by Tyler, Anne
Kate could tell of her unreasonable dislike of Mary Donnelly, Rachel of her irritation with Marian Johnson.
“He has no interest in Marian Johnson,” Kate assured her friend.
“She’s much more suitable for this life … the life he wants.”
“Oh, but no, you mustn’t think that. Can you imagine him loving her? Even loving her a little bit?” Kate shook her head at the idea of it.
“He can’t love me much, either. One day I’ll accept that I’m not part of his plan. Then I’ll be free.”
“But you’d be very lonely,” Kate said.
Rachel smiled, relieved. This was the counsel she had wanted to hear.
“Will Mrs. Fine be here for long?” Dara asked.
She had gotten into the habit of sitting with her mother as soon as she came back from school, and the others agreed without ever saying it that this was Dara’s time.
“I don’t know, my love, I don’t ask her. Do you mind if we ask her for meals now and then? It’s terrible for her up in that awful hotel all the time.”
Dara agreed immediately. “Oh we must ask her as much as possible, she’d start talking to herself if she had to stay in the Slieve Sunset all the time.”
Kate laughed. Dara had become so grown up, she was able to talk to her much more freely than before. The months must have made a huge difference to the girl, living here in the pub without her mother, unsure of what was going to happen and if Kate would ever come home. It was a very noticeable change Before the accident Dara had been a tomboy, dying to get away from the house, to escape any kind of involvement or conversation, sighing at grown-up conversation, and flinching away from any confidences. And now, that was all gone. She seemed older than Michael too, while once she had waited for his every move before she decided what to do herself. She was technically a woman, and Dara already felt the stirrings of … well if not love … at least hero worship. Kate had noticed how her face changed when she spoke of Kerry. That little crush must have developed since the previous summer.
Kate felt she could tell Dara things that sometimes might seem a bit petty when she told them to John. Maybe it was a conspiracy kind of thing between women … she hoped she didn’t overdo it. Dara seemed to approve of Rachel coming to the house. Her connection with Patrick O’Neill was never mentioned; Kate was far too loyal to bring up the matter herself, but she felt that Dara instinctively had some understanding of it.
“Will Mary Donnelly be here for much longer?”
Kate tried to look concerned and kind. “I’ve no idea, she must suit herself.” A sharp note had come into her voice.
“Why don’t you like her, Mam? She’s very helpful.”
“I know, I know. What do you mean I don’t like her? Don’t be silly, Dara.”
“But you don’t. Why? It’s not as if she’s after Dad or anything. She hates men, she even hates them when they’re only Michael’s age.”
“She’s so childish to be going on with all that kind of rambling out of her,” Kate snapped.
“Is that why you don’t like her, because she’s against men?”
“No, I’ll tell you the truth, I don’t like her because she’s doing what I should be doing, she’s standing there serving people in the bar and not talking to them when I would be talking to them pleasantly, she’s going down to Loretto Quinn and beating her down over the price of this and that instead of paying her. She has the kitchen clean and tidy, better maybe than I’d keep it. She has Leopold changed beyond recognition. But she has Carrie terrified of her, and crying if she breaks a saucer. She has the sheets clean on the beds but she has a smell of boiling in the house from Monday to Saturday.”
Dara looked at her mother open-mouthed.
“And mostly I don’t like her because she has two good legs that start at the top and go down to her feet and she can put one of them in front of the other and walk. If she’s in a hurry she can put one in front of the other quickly and she can run. She doesn’t have to drag herself by her arms and strain and stretch and pull and at the end of it be just a few inches toward the edge of the bed. I suppose that’s why I don’t like her.”
Dara still couldn’t speak.
“Because I’m a mean old pig,” Kate added as an explanation.
Dara flew into her arms, literally hurled herself at Kate.
“You’re not a mean old pig, it’s the unfairest thing in the world that you should be like this. I told Sister Laura that God must have a very cruel streak in him to let you be just in the path of that machine.”
Dara sobbed into her mother’s shoulder as Kate patted the dark hair and the heaving slender body.
“What did Sister Laura say about God’s mean streak?” she asked gently.
Dara drew away from her for a moment and looked at her with a tear-stained face.
“She said that Almighty God had a purpose in everything, and that we couldn’t see it now. In years to come we’ll see it. Do you think we will?”
Kate held the hands of her daughter and spoke slowly “I don’t know. That’s the truth. I don’t know. If it was something that might be cured, then perhaps all these months and even a couple of years in a wheelchair might have a purpose”
“But …” Dara waited anxiously.
“But because it’s not going to be cured, and I will never walk again, I find it hard to believe that God has a purpose. God can’t believe that I’m a better citizen, a better Christian to him stuck in this chair. Maybe it’s just that he knew I might be a desperate sinner if I was out of the chair so he keeps me in it. That could be his purpose, I suppose.” She half smiled.
“But you wouldn’t have any sins would you, Mam, in or out of the wheelchair?” Dara could never imagine that grown-ups committed sin anyway, they were allowed to do everything just because they were grown up, it seemed impossible to know what was left except murder and worshipping idols which Mam wouldn’t be likely to be at.
“I suppose the biggest sin I have is not accepting what God has sent me. That is a sin, you know, Dara. I’m going to have to confess it to Father Hogan when he comes today, and I’m going to tell him also that I don’t want to go to Lourdes. That’s going to be even harder.”
Dara’s eyes were filled with tears again “You must go to Lourdes, Mam, you must, it’s the only hope. That’s what Michael and I say all the time. There have been miracles and you could be one of them.”
“No, darling Dara, I’m not going, there’s no miracle for me there. If Our Lady wants to cure my spine she can do it in Mountfern, I am not going to spend all those people’s money going there, and have all their hopes disappointed That’s it. I didn’t mean to tell you so suddenly, I was going to put it gently, maybe even differently. But you’re such a joy to me and such a comfort, I treat you like a grown-up daughter instead of a child.”
The tears had dried and Dara was as pleased as anything. “Well, I’m going to have to look after you properly if I’m a grown-up. If you get your way about Lourdes can we have your word that you’ll be sensible about Mary Donnelly and be civil to her in case she packs her bags and leaves?”
Kate burst into peals of laughter. Dara’s voice was such a good imitation of her own when she was being bossy. Even her face had the same look.
“I’ll be so civil, it will frighten you,” she laughed.
“There’s no need to over-do it, Mam,” Dara said disapprovingly.
John was taking a stroll with his daughter along the river bank.
“I’m glad that Rachel is here,” he said. “Your mam likes her a lot. It will take her mind off things.”
“Do you think her mind’s on things a lot?” Dara wanted to know.
“It’s so hard to know. She says she’s almost forgotten her life before the wheelchair. She doesn’t even dream of herself as being able to walk anymore.” He sounded sad.
“Don’t get all depressed, Daddy, she hates that more than anything.”
“I wouldn’t be depressed in front of he
r, Dara. But Lord, on my own or with you, can’t I let the mask drop a bit?”
They walked on companionably past the people fishing, careful not to disturb them by idle chatter. They were both remembering some of the scenes when a red-faced and furious Kate would shout and cry that she wanted no sympathy, no sad faces around her. She had even thrown a jug of milk and had broken plates and saucers, flinging them at John when he was in what he considered a gentle and concerned mood. Kate had taken it as defeatist and said it made her worse.
“I can’t even bloody walk, you can all do everything, so for Christ’s sake stop moaning and saying, ‘Poor Mam, Poor Kate’. What is the point of that? I’d prefer to be dead. Dead, dead and buried long ago than to be poor Kate, poor Mam.”
She had frightened them so much they had rung for Dr. White. He came to see her, and the family waiting outside got little consolation from him as he came out.
“Nothing wrong with Mrs. Ryan except that she is paralyzed,” he said bluntly. “And that she is surrounded by people who don’t give her any reason or point in living. They call the doctor if she shows any bit of fire and life, and their way of supporting her is to offer her pity. Good evening.”
They never forgot it. Even Declan and Eddie knew that the mood was to be optimistic. Mam wanted to believe that things were getting better all the time. That’s what gave her the energy to drag herself from bed to chair, from chair to lavatory or bath stool, and to push herself to the garden or the kitchen or the pub. If she didn’t believe that things were getting better all the time, she wouldn’t even sit up in the mornings.
Dara linked her father as they turned to come back along the road. “What do you think really, Dad, about the hotel? Is it going to take away all our business? Mary Donnelly says it could be the ruination of us.”
“Mary, for all that we are blessed to have her, is wrong about almost everything.”
Dara looked at her father affectionately “It would be a terrible thing to hate men, not to see them as friends.”
“I think it would be a pity all right,” John agreed. “I think you’d lose out on it in the long run. And on the same subject, what’s a beautiful girl like you doing on a summer evening walking the river bank with her old father? Why aren’t the Tommy Leonards and the Liam Whites and the others of Mountfern beating me out of the way? Tell me that.”
“Because they’re all eejits, Daddy, and you’re not.”
“That’s nice to hear. But isn’t there anybody who isn’t an eejit? Anybody at all?”
“Not a one.” Dara was airy about it. It was just a fact. “I might be hard to please, like Mary Donnelly, or just a bit slow in seeing my chances. I keep dreaming of course, that something marvelous would happen, like that beautiful Kerry O’Neill would notice me.”
“Would you like that?”
“I’d love it, but I’d have to fight the whole town for him. Grace says he and his father don’t get on.”
“Nobody gets on with their father,” said John, patting Dara’s arm.
“Stop fishing, Daddy,” she said.
“I think Declan’s turning into a proper hooligan,” John said to Kate.
“God, he must be really bad if you say a word against him” Kate was surprised to hear such criticism. “What has he done now?”
“He hasn’t done anything, it’s just that he has the instincts of a gangster. He goes around punching things for no reason.”
“What kind of things?” Kate was alarmed.
“I don’t know, the hen house for one thing, he nearly knocked it down.”
“I could knock that down myself even in this thing.” Kate gave a disgusted wave at her wheelchair.
“You could knock the house down in that chair, you look so terrifying when you head for us,” John laughed. “No, he just seems to tear things apart automatically without even knowing he’s doing it.”
“He’s upset.”
“We’re all upset,” her husband said.
“No we’re not, we’re fine. He’s just a baby. Send him in to me when he gets back. I’ll play with him for a bit.”
“He’ll probably have you on the floor.”
“It’s just being the youngest … poor little fellow.”
“I was the youngest, I’ll have you remember, and look at how well I turned out.”
“You did, too.” She looked at him admiringly. John Ryan had lost some of his beer belly, he stood more erect and, despite new lines on his face, he looked a younger man than he had been at the beginning of the summer.
Kate found herself turning to him for a lot more than just physical assistance. He had been able to manage in some kind of fashion without her for almost half a year. There were a lot of areas where she had to look to him now for advice.
“Do you think it’s going to affect them all?” She spoke in a small voice “You know, will it change their lives altogether … all this?” Again she waved in exasperation at her legs and the chair.
“No, I think they’ll be less affected by it than we expect. You know how adaptable children are, they get used to any old thing after a while.” He spoke gently and lovingly to take the possible hint of indifference out of his words. “I think that now you’re home they’ll all get on with their lives. Normally—almost embarrassingly normally.”
“I hope so.” She closed her eyes.
“Kate, we’ve been through all this before. What makes you start worrying now?”
“I expect hearing that Declan’s going around kicking things, and I think maybe I treat Dara as too much of a grown-up. I’ve taken her childhood away from her.”
“No, no.” He was soothing. “She’s flattered that you talk to her as an equal. No, don’t worry about that.”
“And Eddie?”
“He’s with a gang of toughies, he hasn’t time to think about anything except walls to be climbed, orchards to be robbed, jam jars to be discovered in far places so that he’ll collect enough to go to the pictures.”
“So that leaves Michael. He’s too quiet these days, isn’t he?”
“He is, and I was going to say that if you don’t think it’s the act of a madman I was going to ask him to go off fishing for a day with me. We keep telling people the Fern is full of pike. Why don’t we go and see is it true?”
She reached over and touched his hand. “Do, of course, and tell Michael I love him.”
“I won’t tell him anything of the sort, he’d knock me into the river.”
“No, I mean say it without saying it.”
“He knows, but I’ll say it without saying it anyway.”
“Will you come out fishing with me on Saturday?”
“Fishing! In this weather? We’d be frozen, and what would we catch?”
“We spend our time telling people that the Fern is alive with pike all year round. Shouldn’t we see are we right?”
“God, Dad, it’d be miserable out there. Why would you never ask me a thing like that in the summer, I’d love it in the summer.”
“I’d love it in the summer, too, son, but the pub wouldn’t be half empty like it is this weather.”
“But why, why now?”
“I wanted us to have a day out—a chat even.”
“What have I done?”
“Oh Jesus God, you haven’t done anything. It’s great when your son thinks the only reason you’re going to ask him out for a treat is to attack him, punish him.”
“But you never ask me out,” Michael complained with what John had to admit was some justification.
“And I don’t seem to make too good a fist of it when I do. All right, if it’s not fishing what would you like to do on Saturday after lunch?”
“I suppose the pictures are out?”
“You suppose correctly.”
“Could we do the book?” His eyes lit up.
John genuinely didn’t know what he meant.
“The book, Dad, Mr. O’Neill’s book, you haven’t done it for ages. I mean, take out the boxes
of papers and things …” His voice trailed away. John was just standing there with a blank expression. “I mean, you are going to do it … to finish it?”
“What? Oh yes. Yes.”
Michael looked relieved. “Well then, could we look at some of the research and I could help you like I did before?”
“Yes. Certainly.”
“Is anything wrong, would you prefer to go fishing? I suppose if we wrapped up …”
“No. No, you’re a very good fellow … no.”
“So have you been thinking about doing the book … or maybe after everything … you sort of didn’t want to?”
“I think you’re a genius, that’s the very thing we’ll do on Saturday. We’ll take the boxes upstairs out of everyone’s way and you can indeed help me. What with everything that happened I never found a moment to get down to it again, and it’s been there at the back of my mind …”
He beamed at Michael, but the boy had the feeling that there was some sort of struggle taking place. His father had been deciding there in front of him whether to go on writing the story of Fernscourt for Grace’s father.
“It’s not as if it would make Mam any better by not doing it,” he said suddenly, and his father gripped him on the shoulder.
“That’s the truth, Michael. We must never forget that.”
“Well, how much purgatory did he give you?” Rachel asked when Father Hogan had left and she was allowed to come in to see Kate.
“It’s not purgatory he gives me, you heathen, it’s penance, it’s to keep me out of purgatory.”
“It’s all nonsense, you’re a saint already. Did you tell him about Lourdes?”
“Yes, he hated it, poor man, but he’s going to help me. He said to put it a different way, say that I’d like it to go to a parish fund to send others there, get even more money, and not to dwell too much on the fact that I’m not going to take it up myself. It might hurt people or offend them.”
Rachel nodded.
“You look restless. Is anything wrong?”
“Hard to hide anything from you, Kate. I’ve been thinking, I should go back. Back to the States.”
