Shadows in Heaven

by Nadine Dorries

  ‘Did ye have sugar in France?’ asked Daedio before he heaped three spoonfuls into his tea.

  ‘They have none in England or north of the border, so they say. Mind, we shouldn’t have this – it has been short, though not in scarce supply altogether, but we have the ways.’ Seamus tapped the side of his nose with his finger.

  ‘Shush, Daddy,’ said Nola. And then, dropping her voice to a whisper as though there might be someone around to hear, ‘There’s been a fair bit of the smuggling going on, Michael. Around the coast, up and over the border. We did all right, so we did. Paddy got all kinds of things taken over for us. The price we got for the eggs, you wouldn’t imagine. They must be starving over there.’

  ‘They don’t have much in Liverpool,’ said Michael. ‘They’re on the ration books for every bit of sugar, butter and meat.’

  Seamus gasped. ‘The meat as well? Jesus, would you believe it?’

  Michael didn’t have time to answer before Daedio spoke again.

  ‘Why is no one listening to me?’

  They all turned around from the table, even Pete, to look at Daedio lying in the bed.

  ‘What have you to be saying then?’ said Seamus. ‘We are all listening, Daedio. About to educate us all with your opinion on the war and the rations in Liverpool, are you?’

  ‘Pipe down, Seamus, if you know what’s good for you. I may not be able to run, but I’m a fast swing with this.’ He picked up the stick that lay by the side of his bed and waved it in the air. ‘I’ll tell ye what I have to say. Michael, fetch me my cedar box, ’tis on top of the press.’

  Michael had been brought up never to question his elders and did as he was asked. His grandfather owned a carved cedar box and in it, Michael knew, he kept papers and money. It was a chest that neither he nor any of his brothers had ever been allowed to touch.

  He bent down, threw a couple more peat bricks onto the fire, then reached up for the box, carried it across to the bed and laid it on Daedio’s knees.

  ‘Open the lid, and on the bottom there’s a layer of leather – it fools yer mammy. Slip yer hand down the side to feel it under the papers and pass it to me.’

  Michael rooted down through the money. The letters he himself had sent during the war stared back out at him from the top, each carefully opened with a knife and placed in order in the box. It felt strange in the amber glow of the firelight to see his own writing. If I’d died, he thought, this would have been all they’d have had left of me. Shaking his head, he pushed the photographs and the Mass cards for relatives long gone to one side. Grandma Annie’s rosary clinked beneath his fingers, and then he felt it, the change in texture from the wood and paper, and found the pouch he was looking for, flat on the bottom of the box.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked as he handed it over to Daedio.

  ‘Wait and see. Sit ye down,’ his granddaddy replied.

  Nola and Seamus frowned, neither knowing what Daedio was up to.

  He appeared relieved as he opened the toggle and a sheet of paper that looked as if it was parchment slipped onto the bedcover. ‘Pick it up and read it,’ he said to Michael. ‘’Tis yours.’

  Michael’s eyes opened wide. He no longer felt tired, and there was a strange tingling down his spine. He reached out, slowly picked up the parchment and held it in his hands, his eyes never leaving his grandfather’s face.

  ‘Go on, read it. Read it out to us,’ Daedio said.

  Michael carried the document towards the table and the light from the hurricane lamp in order that he could see it better. ‘I will, but I’m not sure I understand it. It has my name on it and it says it’s “a deed of right to the land belonging as drawn according to the boundaries as marked to the person as aforementioned”. That’s my name – is that me? What does it mean, Daedio?’

  Daedio tutted. ‘Bring it here.’

  Michael looked to his parents for enlightenment, but both seemed as confused as him.

  ‘It means the seven acres on the other side of the road from Paddy’s, the land that leads down to the river, and the land across on the other bank too. See the Sacred Heart above the line at the top?’ There was a square of land drawn from the boundary wall of the church; it stretched away to the foot of the bridge at the side and right across the Taramore river. The river ran directly across the land, half an acre from the road, although the river itself was excluded. ‘See?’ said Daedio again as he jabbed his finger impatiently at the drawing on the parchment. ‘’Tis yours, all seven acres, in the middle of Tarabeg, yours.’

  Michael couldn’t take in what his grandfather was saying. He shook his head. ‘’Tis mine? What for?’

  Daedio, exhausted from the excitement, lay back against the pillows. ‘What for? Well, if I were sixty years younger, I would be building meself a shop, I would that. It’s right opposite Paddy’s and that’s useful. As long as you don’t want to open a butchers, that is. Michael, your father tells me what they are all saying down in the village. Now the war is over, there will be new things coming into the shops – feck knows, we’ve had nothing here in Ireland. De Valera, for all his big words about keeping the trade going, didn’t manage that so well for us out here in the bog country. Thank God we grow most of what we eat.’

  While Michael listened with rapt attention to Daedio’s every word, Seamus and Nola were agog, having had not a clue about the land or his grand plans. Nola kept sipping at her porter in a rare moment of speechlessness and Seamus sat frozen, his pipe suspended in the air.

  Daedio was making the most of it. ‘Listen to me, will ye. Stop, think. The war is over and I don’t think we can even guess how much things are going to change around here. The fishing will come back, for a start. Captain Carter still owns the Taramore river and he’ll be selling licences to Englishmen – “tourists”, he calls them – and more and more of them will be coming here for the salmon. Sure, why wouldn’t they. The captain told me himself, we have the best salmon fishing in the whole world, right here in Tarabeg, and those same men, they have money and they will want to be spending it. And there’s the new quarry up on the top. There will be more men coming to work, and their families will be following. Be the first, Michael! Go on, open a shop in Tarabeg and make your fortune, because, believe me, the gobshites, the mouthy bastards, the fat lazy maggots, the indolent cowards, those not wanting to take on the brave men like yourself who fought for the British, they will be the first with their hands out to take the money when it starts being spent over here. They are the ones you have to jump over, and that parchment in yer hands, that is how ye will do it. This, Michael, this is to be your wedding gift, from me. For you and Sarah.’

  Daedio took a swig of his porter and slumped back against the pillow. If Michael didn’t agree, he would be breaking his promise to Annie on her deathbed, the same promise he’d made to his own parents on theirs – that there would always be a Malone on Tarabeg Hill. Malone sweat had soaked the soil, and their blood had stained the crops during and following the famine. His plan was to keep Michael in Tarabeg, close by, and this was the best way to do it.

  ‘When it’s time for Seamus to meet his maker, God willing, you will have a son of your own to take over the farm here.’

  Michael studied the parchment and read the words again.

  Seamus spoke and his words were loaded with disappointment. ‘Why didn’t you ever tell us about this, Daedio? Me and Nola.’

  ‘Annie didn’t want anyone trying to influence me – I promised her.’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘We can tell the whole fecking world now.’

  Michael rose to his feet and paced up and down in front of the hearth. ‘But, Daedio, I don’t know anything about running a shop.’ Even as he spoke, he felt the excitement rising in his belly. Not a word his grandfather had said was wrong. He could be his own man, run his own business and make his own fortune. He could dress Sarah in fine clothes and not the rags she wore now. ‘When did you buy it?’

  ‘Nearly sixty years ago, before your father
was even born. The day after we bought it, we had the Maughans thrown off the land, and Shona, she’s been carrying a curse for me ever since. Watch out for Jay and Shona – she’s still alive and casting fecking curses on everyone she passes. Her father and grandmother, they thought it was their own land, until I bought it from Lord Carter, right out from under them. They have never forgotten. They are a no-good bunch of scavenging child thieves, and that Shona, she scares everyone half to death. But this way, it keeps them out of Tarabeg and roaming the coast. I did the village a favour, so I did – even if no one knows it was me.’ He chuckled and rubbed his chin.

  Michael folded the parchment and slipped it back inside the pouch. ‘Daedio, is this true, is this real?’

  ‘Aye, of course ’tis real. What do you think you’re holding in yer hand, a pair of fairies’ titties?’

  Despite the sorrow and drama of the day, Michael snorted with laughter and almost spat out the porter he hadn’t yet swallowed.

  Nola tutted in disgust. ‘Well, I think if I hear another thing, I’ll be dropping down dead meself. Have you ever known a time like this, Pete?’

  All eyes turned to him. The only sound in the room was of him eating, and he was aware of it. He looked nervously around before buttering another slice of bread, picking it up and leaping to his feet. ‘I’m away to my bed,’ he said. ‘Big day tomorrow.’ He winked at Michael, snatched up his mug and shuffled his jacket over his shoulder with his free hand. The door clicked shut and they heard the dogs in the old cottage barking their greeting as he approached.

  Daedio was the first to break the silence.

  ‘Feck ’em all, boy. You will make your own work, and you will give others work and you will make that fortune you were always talking about.’

  Michael slipped the leather pouch back into the box and lifted it onto the press. A plot of land and it was his! He could see it, was familiar with it, had roamed it and poached it, and knew exactly where his grandfather meant. He could walk the perimeter in his mind’s eye. There were riverside pebbles in the form of a chair he had sat on and which were still where he had laid them. It was the one piece of wasteland in the village where you could reach the pebbly shore of the Taramore river without having to cross the bog or the bridge. He had gazed out over it when the mail van had brought him back home.

  Nola stood and carried the dishes over to the sink. Both she and Seamus appeared stupefied.

  ‘That land? How, in God’s name? I don’t understand,’ said Seamus.

  ‘Ah, now, I thought you might ask that, and all I have to say is where is your mother when I need her, eh? I told her before she went that I should tell ye all, but it was her doing not to. She said I had to wait until there was one left with a nature for the place, who didn’t want to leave Tarabeg and shouldn’t be driven abroad for work or money if they had heart for staying. She was adamant that there always has to be a Malone in Tarabeg, because there always has been.’

  Nola sank slowly onto the bench that ran the length of the table; it had been carved from one of the trees on the hill by Daedio himself, long before she had arrived on the scene. ‘What land is this? Not that land? No Malone ever had enough money to buy that. The land opposite Paddy’s? That’s not ours, ’tis Captain Carter’s,’ she said, looking as confused as Seamus.

  ‘Ah, well, you’re wrong there,’ said Daedio. ‘’Tis land bought with the dollars Joe sent back to my daddy from America after the famine. I still have some of the dollars too.’

  ‘How?’ said Michael. ‘How did your brother get the money?’

  Daedio was known as the storyteller in the family and he never tired of repeating anecdotes about the Malones, but this one was new to them all.

  ‘Well, this is a bit of news ye have here, Daedio,’ said Seamus.

  ‘How?’ said Michael again.

  Daedio looked uncomfortable. ‘Now, Michael, don’t be asking me that, would ye.’

  Michael, Seamus and Nola looked at one another.

  ‘Daedio, I have to know where the money came from,’ said Michael.

  ‘Well, don’t be blaming me for not telling ye – I just did as Annie said. I was only following her orders. Nola, pour a whiskey – haven’t I just given the lad the best wedding present anyone in Tarabeg ever received?’

  Now was the time. Daedio knew there was no getting out of it. The secret he had hidden for so many years, from everyone except Bridget, was waiting to be told. Annie had been right, he did know instinctively that the moment had come.

  ‘Look, me and her – Annie, everyone – feared waking up to another attack of the blight more than I have the words to tell you. Blight meant people starving, babies with swollen bellies. No one knows why it came – twice, remember – and we weren’t even allowed to farm for two seasons after it went. Daddy’s memories were strong and there wasn’t a year went by that they didn’t worry themselves sick. As soon as the money arrived, Daddy said it had to go to buy land and to keep it for the future, and so that was exactly what I did.’

  ‘Where did the money come from, Daedio?’ Nola’s tone was one they all knew and feared. Her eyes locked on to Daedio’s.

  He had tried to avoid this bit, but to no avail, nothing escaped Nola. ‘A robbery.’

  Nola gasped and crossed herself. ‘Holy Mother of God, are you serious? Michael, you can’t have it.’

  ‘Yes, he can. And shut up, woman. He can have it, because we couldn’t, and no one is going to be coming after the money now. Jesus, ’twas some sixty years ago and no one has turned up here looking for it, have they?’

  Seamus stood and walked over to the fireplace. He placed his arm on the mantelpiece and, towering over Daedio, who suddenly appeared very small and uncertain in his bed, asked, ‘What did Joe rob?’

  Daedio’s voice trembled as the words rushed out. ‘’Twas a bank, in America. Not just any fecking bank, either – a big one.’ In truth, he was relieved to be unburdening himself after so many years. Since Annie had died, keeping secrets all to himself had been hard.

  ‘There, I’ve said it. My daddy didn’t know what the hell to do, so I bought the land to hide some of the money, in case our Joe came back looking for it. Captain Carter asked no questions, he didn’t care. But Joe, he never did come looking, we never heard from him again after the money arrived, and Mammy and Daddy wouldn’t spend a single note on themselves. Kept it all for him. The stupid fecker sent it stuffed in that cedar box, and the note he sent with it is still in there. Mammy said ’twas the will of the Lord that the box hadn’t been opened and had arrived here safely and who were we to challenge the wishes of the Almighty.’

  ‘What happened to Joe? Does he have any family of his own?’ asked Michael.

  Daedio shook his head. ‘The last I heard was he died in an American jail, and that was so long ago, I can’t even remember who told me. I think there’s a letter, in the box there.’

  Michael looked up at the box, felt tempted to take it down, to find the letter, but he had one thought only – to tell Sarah.

  Seamus, Nola and Michael all exhaled at once. Nola threw a dish cloth in the sink and slumped into the rocking chair.

  ‘Well, don’t be looking all pious with me,’ Daedio almost snapped. ‘What do you want us to do? Write to the police in America? Annie never did.’

  Michael now shot to his feet. If the money was good enough for his grandmother, it was good enough for him. His thoughts were clear. ‘No, Daedio, I do not. You’re right, ’tis a long time ago. No one will be knocking on our door.’

  On Annie’s orders, the unused bundles of dollars had been kept. She’d hidden them behind a stone in the wall close to the fireplace. It had been something of a surprise to Daedio to discover how much money there was. The hundred-dollar notes were wound into tight cigar-like bundles, rolled and tied by Annie’s own hand. The fifty-dollar notes had been pressed with the flat-iron into packs and wrapped in paper. Daedio had been about to tell them of the fortune hidden in the wall, but, deflated b
y their reaction to the provenance of Michael’s inheritance, he decided against it. That could wait for another day.

  ‘Why were the Maughans on the land in the first place, Daedio?’ asked Michael. ‘Why do they think it was theirs by rights and not the Carters’, if that was who you bought it from?’

  Daedio wriggled up the bed, fired up with the prospect of telling a story he had never before been able to. ‘Ah well, you see, the old Lord Carter, he fled back to England as soon as the famine came. He thought the land was jinxed because his first wife had visited and lost her baby. Very sick, she was, in childbed, but Shona Maughan’s grandmother saved her. When the Carters left, the grandmother, she stopped the carriage on the road and asked could the Maughans remain on the land. The wife, she was in the carriage and she said yes, they could stay, because she was grateful for her life. The Maughans took that to mean for ever, but Lord Carter didn’t agree with that at all. So when we approached the agent to buy and a deal was struck, the Maughans were moved on. The wife, she was dead by then, died giving birth to the second child. The only thing Lord Carter wouldn’t sell was the river, and even though it runs through your land, Michael, it still belongs to the Carters, and their English ghillie, he is as smart as the Irish ever were.’

  ‘What a day and a night. I need the pipe.’ Seamus leant over to the hearth, picked up a dudeen and lit it from a straw wick he took from the bundle tied up with braided grass that he sat and made himself on dark winter evenings. The peat burnt and the room slowly filled with a blue-grey haze from his pipe. ‘Tarabeg will grow, for sure it will,’ he said.

  ‘I need a drop more whiskey in me tea,’ Nola said as she left the table and walked out to the scullery.

  ‘That is the only sensible thing I have ever heard you say,’ said Daedio as he held his mug up to Seamus. ‘We could all do with a drop more in the tea to celebrate.’

  Nola banged a bottle of Jameson down on the table and pulled the mugs into the centre. ‘Seamus, pass me the pot,’ she said as she unscrewed the bottle.