Nola snorted. ‘Aye, nothing but a dead mother, a murdered grandmother, a sister who’s run off and broken everyone’s heart in the process, and a family cursed by the gypsies.’
‘That’s the trouble with you, Nola,’ said Seamus. ‘You always talk about the bad things that happened. Me, I’m looking to the lad’s future.’
‘Oh, you are so bloody perfect, Seamus. You’re getting like your father, and all I will say is, the day that happens, God help you. Anyway, it won’t be me looking after you – I don’t have long left.’
Seamus looked sharply to his wife. ‘There you go again, always giving me the bad news. What would you want to say that for?’
The light was fading, the sun had disappeared and the moon had climbed above the Taramore River and was beginning its ascent towards the mountains.
‘Because I won’t make old bones. And don’t be giving out to me – I know what a sinful thing that is to say. But, Seamus, I’ve spent half of my life looking after Daedio and who is there to look after us? Sarah’s gone, Michael would be worse than useless, always working, and we aren’t Rosie’s blood. Mary Kate has gone, and if you think for one moment that Michael will bring her back, you are as mad as he is. She wants to live her life on one of those new motorways, that’s what Father Jerry said, and what Mary Kate wants, she gets. Don’t you know that? No, once Daedio goes, that’s us on our own and I don’t much like the thought of it.’
‘You just miss having people around the place,’ said Seamus.
The horse turned the bend and they began the last and steepest stretch to the top.
‘I do. It’s why I kidnap this little fella so often. What’s the point of me if I have no one to cook for and fuss over. There is none, I tell you, and before we can blink our eyes, he’ll be off too, after Mary Kate, to Liverpool or America. I may as well not be here. That’s when I will go, when he’s off.’
Seamus placed his hand on his wife’s knee. ‘Shush now, you still have me. I need feeding, and so do Pete and Daedio.’
‘Aye, you ungrateful lot of feckers, a curse is what you lot are.’ Nola wiped her eyes with her handkerchief as Seamus roared with laughter.
The horse, smelling the hay in the manger Pete had prepared already, did his usual fifty-yard dash to the old house and his stable. Finn, who always thought this was the best part of the journey, squatted down, facing forwards and grabbed both sides of the cart, yelling, ‘Faster! Faster!’
As they turned the corner, Seamus knew instantly that something was amiss because Porick came out of the house with a pot in his hand and took a drink from it. ‘Whoa,’ he shouted as he pulled the horse to a standstill. ‘Porick, ’tis a delight to see you and a mystery too,’ he said.
‘Aye, I would think so,’ said Porick. ‘And there’s more – you have a houseful in there and a visitor from America too.’
Nola got down from the cart faster than she had done in ten years or more. She put out her hand and Finn grabbed it and leapfrogged over the edge of the cart.
The three of them entered the cottage and were stunned into silence to see Joe Malone, looking as though he’d been there all his life, sitting on the end of Daedio’s bed. He jumped to his feet and extended his hand. ‘Joe Malone. It’s my pleasure, ma’am, sir.’
30
Joe slept in Michael’s old bed – Nola wouldn’t hear of him sleeping anywhere else – and sat in Annie’s rocking chair, also on Nola’s instructions. He only left Daedio’s side when Teresa arrived at the bottom of the boreen to chauffeur him around. She introduced him to everyone they met and paraded him around Tarabeg as if he were her own creation. And, of course, she took him to Mass.
Father Jerry had noticed Teresa’s absences and distractedness. He minded and he let Paddy know so when he called in for his afternoon pint of Guinness.
‘Sure, it can’t be right that a fella can be that good-looking, can it? I’m not sure what God thought he was doing putting such temptation in the way of all the women in Tarabeg,’ he said as soon as he walked in.
Teresa had hurtled past him in the car an hour earlier, tooting the horn and raising one hand in the air, the chiffon scarf around her hat billowing behind. Joe sat beside her and Ellen was in the back, ramrod straight and with her hands in her lap, a smug look of self-importance on her face as she scanned the lanes and boreens she’d spent her entire life tramping up and down on foot. Viewing them from the plush leather back seat of Father Jerry’s car gave her a whole new perspective.
Between them, Nola, Teresa, Ellen, Bridget and sometimes Josie had formed a protective matronly cordon around Tarabeg’s American sensation. Their defences were designed to deter even the most determined young women from getting anywhere near him, however well armed with bottles of perming solution.
‘I suppose,’ said Father Jerry with a sniff, ‘we take what beauty the good Lord gives us, and he sends men like Joe to test us.’
‘Aye, Father, that would be so,’ said Paddy, happy that Father Jerry had answered his own question. ‘He’s certainly testing us this time. Sent the women in this village into a blind tizzy, the American has. They say Malones’ has sold out of all manner of cosmetics. The shelves are empty, Roise tells me, with not a bottle of Coty L’Aimant or a pink shimmer lipstick in sight. And she has no more coming in for weeks and everyone is going wild because Michael’s on his way home already and they can’t give him an order to fetch more. No one has a notion what’s happening, nor even if Mary Kate is coming back with him or not.’
Josie bustled in to the back bar from the butcher’s shop at the front. ‘Is that you, Father?’ she shouted. She dipped her bulky frame through the curtain with difficulty. ‘I thought it was. Well, I’ll be saying this now, if Mary Kate does come back to Tarabeg, every girl in this village will have been perming her hair in vain. There’s not one of them can hold a candle to her when it comes to the looks. Isn’t that why Declan is all soft in the head for her?’
Father Jerry took the Guinness Paddy was holding out to him in his familiar pot. ‘I thought it was the music the women in this village were all mad for? That and getting across to Ballycroy for the dancing every full moon. Isn’t it hard work enough trying to keep everyone on the straight and narrow without this distraction right in the heart of our own village.’
Paddy narrowed his eyes as he wiped the drips of Guinness from the bar. ‘Are you out of sorts, Father? Have the mice been at your wooden leg again?’
Father Jerry sipped the foam off the top of his pint. ‘Not at all. There’s nothing wrong with me.’
‘Well, don’t forget to thank the Lord for that then, when you next take Mass. Joe is just a relative visiting the Malones from America. It’s not Daedio’s fault that the man looks and talks like a film star, is it?’
Father Jerry took his pint and carried it to the window. The rhythm of life in Tarabeg was moving into a different phase and things were about to change. The summer was coming to an end and the harvest was imminent. As always at this time, there was tension in the air. Would the rain hold off? Would the sun continue to shine? Would the thresher work? How many people would come down from the hills to help? And this year there was an extra dimension. Mary Kate had gone, the American had arrived, Michael was in a temper that had sent him wild. Father Jerry knew that whatever it was that was afflicting the village, Mary Kate was at the heart of it. Blessing himself, he asked God to bring her safely home.
*
Nola was on her way to the creamery, to make and salt extra butter for harvest week. ‘You keep that miserable eejit company, would you?’ she asked of Joe as she made them both tea before she left.
‘I’ll be happy to,’ said Joe. ‘I hear Michael will be home tonight. I was going to call on him later, and Teresa offered to take me, but I reckon that might not be a good idea. I’ll go tomorrow instead.’
Nola placed her hands on her hips and shook her head. ‘You know, I want to be mad with Mary Kate, but I just can’t be. I cannot see her coming ho
me with her father tonight, however hard he tried to persuade her. She is the cut of her mother and she will not be told by anyone what it is she has to do. My guess is she’ll be in Liverpool still.’
‘Does that upset you?’ asked Joe, intrigued by all he had heard about the wilful Mary Kate.
‘Not at all. She’ll come home one day. She has a nature for the place, and those that do can try as hard as they like, but it cannot be got rid of. They say it’s always there, that Ireland never stops trying to pull its lost children home. Hopefully she’ll be back before that one meets his maker.’ She inclined her head towards Daedio, who was having his second sleep. ‘Michael was away at war for five long years. My guess is that Mary Kate will be away for just as long.’
Joe walked over to the press and picked up one of the many photographs Nola kept on the shelves. ‘Is this her?’ he asked, holding the picture out to Nola.
‘Aye, it is, on her last day at school. It was a grand day, apart from Seamus farting as loud as the bull in the middle of Sister Magdalena’s speech. Aye, it was grand. A beautiful colleen, is she not.’
Joe put it back. ‘She is very beautiful indeed. I would have liked to have met her.’
‘Ah well, patience is all that’s needed. Right, the butter won’t churn itself, I’m off. Don’t let that old maggot give you the runaround – he’s been doing it to me for years. I tell everyone he’ll be at my funeral, not me at his.’
Joe thrust his hands into his pockets and looked down at Daedio asleep in his bed in front of the fire. They had talked into the small hours every night since he’d arrived in Tarabeg, and he wondered had that tired him out. Sometimes Seamus sat with them: three men united by a deep, ineffable bond. There was an easiness to their conversation, which flowed as though Joe had been born in Tarabeg. He was familiar with all the major events in Daedio’s life, laughed at the jokes between him and Nola and felt so close to them all, even though he’d known them less than a week. It was an unworldly experience. He had served in the marines, lived in Brooklyn, met many people in his life, but never had he experienced this immediate sense of belonging or such unquestioning acceptance.
Daedio opened his eyes and Joe grinned.
‘Has she gone?’ Daedio whispered, glancing towards the scullery door.
‘She has,’ said Joe. ‘I thought you were pretending.’
‘Thank God for that. I thought she would never leave, and you kept asking her questions.’ Daedio shuffled up the bed and banged his pillow back into place. ‘Seamus won’t be back for hours either. Right, come and sit yerself down. I have news for ye, and I’ve been beside myself, waiting for the right moment to tell ye.’
Joe could tell by the change of tempo that this was the conversation he’d been waiting for. This was it: the moment.
Seamus was down in the village. The harvest was due and he was meeting with Paddy to decide how many barrels they would need to buy in. ‘Needs a few days to settle,’ he’d said to Joe.
The planning of the harvest party was in full swing, but this time with a difference. People from far and wide and anyone with the remotest connection to Joe Malone’s great-grand- daddy were being flushed out from neighbouring villages. And that included a surprising number of nonagenarians even older than Daedio. The guard who’d caught a ten-year-old Joe Senior scrumping in Lord Carter’s orchards was coming – he remembered letting Joe keep some of the apples and had even given him a lift back to the farm. Also keen to meet Joe’s great- grandson was the lady who’d once danced at the hall with Joe. He had kissed her in the moonlight as the sound of the water rushing down the mountainside into the Taramore rang in her ears. He whispered sweet nothings, undid her blouse, slipped his fingers inside her many vests and promised her that at the next dance he’d be waiting and would expect more. She had dressed herself up and made her way to the dance hall every full moon for months afterwards before anyone had the heart to tell her he’d left for America. ‘I don’t bear a grudge,’ she’d said when she was told about the party for Joe Junior. ‘Anyway, Joe Senior is long dead, God rest his soul. A poor and miserable life as a young widow I would have had, wouldn’t I now. I’ll be there.’
Young women from as far away as across the Nephin Beg were delirious at the prospect of meeting a young, rich, handsome American in a Mayo village. For those lacking the money or permission to travel, it was as if America had come to them. None was more excited than Peggy, who was still wondering what to wear. She spent her days at the Malones’ shop wishing she could move the till from the counter to the window to better keep her eye on the road for a glimpse of the handsome Joe being chauffeured around by Teresa.
‘Get us a drink, will you?’ said Daedio. ‘’Tis my belief no conversation about money can be held without a drink in your hand. ’Tisn’t right.’
Joe had very quickly become used to the Malone house. When he thought about Brooklyn, all he heard was traffic, noise and a pace of life that didn’t suit him. ‘This sounds serious,’ he said as he removed from the press the glasses he’d got into the habit of drying and placing there for Nola every night.
‘Oh, it is. I haven’t had many conversations in my life as serious as this one,’ said Daedio. ‘Get the whiskey, not the porter. You’re going to need it.’
Five minutes later, with a glass in his hand, Joe sat back in the rocking chair and gave it a push with his feet to set the rockers moving.
Daedio began. ‘Now, your great-granddaddy, when he was in jail, he sent something here to me. It was a box. A box full of money, a great deal of money. He said in a letter that someone would come for it, but that was some seventy years ago and I thought it had been forgotten altogether. But now here you are. It’s yours.’
Joe stared into his drink. ‘I know,’ he said.
Suddenly, the rockers on his chair came to a standstill with a jolt and he felt as if he was being pushed forwards. The whiskey slopped over the rim of his glass. ‘What the hell…?’ he said, glancing round to the back of his chair to see who’d stopped it.
Daedio waved his hand. ‘Oh, don’t be worrying about that, ’tis only Annie. She’s never left. Waiting for me, she is.’
Joe looked into Daedio’s eyes and could tell he was serious.
‘Don’t you have visitors from the other side in America?’
Joe swallowed hard. ‘Er, no. Not at all.’
‘You don’t say! Well, imagine. I wonder why not?’
Joe knew why not. ‘Because it’s noisy and sophisticated, and I guess there’s nowhere to hide?’
‘Aye, that’ll be it,’ said Daedio, satisfied with the answer, and they both grinned as the chair began to rock again. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll get used to her if you stay much longer. Anyway, what do you mean, you know? You see that brick in the wall, if you move it, you’ll find all the money there – well, most of it. I will admit there have been times I’ve had to er… avail myself of some of it – when Michael and Sarah first married, and when Michael needed money to set up his shop. And the first time was when I used it to buy those seven acres so we could drive Shona Maughan off the land and out of the village. But as God is my judge, we only counted it when we got your letter, and I’d be saying we haven’t spent much, not compared with what’s there.’
‘I know,’ said Joe again. ‘That’s why I’m here. Joe Senior left a will and it has only just reached maturity. I only found out myself recently. There is more to his story though. Your brother was no ordinary thief or jailbird, Daedio – did you know that?’
Daedio was all ears. He was so focused on Joe Junior’s revelations, he didn’t even take a sip of his whiskey.
‘My great-granddaddy did what he did in anger. He robbed the payroll truck to get back at the firm for the way they treated the Irishmen they employed to build their roads and bridges. The conditions were appalling – you cannot imagine it. Those men dropped dead with the heat in summer and slipped on the ice and broke bones and necks in the winter. And as if that wasn’t bad enough,
there were no payouts for the families. That was why Joe Senior robbed the payroll. He wanted to use the money to try and make those men’s lives easier. Problem was, he got caught.’
‘Aye, but he got the money here, to Tarabeg Farm.’
‘That’s true. He was pretty smart there. The chances of anyone finding it here on this hill were just about zero, I’d say.’ Joe paused and gave a small smile. ‘I know about the money, but I don’t want it.’
Daedio took a sip of his whiskey before saying in a much quieter voice, ‘What do you mean, you don’t want it?’
Joe leant forward, stopped the rockers himself and looked at Daedio square on. ‘Daedio, I am a very wealthy man, thanks to Great-Granddaddy. I’m a sleeping partner in one of the biggest law firms in New York, and every month they just keep giving me money for doing nothing. Great-Granddaddy bought shares back when they were setting up the law firm to help the people coming over from Ireland, and now I’ve inherited all the dividends that have accrued since way back. It’s much more than what was sent to you. I want the Tarabeg money to stay here. It can be yours to do with as you wish. I have more than enough.’
Daedio looked like he was about to faint. With rheumy eyes and a gummy smile, he stared up at the rocking chair. ‘I reckon I may live another ten years now. Annie, you are going to have to wait.’ He laughed and, lifting up his glass, clinked it with Joe’s.
‘I have something else to say that might surprise you,’ said Joe. ‘I’ve made a decision. I’m not going back to Brooklyn. I want to live here, in Tarabeg. Can I stay here with you until I find somewhere suitable to buy?’
‘What about your mammy?’ Daedio rasped, his eyes full of tears.
‘Oh, she won’t move, but I’ll go back four times a year for holidays, and for board meetings at the law firm, even if I won’t have a clue what they’re talking about. And Mammy can visit here.’
Mary Kate Page 33
