to slake a Sahara camel. Ever classy, he twisted the cap in his hand and watched the water cascade on the stone floor.
Robert almost danced forward. Sevovicz held out his arms, his long wet welcoming arms, and the men hugged like ancient friends.
Robert, with joy in his voice, said to Ellie, “You know who this is?”
She said, her relief leaping, her heart racing, “I can guess.”
“Your Grace, this is Ellie Kennedy. She was my nurse— in France.”
Sevovicz said, “I know who she is.”
Robert turned to include Vincent, but Sevovicz stopped him with a long imperious arm and said, “And I know who you are too. A word, please.”
In his dripping clothes he strode forward between Ellie and Robert, saying over his shoulder, “Where can I speak with this man in private?”
She opened the next door across the passageway, the drawing room. Robert made as if to join the two men.
“Leave it,” she said to him.
Sevovicz took the lamp from the hall table, laid a heavy hand on Vincent's shoulder, steered him to the drawing room, and closed the door behind them.
“Let's go back to the dining room,” said Ellie. “I'll explain later.”
Robert, dazed and most anxious to talk to his mentor, obeyed.
In the drawing room, Vincent's mind raced: Can I take him? He got to a wall and, with his back to it, stood straight up; he felt the bayonet against his shin.
“Do you know who I am?” said Sevovicz.
“What's going on?” said Vincent.
“I am an auxiliary archbishop to His Eminence, Cardinal O'Connell. Sent by Pope Pius himself. Do you understand?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Why are you here?”
Vincent said, “I was passing through. I heard there was an American—like me, traveling alone—staying nearby.”
“No. You asked. You asked in a bar.”
“Yes. I asked in a bar. How do you think I got here?”
“Why did you ask?”
“I didn't ask.”
“You just said you asked.” Sevovicz stood directly in front of Vincent, taking up his personal space, blocking any chance of reaching down to his ankle for the bayonet.
“Yes. I asked where he was staying.”
“But how did you know there was an American staying here?”
“Because they told me.”
“Who told you?”
“The men in the bar.” Vincent risked throwing his arms out: Create some motion. Then make a sudden movement. His nose. Chop under the nose.
“But you asked them?” Sevovicz snapped. “And keep your arms still.”
Vincent lowered his arms and made himself seem patient. “Look, Your Grace—”
Sevovicz glared at him. Of course. He's a Catholic too. An Irish killer. Send an Irish killer to Ireland. Makes sense.
“Look at what? Are you Irish?”
“Yes, I am. I've been here on vacation and to visit my family, so I stopped in a bar. They asked me what I was doing, and they told me there was another Yank, another fellow just like me, who had been in the bar a few days ago. They said he was staying here, in this house.” Hoping to sow a seed of doubt, he added, “When I got here— I knew the owner.”
“How?”
“She was a nurse with the marines.”
Sevovicz said, “Oh, my God! You were a marine.”
“Once a marine, always a marine.”
“You're not a real marine, you're a fellow who went into the marines to hide the fact that you like killing people. I know the marines. They throw out men like you. How many marines have you seen since the war?”
Vincent felt stretched. This man knows too much. Worse, he knows too much by instinct. He understands. Even if he doesn't know who I am, he knows I haven't been acceptable, not since the war. I was good enough during the war when they needed me, but they've avoided me since then. They never invite me an
ywhere.
He began to deploy the genuine distress that he now felt. “I don't know why you're so hostile to me. I haven't done anything. Captain Shannon is one of the great heroes of my life.”
Sevovicz hesitated— not a relenting hesitation, just a gathering of time. “When are you leaving this house?”
“I've told them— the day after tomorrow.”
“You leave tomorrow morning, understood? Until then we are normal. Go out. Stay where I can see you.”
He stood aside to let Vincent pass by. In the hallway, the lamp in Sevovicz's hands gave Vincent a huge shadow on the walls. Sevovicz held the lamp higher: It gives me an even bigger shadow. Good!
Ellie set another place and the archbishop sat down. He devoted the first moments of his attention to Robert. Vincent sat quietly.
“Let me see you. You look well, Robert; we all miss you. Have you found your ancestors?”
“Your Grace, I feel better. This search, this return to my family's birthplace, to where my blood comes from— it's been wonderfully healing.”
Ellie said, “He improves with every day. His appetite is good, he sleeps—”
Sevovicz held up an imperious hand, without turning his head toward Ellie.
“Continue please, Robert.”
The hand stayed up like a policeman's until Robert had finished his summary of where he had been, “from the source to the sea, Your Grace.”
Then Sevovicz said, “Ha! So your journey, Robert, is now ended?” He turned to Ellie. “How long has he been here?”
“Several weeks.”
“Thank you. You have looked after him beautifully. Now he goes elsewhere; now he comes to Rome with me. We will sail from Limerick next week. I have inquired; there is a ship that leaves next Friday. And this young gentleman”—he swiveled his hand and pointed to Vincent—”he tells me he leaves tomorrow.”
Ellie said, in the voice of a nurse who should become a hospital matron, “Everything is happening a little quickly.” But, my God, I'm relieved. I'm so relieved. She added, “Your Grace, please eat. What would you like to drink?”
“Some excellent claret would be acceptable. Failing that, some cognac.”
Ellie moved to take care of the archbishop. When she'd left the room, Robert said, “How did you get here, Your Grace?”
“By ship to the place they call Cove, although the name looks very different on the map. Then I bought a motorcycle.”
“But how did you find me?”
“In Ireland, as you must know by now, everybody knows everything. I heard that a young American priest was staying with a former U.S.
Army nurse. It made sense. That is all; it is boring to speak of such matters. Please tell me about your health.”
“I've eaten a lot, Your Grace.”
“Dr. Greenberg will be proud of you.”
Sevovicz turned to Vincent and said rapidly in a voice so low that Robert could not hear, “Go to bed. The police know I am here. And in any case your assignment has been canceled. I spoke to your accountant friend before I left. That is how I know about you, and that is why I am here.”
He turned back to talk to Robert again.
Vincent shook hands with Robert and left the room. He climbed the stairs and closed his door. Ellie returned with a bottle of wine and a corkscrew. Sevovicz took the wine from her, held the label to the light, handed back the bottle, and said, “Some cognac, please. I do not drink wine from that side of the Gironde River.”
Ellie disappeared once more, and Sevovicz said, “It seems to me from the way you speak, Robert, that you are feeling much better.”
“I am, Your Grace. I remember things now. I wrote everything down.”
“We do want remembrance from you, Robert. Remembrance may be a useful thing. But you must decide how and with whom you share your memories.”
Ellie reentered the room on those words and decided to take back control of her own house.
“When Robert attempts recollections, he always seems stronger next day.”
“And we know this by what means?” said Sevovicz.
“How did you know about”—Ellie pointed to the ceiling—”our guest upstairs?”
“I fear I cannot tell you that,” said Sevovicz. “He will be gone in the morning.”
“I'm afraid I don't have room for you to stay,” said Ellie.
“This is a big house. I saw that as I arrived.”
Sevovicz rose from his chair, strode from the room, swept up the oil lamp again from the hall table, and marched upstairs. Within moments he came back down again, as heavy-footed on the stairs as a Clydesdale horse.
“Such nonsense. You have at least three vacant bedrooms. And I hope, for the sake of morality, there are only two available. Besides, tomorrow night you shall have everything but your own room free.”
Ellie sat down in her chair again. This man is like a hurricane. Is he going to take Robert from me?
Sevovicz, as though he had read her mind, said, “Robert will come with me on the ship to France, and then we will travel down to Rome. He is to live in the Vatican for some considerable time. They want to talk to him about some things.”
Robert looked from one to the other. In moments such as this, when debate about him had taken place in his presence— it had only happened between Dr. Greenberg and the archbishop— he sat mutely. This was different. He had a feeling that something powerful was happening— and he could see from Ellie's face that she certainly didn't like it.
Of all the possibilities, Ellie hadn't allowed for the archbishop. Nor, of course, for Vincent. She took several minutes to sort out her thoughts. First came the relief of having the outside world intervene in the matter of Vincent. The siege of his presence had been lifted. But now a new matter took over.
She had expected that when Robert came back to his fullest sensibilities, they'd talk about him and the Church, yet she'd calculated that this lay some time off, in a future she felt no need to chart. But they had already begun the debate, in small pieces at a time. She had told herself that she had the advantage of time. Nobody knew where Robert was, and she had no intention of telling his superiors in Boston that he was living in her house. And not only living with me but sharing my bed. Although I'd like to see their faces.
She had hoped that if she got it right, Robert would recover fully and settle in this new environment, all his ghosts laid to rest. For that reason she had delayed asking him any details of the Boston Archdiocese. Still, she needed to know what had been so awful— what had caused his relapse. That would form part of her argument; if they could address that issue together, Ellie felt certain that she could change his life. He'd never go back to war— so why would he return to a church that also damaged him? That was the approach she intended to use. Now, though, she knew in her heart and soul that she faced nothing less than a tug-of-war for him.
She made her move. “Your Grace, tomorrow, when we have more privacy, we'll discuss Robert's future. I have, after all, been taking the most recent care of him— as I did before you arrived in his life.” Might as well bring things out into the open right now. Begin as I mean to continue, carry the fight. He's not going to take Robert away from here until Robert has the full capacity to make that decision for himself. And that may be never. Even as he is, three-or four-fifths a normal man, he's better than the five-fifths of most men I have ever met.
Sevovicz said, “Very well. We shall speak tomorrow. But remember, I am Robert's superior.”
Ellie said, “I believe you are not. I believe that Cardinal O'Connell is.”
“There are things of which you do not know, matters to which you have not been privileged. Please go to bed, Miss Kennedy. I will take care of Robert.”
“No. That will not happen.”
Sevovicz tried to pull a sneaky trick. He lowered his voice, glanced upward at the ceiling to indicate the stranger upstairs, and said, “I wish to keep the house secure.”
Ellie said, “In that case you would be be
tter employed staying up all night. I'll put an armchair out for you on the landing. Robert still requires a lot of sleep.”
Sevovicz didn't retreat visibly, but he knew that she had trumped him. First round to this woman. Huh. Wait until tomorrow.
“Robert, I think it's time for bed,” said Ellie.
“I shall sit here and think,” said Sevovicz. His tone of voice used to terrify his priests in Poland, but it rolled off Ellie; she had cowed generals.
She made final arrangements for Sevovicz who, true to his word (having finished the bottle of cognac), finally went upstairs and sat in a chair on the landing all night, not far from Vincent's door. At first light, he sat up straighter as he saw the door open and the big blond man emerge.
Vincent didn't see Sevovicz; he saw only the staircase ahead of him. Sevovicz, dozing, woke with a shock and saw Vincent, bag in hand, go down the stairs. He raced after him and caught up at the front door.
“Where do you think you're going?”
Vincent looked at him. “You told me to leave in the morning, Your Grace.”
“Have you no manners? You would leave without saying goodbye?
Dreadful. Sit here in the hallway until the lady comes down. You will then depart like a civilized guest.”
Vincent dropped his bag on the floor, sat in the chair, and gazed at The Falls of Doonass.
What do I do now? I don't like this. I don't like this at all. But it isn't over. I know that. This is not over.
Sevovicz thought about checking that Robert still slept, but he didn't wish to make noise. Nor did he wish to find Robert wrapped blissfully in that woman's arms. To continue his vigil downstairs, he took a chair from the dining room and sat in the dim hall across from Vincent.
They looked at each other. Vincent broke the gaze first.
Sevovicz said, “Why do you do this?”
“I don't know what you mean.”