I covered my mouth to suppress a laugh. Thea shot a look my way, and I quieted myself quickly.
“You see, I come from a very political sort of family,” said little Joseph Craton. “I have something of an uncle, you know, who’s given to holding rallies in the park, and who is very quick and smooth-like with his talk – at the rallies, a’course. I have a brother in the army, too.” He nodded and smiled, in a very proud manner, as he mentioned this latter fact. “He’s working terribly hard with all the rest, to enforce that horribly elusive Home Rule Act! – in other words, self-government, miss.”
“I know what it is.”
“A’course you do, an educated woman such as yourself. Anyway, we know about the kind of thing that you do, and many can vouch for your considerable skills.” He leant across the table. “I suppose you remember old Bernadette Cummings?”
Thea’s face changed. “Yes,” she said. “I helped her with her headaches. She moved away over a year ago.”
“And came to Dublin, miss! She had many a kind thing to say about you. Many a kind thing indeed! She assured me that you could be of great assistance to Mr McAlbee – which is, miss, the only reason why I’ve come.”
Thea was quiet.
I took my seat at the table again. “Ten years old, are you?” I asked.
“Yes, miss,” said Joseph.
“I hope you don’t mind me saying – that you speak very well for your age, Joseph.”
He positively beamed at that. “Mr McAlbee taught me,” he said. “To read and write, and make myself eloquent and all such things. He’s been trying for years, to break me of my ‘ain’ts’ – but I just can’t seem to shake ‘em.” He shook his head, and sighed; but then went on: “He’s a brilliant man, just brilliant! He always says he would have wanted to become a professor, had he not gotten so involved with politics. I always ask him, why not do both, Mr McAlbee?”
“Very wise, Joseph.”
“Thank you, miss.”
He looked to Thea, then, waiting for her to speak. When she showed no sign of intending to do so, he said, “Will you consider it, miss? I hope that you will.”
“I don’t – well . . .”
Perhaps to give her more time to contemplate, Joseph looked to me. He smiled and said, “I don’t believe I caught your name yet, miss. I feel a bit rude.”
“Kate,” I said. “Kate O’Brien.”
He extended his hand, and I shook it. “Lovely to meet you, Miss O’Brien.”
He put out his hand to Thea, as well, but she simply looked at it. He finally lowered it, looking not the least bit deterred.
“That’s quite a hearth you have,” he said, obviously trying to be friendly. “There ain’t a great many like that where I come from. Rather small, in fact, mine is.”
Still, Thea didn’t speak.
Joseph yawned, and stretched his arms out over his head. “My goodness, it’s been a long day! I haven’t had a good night’s rest since I left home. I hate to be a bother – but might there be any way I could take up a small space on your kitchen floor for the night? It’s grown rather chilly outside.”
“Don’t be silly,” I said. “There’s a sofa in the parlour. You can sleep there tonight.” I looked at Thea and asked, “Won’t that be all right?”
“I don’t –”
I smiled at Joseph. “It will be fine,” I said. “I’ll show you to the parlour.”
I stood, gesturing for the boy to follow me. He hopped down from his chair and came with me out of the kitchen. I lit a candle for him in the parlour, and spread a few blankets out on the sofa, placing a pillow at the end of it.
“I think you’ll be comfortable,” I said.
“Oh, you don’t know how much, miss! I do appreciate your trouble.”
“There’s no trouble, Joseph. You just get a good night’s sleep.”
His smile faltered, then, for what seemed the very first time since he came through the door. “You are very kind,” he said. “But Miss Alaster doesn’t seem to care for me. Do you think she’ll come round?”
“I’m sure of it,” I said, in what I hoped was a reassuring way. “Just give her a little time; and I’m sure that the two of you will have a great many things to talk about. Perhaps you might try again in the morning, when we’ve all rested.”
His face brightened again.
I left him to his little bed, then, and found Thea in the kitchen, face hard, stirring madly.
“I can’t believe you let that boy stay,” she said. “What if he steals something?”
“What is there to steal? It’s not as though there are bricks of gold hid in the cupboards.”
She opened her mouth, but could apparently think of no retort. “That’s not the point,” she said. “The point is – well, we don’t even know who he is! He could be some kind of criminal.”
“He’s ten years old, Thea. And he seems sweet.”
She shook her spoon at me, dripping purple liquid everywhere. “Yes, yes, he seems sweet. But that’s what they want you to think.”
“They?”
“Oh, for God’s sake, you know what I mean.”
I sat down beside her, and laid a hand upon her arm. “You know it’s not that way, Thea. He’s just a little boy who needs help.”
“Well, I can’t help him.”
“How do you know that you can’t?”
She looked at me in disbelief. “Surely you don’t expect me to do this? Just ride off across the country, with a ten-year-old boy in the lead? I think not, Katie.”
I thought carefully before I replied. “I told that little boy,” I began, “that I knew you wouldn’t dismiss him, without at least having considered. I thought that was true, when I said it. Was I wrong?”
She threw down her spoon, and sat back in her chair. “You may have been,” she said simply.
“Ah, well,” said I, rising from the table. “All that’s left is to sleep, I suppose.”
“I’m exhausted, anyway. I think I give up on this stupid mixture.”
“That’s too bad,” I said. “You could have called it a snough draught.”
“Think it’s funny, do you? This is serious stuff I’m dealing with.”
“The fate of the world is hinged upon its production, I’m sure.”
***
The morning sun had hardly begun to peek through the bedroom window, when I woke to knocking. By then, of course, I had completely forgotten of Joseph Craton’s existence – and I sat up with a start. I looked to the door, which was closed. I looked then to Thea, who was still fast asleep. I tapped her on the shoulder. When she did not stir, I gave her a poke.
“What are you –”
Knock, knock.
“What?” she called out hoarsely; though she looked to me, and jabbed me in the arm. “Hurts, doesn’t it?” she said.
“I was just wondering if you’d be getting up soon,” answered Joseph Craton. “You said we’d discuss things in the morning.” He paused. “It’s morning.”
“Barely,” said Thea, covering her head with her pillow. “Not that I remember saying that, anyway.”
“I did,” I admitted.
“Miss?”
“Can’t you go back to sleep for a while, Joseph? It’s still early yet.”
“But, miss, it’s nearly six o’clock.”
Thea threw her pillow at the wall. “He has got to be joking.”
“I’d wager he’s not.”
She moaned, threw off the covers, marched to the door and threw it open. “Don’t you like to sleep, where you come from?”
Joseph smiled. “Yes, miss, and I did indeed have a very good rest. All thanks to the lovely little bed you provided for me.”
“Why don’t you go on back to your lovely little bed, and stay there for about three more hours?”
“I’m not tired anymore, miss. I want to talk to you.”
“Well, Joseph, I am tired. You shall just have to wait.”
With that, she shut the do
or in his face, and came back to the bed, retrieving her pillow on the way.
“Why do you dislike him so much?” I asked.
“I don’t dislike him,” she said, hitting her pillow to make it lie flat. “I dislike being woken at six in the morning – when I’ve no reason to get up, and was otherwise perfectly happy asleep.”
“He’s come for nothing but to speak with you,” I said. “You’ve every other morning to sleep. Can’t you just talk to him, if only for a little while? If you’re going to say no to him – which I assume you are – then wouldn’t it be best to get it over with?”
“I don’t know who’s irritating me more this morning – you or Joseph Craton.”
I got out of bed. “I’ll be in the kitchen with Joseph. You can join us when you like.”
Her face fell. “You’re not angry with me, are you?”
“I think you’re being a little selfish.”
She mumbled something which I could not hear – but was not entirely certain I would have wanted to hear, anyway.
Little Joseph Craton sat at the kitchen table, feet dangling almost a foot above the floor, munching on a chunk of bread. Thea looked at the bread in his hand, but said nothing.
“Good morning, then!” he said. “Nice to see you.”
“Good morning, Joseph,” I said. I nudged Thea’s arm.
“Good morning,” she grumbled.
I went to the stove to start the kettle boiling. After that, I took a seat at the table, reaching for a piece of the bread that Joseph had found on the counter.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he said. “I was famished.”
“Not at all. Help yourself.”
“What is it that you want to discuss, Joseph?” Thea asked, feigning politeness; and favouring me with rather a disagreeable look as she did so.
He seemed to think for a moment, screwing up his face as he chewed. “Well,” he said slowly, “I don’t really know what else I can say. I’m just waiting on your answer, Miss Alaster.”
“What exactly is wrong with your – your friend?”
Joseph shook his head. “I can’t say that I know. He has a very high fever, and he shakes all the time. He has a strange red rash all over his body. Sometimes, when he tries to speak, he spits up blood.”
“That’s not much to go on,” said Thea.
“It’s all I can think to tell you, miss.”
She sighed heavily. “I suppose,” she said, “that I would have to see him, if I ever expect to know what I’m dealing with.”
I do verily believe, that I was just as surprised by this as was little Joseph Craton. But while a confounded frown took hold of my own face, the boy’s eyes seemed to light up.
“Does that mean you’ll come, Miss Alaster?”
“I suppose so,” she said, setting her cup down on the table – just a little harder than was necessary. She seemed to be going out of her way to avoid my eyes. “How long do you estimate it will take us to get there?”
Joseph thought. “I figure it took me about three days.”
Thea sighed, obviously having expected a more minimal estimate.
I had never seen a smile quite so wide, as the one that now came upon Joseph Craton’s face.
“You’ll never know how much this means to me, miss,” he said. “I just don’t know how to thank you!”
“Well, you can start, by calling me something other than ‘miss.’ I feel like I’m being followed about by a stable boy.”
The child looked puzzled. “Then what shall I call you, miss?” He grinned. “Sorry.”
“Call me Thea, the same as everyone else does.”
His mouth worked a bit, as though he were trying out the feel of the word. His eyes crossed slightly with the effort; and he said, “All right, Thea.”
She smiled at him for the first time. “That’s better,” she said.
After breakfast, I tried several times to discover the reason for Thea’s sudden change of heart; but each time I began an attempt, she cut me off rather quickly. So I let the topic drift away, and busied myself with packing.
***
That day, when Joseph went out to tend to his pony, I followed him. He was talking to the small horse, and stroking her mane lovingly, when I came upon him.
“What’s her name?” I asked.
“Isis,” he said. “She’s a friendly one, I can tell you, and a hard worker. I’ve never once heard her complain.”
I smiled. “Why not take her for a walk down by the river, and give her legs a bit of a stretch?”
“That’s a good idea.”
Joseph and I walked down the path side by side, Isis trotting a little ways behind on the lead that her master held. I walked nearest the river, watching the red and yellow leaves float past on the smooth water. Every now and then I glanced at Joseph, but he seemed to be lost in thought.
Finally I said, “Tell me what it’s like, where you come from.”
“It’s very different from here,” he said. “Always lots of people about, and stores and shops everywhere you look. I live with Mrs Warner and her family. My street is pretty much the same as all the others – the number-one rule being that you shouldn’t leave the house after dark. There are nicer areas, a’course; but I don’t live in one of them.”
“Does Mr McAlbee live with you?”
“Aye.”
“He must be very special to you.”
“Oh, you’ve no idea! I love him very much.”
We kept on, walking quietly down the path. My gaze eventually drifted back to the river; and I strolled along for a good while, without either speaking or looking to Joseph.
“Are you all right?” he asked finally.
“Oh, yes,” I said. “I’m just thinking.”
“I do that a lot. Some say I think too much; I have a wild imagination, they say.”
“There’s nothing at all wrong with that, Joseph. I shall tell you now, whatever it is that sets you apart from the rest – for you are much different from other boys your age, and in a very good way – is a right spectacular thing, in my own opinion.”
He smiled and took my hand, surprising me. Our steps fell together as we walked along into a reddening sunset.
***
“I haven’t had such food in ages!” Joseph exclaimed. We all sat together at the kitchen table, eating rather a rich meal on account of the next day’s journey. “You’re quite the cook, Thea, I must commend you.”
Thea stared at the boy. I must admit, even I was amazed by some of the things he said. I thought of little Toby Stiles from back home; for to say that his intelligence rivalled that of a dog would be an insult to the canine population.
“Thank you,” Thea said simply.
Joseph Craton’s smile remained, even while he chewed and swallowed his meat. I had never seen such a cheerful child – or person, moreover – in all of my life.
I cleared the dishes away, while Joseph sat talking with Thea at the table. Or, rather, he talked; and she only looked at him, most times rather strangely, as if trying to comprehend the mental workings of such a small person. I knew this much: she could never have had much experience with children.
“I do love to run,” Joseph was saying. “Don’t you, Thea? It makes me feel so . . . free. I’ve always dreamt of flying, high above the clouds, and when I run I can sometimes imagine that I really am flying, soaring this way and that. I suppose it’s the closest I’ll ever get.”
All Thea did was nod.
That night, while I turned down the bed, Thea stood by the window. She stared at it fixedly – at is the appropriate word, as it was impossible to see anything beyond the pane of glass, what seemed black against the darkness, with the candle-flame to light it up from behind. She stood with her arms crossed over her chest, her brow creased in thought.
I fluffed my pillow, and walked over to her. “Something wrong?” I asked.
“Not really,” she said. I could see our reflections in the window.
&nbs
p; “Does ‘not really’ mean any one thing in particular – if only a little?”
“I don’t know.”
“Surely you do.”
She started to shake her head. “It’s just – you see, I haven’t been to such a place in a very long time. Dublin! People every which way you look; noise every which way you turn. My father used to take me with him, when he went there to deliver fish; but finally I told him that I didn’t want to go anymore.”
“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” I said. “It’s just another place.”
She blew upon the cold windowpane, and drew a circle with her finger. “I know that,” she said. “But I still don’t want to go; and it would be a lie, if I said now that I didn’t regret telling that boy I would go.” She paused, and looked back at me over her shoulder. “Don’t misunderstand, I know that I already promised. I do intend to go. I just don’t want to.”
“Why did you agree to?”
“I don’t know! I just looked at him, and saw how unhappy he was; and couldn’t think to say anything else. You might say it was something of an accident.”
She continued to draw an array of shapes and characters on the glass, her left hand tucked tightly beneath her right arm.
Finally she shook her head. “I was thinking,” she said, “about what you said this morning; and it’s true enough. I was horrible to that boy. Am I really selfish, Katie? Am I really that way?”
“No.”
She turned away from the window. “No, really – be honest now. Am I that way?”
“No.”
“You’re lying.”
“I am not.”
She heaved a miserable sigh. “Then I suppose there was no reason to do it, after all.”
“Is that why you said you would go? So I wouldn’t think badly of you?”
She nodded very seriously.
I thought to laugh; but then simply took her hand. I found it to be colder than ice. I rubbed it between my own, and then put my arms about her. I felt her face at my neck.
“Better now?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“And though you’ve already made your promise,” I said, “and certainly can’t take it back, I do hope you know that I have never thought badly of you. I’m not sure how much consolation that is now; but it’s not as though you’re going alone, either.”
An Irish Heart Page 14
