by Jan Karon
They asked about Padraigin & the rest?
Yes.
What did you tell them?
The truth, she said. That they live in Mullaghmore, but I am not certain where.
I go down to him carrying a slab of heated stone wrapped in a scrap of linen. In the cold room, my breath is vapor. I am brought low by the smallness of him beneath the blankets & the heat of his head in this punishing fever.
I place the wrapped stone beneath the covers at the foot of the cot & pull the little stool from under the table & sit by him.
Lad, I say.
He opens his eyes to me. I see the tribulation of the world in but eight years of living.
You are safe, I say. You will be strong again. You will make a fine Surgeon.
I am babbling like an idjit, tears streaming. I turn my face from him & make this promise aloud in the desolate room--With God's help, we shall see a nasty thing fixed back to a good thing.
Day following, January
I have set up my own cot by the fire in the Surgery & am in & out to him frequently, managing the pan, turning him, applying the ice if need be. All possible clues to his presence in the house are now with him in the room. I look at once for the little vapor from his breath, a small flag that signals good news. All the writings on this subject have been delved--we are advised to keep him abed so that no Energy is wasted in tottering about. He is patient & kind, without the urgent desire of the young for his sickness to leave off--he simply endures. My mother Bessy would so relish giving him comfort. Mother, I sometimes say aloud, as if she were near.
We are blessed of God with a day unseaonsably warm. I open the small window for ventilation--Keegan has obscured it from any outside view.
14 January
Some improvement. Fever lingering as it does in such a case. Taking beef broth. C with him frequently. Fr Dominic here overnight to help us & discuss plans to build a new parish church, yet some years away. C & I make decision to give beyond our current means.
15 January
Balfour & his thugs have come again & gone away cheated.
I am not convinced they are Health Board for they are ignorant in manner & smelled strongly of whiskey--perhaps personal associates of Balfour out to have a malicious bit of fun & turn us over to authorities.
I think how near we have come to disaster, had it not been for the three words formed with a thick nib. I am Noah who was asked to build the ark & when it was done, flood waters rushed in upon the Land.
Date?
Whipping winds two days running
I will not write here again until the lad is out of danger. It requires all our forces to tend him and the Surgery combined, for there are many patients now and a number of deaths into the bargain. I found a few holly berries in the cellar, dropped from the garlands we had made for Christmas--I remembered that Christmas passed us by as in a dream. All that is left of it is our faithful Goose, who comes again and again to pray us through these unholy times.
15 Feb
Unseasonably warm & wet
A month has gone since writing here & I am awkward as any intern. I come to these pages to report--nay, to shout IMPROVEMENT!
C & I stood yesterday at our chamber window after a downpour & beheld a most unusual sight--a rainbow above the bright shingle of the lough--in February!--& twas a double.
He will be well again, she says, taking my arm.
I slept in the room with him last night & when I awoke this morning, yes, by God, he was improved! Not hale, not hearty, but improved.
Aoife? he says. Has she come?
I open the window a crack & put on my shoes.
Brannagh is waiting to take you about in the sunshine, I say. And fat as any pig from his winter corn.
I cannot tell him of his poor mother who died in hospital the tenth day of this month with the fever. The doctors thinking it was the milk delivered in a can washed with polluted water. The contagion did not spread to Padraigin & family for they get milk delivery from another man & there had been no contact of late between households. This we learn in a letter received from P, demanding the lad be returned to him. I delay posting an answer.
He wants money, says C.
He shall not have it.
He is likely claiming himself as legal guardian, she says.
I have written my Solicitor about a number of pressing issues, not least of which is the man to manage this demesne. Even with little outdoor work to be done in winter, this small holding seems a gaping maw of thousands of acres demanding attention.
We have today moved the lad back to his old room & shall keep the turf fire going round the clock. Fiona cooking as for the Roman legions. He is but a lad, I say, stern as a cleric. She is stirring a pot of rice that would feed Mesopotamia.
She removes the spoon, slams the lid on. With a bit of cream & molasses, she says, he'll be eatin' th' lot of it, mark my word.
God knows he did eat a small bowlful & I had a portion, myself.
I choose not to worry any longer about hiding the lad; we will not live in fear of fools.
I tell C--If Balfour comes sniffing about, I shall kill him.
Remember he has a child, she says, & a wife to look after.
Well then, I say, I shall but maim him for the rest of his days.
19 February 1864
A cold snap
At two this morning, I delivered Jessie of a healthy boy--nearly nine pounds! He was squalling in the little room behind the scullery as I had breakfast in the kitchen. In winter we do not take meals in the dining quarters for the perishing cold.
A lusty boy, I can say that--name of Brian, after his father whom Jessie expects each day to turn up, hat in hand, & take her away.
And where would Away be? I ask.
The Land of Plenty, sir, she says with a most cheerful smile.
And where might the Land of Plenty be found?
Why, Boston, sir, she says, & makes a small curtsy.
I tell C we should pack up our jumble & get away quickly to such a Land!
I ask the Lad if he wishes to remain with us & of course he does. Against my better judgement, I sent Keegan to Mullaghmore with an envelope, enough to put P off until we can manage the best solution.
14 March
We have taken the lad--riding upon my shoulders--to the Mass Rock & shown him the date 1774 engraved upon it & the cross beneath. The lilies we planted have sent up their green shoots, the wood is fragrant with smells of earth & leaf mold.
We do not expose this holy shrine to fools. Who can know what destruction may come upon us yet? In our prayers we remember those run to ground like fox, those for whose severed heads the English were keen to pay a shilling apiece.
The Lad gains strength & eats with increasing appetite, though he tires easily & must have a long rest following the mid-day meal. I will take him tomorrow in the cart, wrapped like a mummy as Keegan the Wether Predictor calls for Dry & Colder.
Have not seen hide nor hair of Balfour & his minions--rumour has it that Palmerston again enchants him with big doings at his Monstrous Pile.
The glad news from Dublin that P has no legal charge over the Lad. We are seeking his Father--whereabouts currently unknown.
30 April 1864
Uprooting Fiona from her kitchen pallet is kin to removing a large oak from the field, one must hoick it & burn the stump. Back they go to the Cabin, she in bad humour. Our new man arrives on Thursday with family of four. We will lodge them in the carriage house as it contains a fireplace for whatever Groom I thought we might employ. Keegan fractious. God save us from Squabble & ill temper which spread in a household like Measles.
Having a lad about is a consuming piece of business. I have put him to work two or three hours each morning as his stamina permits. He is fascinated by the common Goiter as I once was & curious about the removal of digits & limbs. The subject of Coughing is another interest & anything to do with skin disease. He studies a rash as some look at a map of the world & i
ts many Wonders. He now has access to my microscope & is keen to examine anything at all, including maggots found in a rotten log.
The sobering matter of Last Will & Testament will be properly finalized Monday next.
Twill be the fixing of a nasty thing back to a good thing.
He closed the journal. They were quiet, pondering.
'We can't finish it,' he said. 'Maybe another round before bedtime or first thing tomorrow, but we can't make it through.'
'I hate to leave it--what will become of all these lives opened to us?'
'Would be good to have a paperback edition to tuck in your hamper.'
'Without his journal,' she said, 'we wouldn't have found the painting. Hats off to Fintan.'
'How far away are you from starting to pack?'
'Far, far away. Have you called Aengus?'
'Blast,' he said. 'I forgot. First thing tomorrow. '
'How about now? He'll be mowing verges tomorrow.'
'I'll go down to the kitchen. Have you seen his card?'
'On the dresser with the cuff links you brought.'
But no cuffs to go with them--yet another item he'd left behind in Mitford.
'What do you think will happen?' she asked. 'Do you think Liam would let Paddy be prosecuted? '
'I don't know.' He didn't like thinking about it. 'We've done all we can.' He would be curious about fingerprints, if any.
'I'm painting Evelyn tomorrow morning. If she's able,' she said, going off to the bathroom. 'And I'd like to paint Anna and Liam before we go, but this doesn't seem the best time.'
'How is it?' he called after her.
'How is what?'
'You know.'
'Great,' she said.
They had agreed not to use the a-word ever again.
He was edgy, scattered, as he dressed to go down to the phone. He could feel himself pulling away from Broughadoon like moss scraped from a log. It was discomfiting, the same way he'd felt when he left home to come here. He was no traveler; this would be his last jaunt for some while.
In the kitchen, he squinted at the various phone numbers on Aengus Malone's card, and punched in the one not penciled out.
'Hallo!' A woman, irritable.
'Aengus Malone, please.'
'Who's callin' Aengus?'
'Tim Kav'na from th' States. He drove us to Lough Arrow some time ago.'
'Aengus is out to 'is dance class.'
'His dance class!'
'Learnin' th' oul-style step dancin' for th' competition.'
'Will you have him call me? It's important.'
'He'll be in late.'
'Will he be mowing tomorrow?'
'Mowin'?'
'The verges.'
'He's left off mowin' verges,' she said.
'Well, then.'
'I'll take your number.'
No telling what time the call would come, disturbing the household. Call a taxi, he thought, or whatever people call around here.
'Ah, but you're in luck, now, here comes th' poor devil lookin' like he was flogged by a rooster. Aengus, it's your customer from th' States.'
'Hallo!'
'Aengus! Tim Kav'na here. You left your hat at Lough Arrow.'
'Aye,' he said. 'Is it you, then, Rev'rend?'
'It is. How are you?'
'I've a ragin' thirst, if ye must know; I've been dancin' like a jackhammer for two bleedin' hours.'
'I hear there's a competition.'
'Aye, an' I'm needin' my hat for good luck.'
He gave Aengus date, time, and airline.
'Strandhill, is it'
'Dublin. We're skipping Strandhill this go-round. We'll see more of Ireland going down to Dublin!'
'I'll send me cousin, Albert.'
'We can't get th' top dog?'
'Tis th' day of my competition; I'll be nervous as any cat, an' shinin' me hard shoes.'
'How will you make it without your hat?'
'I'll do as I've done these last weeks an' ask help from above. Send me oul' hat off with Albert.'
'Will do. What time will he fetch us?'
'Six-thirty A.M., sharp. He'll load everything in, ye needn't turn a hand. How's th' missus?'
'Good, good. Sorry to miss you.'
'Aye, an' same here. I don't suppose ye lift prayers for such as dancin' competitions.'
'May he make you able to do your best, Aengus.'
'I thank ye for that, Rev'rend, an' for your business with Malone Transport. Good luck to ye, an' come again.'
He forgot to ask what the prize might be, or what work had come around since the mowing job.
He passed Bella coming downstairs with their dinner tray. She lowered her eyes.
'Good evening Bella.'
No reply.
'Bella dislikes me intensely,' he told Cynthia. 'I just passed her on the stair, she wouldn't speak.'
'It's the collar, sweetheart. I think it causes her to feel a kind of shame.'
The collar definitely had its downside: it provoked shame in some, anxiety in others. On the upside, it also provoked its due share of consolation. In any case, he seldom took it off--let the chips fall where they may.
Albert at 6:30, he wrote in the calendar of his notebook. Why did he write this down? He'd had zero appointments these last weeks; maybe Albert at 6:30 was a small way to prepare for reality, for going home to his own mowing.
While Cynthia occupied the bathroom, he pondered his unease. Dooley and Lace, unfinished. Evelyn, Liam, Paddy, unfinished. Bella totally unfinished. The whole Barret business, unfinished. He despised the unfinished, and yet all of life was continually under construction and he was continually at odds with that plan.
He closed his eyes, breathed deep. Prayed.
She came steaming into the room from the shower.
'We can't go home, Timothy.'
She often spoke what he was timid even to think. 'We'll miss seeing Dooley off to school,' he said.
'He's young; she's old.'
'Of course, we'd have him only one day before he takes off to Georgia, but we'll see him at fall break for a week. Dooley, Sammy, Kenny, all the boys together, right next door.'
'A week of my pizza and your hamburgers,' she said.
'Not to mention my barbecue and your fries.'
'Ruinous, but lovely. I shall need this long rest to face the onslaught.'
'Do you feel it's fair to claim medical reasons?'
'We've been here an eon,' she said, 'and owing to medical reasons, I've hardly left the premises.'
Not flying out of Dublin as scheduled. Medical reasons. Advise Puny no pick-up needed. Pls get open-end ticket deal.
As ever>
Thank heaven Walter didn't answer his cell phone and he could leave a message. No Guess what, no You'll never believe this, he was beyond that.
'Walter, it's Tim. We won't meet you at the airport as planned, we're going to take a few days to see the sights. If you need my apologies, you have them in spades. Peace and plenty and love to Katherine.' He should feel guilty, but didn't--they would laugh about this in their dotage.
He left a message canceling Albert, relieved to skip a chin-wag with Mrs. Malone.
'Anna,' he said, 'what is Dublin's finest hotel?'
Cynthia was in bed when he came back to the room, Pud trailing, no shoe.
'An odd thing,' she said. 'For the first time, I feel like we're on vacation.'
He stepped out of his loafers; Pud leaped onto the duvet. 'Why is that?'
'Because the ticket will be open-ended,' she said. 'I love open-ended.'
Thirty-six
As ever>
He ran with Pud along the shore; looked for a swan--got bingo, saw four; wondered if Liam knew yet, prayed for him and for Paddy; wondered if Anna would tell Bella, and then again, why not tell everyone? The beans would have to be spilled sooner or later, making their rounds to Jack Kennedy and beyond. He sweated profusely in the close morning, wiped his face and head with the bandanna; stopped to look at a merganser, at the neon of green in its feathers; composed the email to Dooley: Hey, buddy, we have decided to capitalize on our time/travel investment and extend our stay here by a few days. Sorry we won't be there to see you off--we look forward to fall break with you and brothers next door. Will call later. Some things must be finished before they can be done. We love you. No. He would say We cherish you. Maybe people didn't say cherish to twenty-one-year-old men, but he would say it.
