In the Company of Others Read online

  She licked her dry lips. 'I cannot rest.'

  'Is the peace still with you?'

  'No. I did not deserve it, and it left me.' Tears.

  He sat, head down, feeling called out of himself, beyond his powers.

  'Water,' he said, taking up the glass and bending the straw to her lips. She sucked.

  'So sick,' she said, turning away.

  He took a cotton-tipped stick from the jar and opened the lip balm and dressed the tip. 'Let me,' he said.

  She opened her eyes to him, and he succored her lips as he had done for his mother. She was too frail to wrack herself like this, it was suicidal.

  He stepped to the door to call Eileen, remembering for some reason his mother's eyelids in death, how thin they seemed, and blue, like the wings of a moth. She had died at home, whispering that the garden gates were closed.

  He turned and looked back and saw that she had gone to sleep, her mouth open in the awful gasping.

  Wait, he wanted to say, you had a question. He went to her bed and fell to his knees and with his own last strength did what he could in the face of the impossible.

  Thirty-one

  Without opening his eyes, he reached for his watch on the bed table, squinted at it. Nine o'clock. Unbelievable. He hadn't slept 'til nine o'clock since when? Ever. He felt robbed, somehow.

  There she sat in a chair by the bed as he had done at Catharmore.

  'Good grief, woman, why did you let me sleep the day away?'

  'I was painting you, that's why.'

  'Painting me?'

  She thrust the damp portrait in front of him. He sat up, put on his glasses.

  'Why did you paint me with my mouth open?'

  'Because it was open, of course.'

  'No fair.'

  'It was only slightly open.'

  'Slightly? It looks like Linville Caverns. You can practically see a stalactite.'

  'I'm not after mouths and noses and eyes and ears, it's the likeness one strives to catch. This is a marvelous likeness, Timothy--admit it.'

  'I hardly ever see myself in profile, so I can't vouch for it.'

  'Oh, please,' she said, disgusted. 'I'm trying to occupy myself. You were the only person in the room.'

  'We'll tack it to a fence post in the garden, to keep out the crows.'

  'Wretch,' she said. 'What are you doing today?'

  'I'll bring up breakfast if they'll still make it for us.'

  'Maureen brought coffee at eight, you were sleeping like a bear cub. I can afford to miss a meal.'

  'Or I could carry you down.' He didn't know how, but he would give it a shot. 'You need to get out of here.'

  'True. But what can I do? Possibly two more days of elevating, then the moon boot and I can start the old hobble . . .'

  'With great caution, Feeney said.'

  '. . . on the crutches.'

  'And then we'll soon be home.' A strange feeling as he said it. Weeks in Holly Springs and at Henry's bedside in Memphis, and nearly two weeks now in Ireland. Home seemed lost in a mist.

  She gave him the Worried Look. 'Do you think it's good to be called out like that, in the middle of the night?'

  'Of course it's good,' he snapped. 'Sorry. Yes. It's good.' I'm all they have, he wanted to say. 'You're still keen to finish the journal?'

  'Definitely.'

  He pulled a knit shirt from the armoire, laid it on the bed. 'Time's winged chariot is at our backs.'

  He gulped the water on his bed table. 'I need coffee. And a bite of something. Juice, too; I need juice. Anything I can bring you?'

  'Surprise me.'

  'Done.'

  'Your insulin.'

  'Right. When I come back, we'll hit Fintan a good lick, then I'll help Liam with the paint job and have a run in the afternoon. What's going on with Bella?'

  'She's very winsome, really, and bent, of course, on persecuting herself over what she's hiding. I do love her, Timothy.'

  'Remember that Feeney's stopping by to have a look at you this evening.' He had a look himself--the swelling seemed somewhat diminished. Enough, he thought, enough of this.

  In the bathroom, he gave himself the shot, removed his trousers from the doorknob where he'd hung them at nearly four this morning.

  'How was it at Catharmore?'

  He tried to find a way of condensing it for her, for himself, but he had no words for how it was.

  'Later,' he said.

  Feeling strangely off-kilter as he went downstairs, he shook his head as if to clear it. Sleeping 'til nine. He was an orderly creature, liking things to go according to custom, to habit. He liked a crease in his jeans, so be it.

  And the dream of Henry, of looking into a bathroom mirror while shaving and seeing Henry's face. It was his own reflection, he knew, yet it was Henry's face in dark contrast to the white shaving foam. So he, Timothy, was actually a black man? How had he kept this knowledge from himself these many years? What did it mean and how was he to go forward? Was he both Henry and himself in one, or had he become Henry altogether? He felt the fear rising in him, leaned closer to the mirror, looked into his brother's eyes. Why had no one mentioned this, made him see it? In the dream, something broke in him and he wept, and then the smell of coffee, and the notion that Peggy must be perking it on the stove.

  Anna also had the Worried Look--it was going around.

  'How did you rest?' she asked.

  'Well enough,' he said.

  'I'm sorry you were called out.'

  'A hard night.'

  'Yes.'

  'Not for me, for her.'

  Will you go up? he wanted to say. Will you forgive her and go up to her? But he said nothing.

  Back in the room with the tray, sitting in his accustomed chair, he realized a certain contentment, after all. The coffee hot and strong, the juice sweet and cold, their breakfast modest and good. And at least for now, their room a refuge, not a confinement.

  They read together the Venite, exultemus Domino, prayed for those at home and those in the two households of this place and time.

  She took the journal into her lap, then, and read to him, both of them happy in whatever way they could summon.

  8th Day of Advent 1862

  Frigid

  Adam & Ltl Dorrit getting their Winter corn & through C's insistence, each a blanket into the bargain

  I must wonder to whom Uncle's generosity would incline. To the Union would be my thinking, & even Sukey, formerly a slave, would place her allegiance there. On those days when C & I wish to be serving in Philadel we look about us & know we have undertaken the right course.

  Rose McFee's infant double-greatgrandtr stillborn, though we did all we could. When I passed the long mirror this morning, I was astonished to glimpse my father looking back. I felt an instant's joy at seeing him, then realized the truth.

  The lad arriving ten days hence--Michael & Kathleen the following week by train.

  The Bride is set upon producing the finest Christmas Feast of her fortysome years tho we have yesterday reduced her allotment for Provisions. She gives me a Warring look & says she has made do all her life, twill be nothing new, & if she is carried to the grave for the extra work required to stretch this miserly sum, she will do it nonetheless as a matter of personal pride--end of sermon.

  C said in November that Padraigin would want money for the lending of his sister-in-law's son. He would not put it that way, C said, but would somehow seize this opportunity which he has regrettably done. Three-hundred pounds he's asking, desperate was his word, for a debt owing on his business.

  If you do not send the money, C says, I believe he will not send the lad.

  I considered offering less but this smacks of playing cheap with a human soul. Indeed it is small payment for the pleasurable company of a lad who daily entertains my thoughts.

  C insists that the wallpapering can wait. The time has come when we cannot have everything we wish whereas with Uncle we might have had wallpaper & the lad's visit, together.
These days we must make choices, a reasonable thing in this life when so many must choose between filling their bellies or the bellies of their children, between meat or broth, between one room or none.

  9 December

  A bitter evening with smoking turf due to heavy winds

  My hand trembles to write that I have been to the Mass Rock in a falling snow & received what I believe to be a message from God.

  I would describe the experience as a warming sensation about the heart coupled with a light head, during which I closed my eyes & saw before me a commission of just three words printed in thick letters on a severely white paper. I have said nothing to C & feel a terrible urgency to act upon the commission. It may be that I am going a little mad, I do not know--I am both frightened & overjoyed.

  A fair, temperate day, cannot keep track of dates--perhaps 11 Dec

  Keegan, I say--we are sitting at the door of the carriage house, each of us peeling an apple with our pocket knife--how are you taking to the Married life?

  There is a long silence. With the point of his knife he scratches his grizzled chin.

  Well enough to get by, he says at last.

  I say nothing. He is a talker & will say more if I remain silent. But he does not say more.

  Only well enough to get by, is it?

  She likes to commandeer things, he says. Meself at th' top of th' list.

  I thought that was what you found appealing--that she would take charge, keep you in tow.

  He gives a bitter snicker.

  And I believe you said she makes you laugh.

  Haw, he says. She's bloody sober as a nun now we're tied. All work an' no play now she has me in her pocket.

  He cuts a piece of apple & stares off into the woods, his jaw clenched.

  He turns suddenly to me, on the boil now. An' a monstrous pack rat, he says, the like of which we'll never see again in this earthly life. Last night when I went to climb in my spot by th' wall, there sits a dishtub of dinner plates broke in a hundred pieces, which she'd turned up in Balfour's dump hole. Move th' bloody dishtub, I say, & let a man get his rightful sleep. There's nowhere else to put it, she says. And where will you put meself, if you don't mind me askin'? Hang yourself up on a horseshoe nail, she says.

  With that, I have my opening. I can hardly believe such good fortune.

  You'll soon have space in plenty, I say. I am moving my pharmacopoeia into your quarters on Wednesday morning at first light. Running up and down stairs to my books is a waste of valuable time--I'm having Jessie sweep out the cabin for you.

  I say this mildly, as if we are talking pork prices.

  He looks as if he hasn't heard aright.

  Wednesday, I say. Early, of course, to get ahead of the patients.

  Keegan is at once shocked by the suddenness of the announcement & fearing the outrage of his wife.

  But she dotes on bein' in the big house, he says, his voice rising.

  Of course.

  Wouldn't like walkin' over in rain or foul weather of any kind, or at night when th' bastes are out.

  He is throwing down the gauntlet now.

  Oh, yes, there's that, I say, sanguine.

  I refuse to remind him of the cabin's many fine qualities--two spacious rooms, the broad hearth, a chimney that draws sweetly.

  I stand & toss my apple core to a clutch of chickens scratching about in winter weeds. Well, then, I say, Wednesday morning it is for moving my library down. You'll need to be set up in your new quarters by late Tuesday, with everything taken away from here so Jessie can sweep out.

  He is aghast.

  But I must go to Mullaghmore on Thursday & back on Friday, he says, as if such tasks in a row are too weighty for him.

  I walk across to the house, dismissing his complaint. My knees are weak as pond water. I have never been so forthright with him, a problem born of cowardice. I had just arrived here when we met & befriended one another--he became an intimate to whom I told much & from whom I learned a great deal about country ways. Then I hired him & money entered into it, switching matters to the business side & formenting unease between us.

  I find C in the Surgery, making the table ready, pulling out the stool for young Mick Doolin who will be coming up the lane about now with his fierce young Collie. There is a fire on the hearth, the tea kettle singing.

  Is it done?

  I nod to her.

  There, she says, I'm proud of you.

  I feel at once a child & do so relish the feeling.

  I hope we won't taste her displeasure in the Christmas pudding, she says.

  She's too proud for that, I say, as if I know the truth which I do not.

  She has the serious look on her face. The lad must have his pony, she declares. Brigid Collins tells me Willie has got himself a pony from Connemara, a mare but a year old & pulling a red cart.

  The thought of this makes her smile.

  Since our discussions of altered income, I had planned to forgo the pony. Her goodness is a nourishment to me.

  As Little Dorrit is now well-broke to the old carriage from O'Keefe, I shall send her to Mullaghmore with Keegan & ride Adam out to Sullivan the Mason on Thursday. Then we shall see about Willie Collins.

  The date? God only knows

  A pale sun, very cold

  I could not help myself. I have bought both pony & cart from Willie, for an offer he could not resist.

  I hadn't thought to sell her, he says, looking aggrieved.

  Saying nothing, I hand him the envelope.

  He breaks the seal, looks in, removes the money & counts through it.

  Jesus, Joseph & Mary, he whispers.

  I had given him enough to cover his expenses in seeking another like Brannagh--a name which he says means 'beauty with hair as dark as a raven.'

  Sullivan the Mason hard at work with his helper Danny Moore & nearly done with the job--the bookcase ready for staining. I have said the room is for the storing of trunks and such.

  Keegan & Bride gone to the Cabin, C & I feel the monolith resting on us these months is lifted off.

  18 December

  The lad has come!

  He asked for her immediately he entered the hall & burst into tears when told that she went away to her family.

  Why, he says, desolate, why did she go away? She liked it here very fine, she told me she did.

  Tis her family, I say, as if that explained everything.

  I thought you was her family, he says.

  I do not know how to proceed with this. C takes him in hand & we go to the kitchen where a bale of sweets is arrayed upon a silver tray. Silver for a lad but eight years old!

  Fiona stands arms akimbo & beaming down upon him as if from On High. No, we will not taste her displeasure in the pudding, for her Great Pleasure is standing here before us in his suit, the scant sleeve revealing a thin arm as he reaches for a floury scone.

  After lunch, he slipped down to his job in the dining room, where Liam did brushwork around the French doors, and window frames, and he rolled the wall opposite the painting.

  Warm, humid; birdsong in the beech grove.

  They didn't talk much, though he sensed there was much to be said.

  'The cost of around-the-clock nursing must be affordable here,' he said to Liam, making conversation.

  'Some of the cost is paid by the state--the better part of it's paid by Seamus. The oul' fellow he worked for in New York left a trust to last Seamus his life. No staggering sum, but something to keep him in old age. Paddy was after it pretty hard in th' beginning, but Seamus got wise and put a stop to it.'

  'A very fine fellow, your Seamus.'

  'He says we're the only real family he ever had, poor devil, as if't was a family worth havin'.' Liam caught his breath. 'Look, Rev'rend--there's no way I can ever thank you.'

  'Don't try. It isn't necessary.'

  'We've never before put anything on a guest.'

  'I don't feel put-upon. Going up to your mother--it's what I do.'
/>   ''t isn't as if we were your own parish.'

  'Wherever I am, he supplies a parish.'

  'I don't understand that, you know.'

  'I hardly understand it myself. But it's okay. Let it be.'