Cynthia sat reading amid a wave of books washed onto the shore of the duvet. He was stashed in the wing chair, imbibing his own pleasures.
‘Timothy.’
He looked up.
‘This is heaven,’ she said.
‘Aye.’
‘You know how we’ve talked about the lake, how it looks when it’s filled with sky. A pal of Yeats wrote this: The waters hold all heaven within their heart. A good way of putting it, don’t you think?’
‘It is.’ He loved this woman.
She returned to her book, he to his. Rain pounded the roof tiles, lashed the windows. A gully-washer.
12 August 1862, Tuesday
A persecuting heat-midges & horseflies bedevil man & beast
C & I rejoice to see the Parlor fitted out & A declares great wonder & astonishment at the sight-she has never before set eyes on a dining table nor any bed with head & footboard nor clothes cupboard nor chamber pot enclosed beneath the hinged seat of a chair.
Keegan & I & some of the men arranged the many Furnishings both our own & Uncle’s & hung paintings whilst the draper did up the windows.
C bedazzled by the fresh beauty of our own Accoutrements so long languishing in storage. The two fine Newport chairs together with the Boston loveseats & mahogony Game Tables have been placed on the best of the Turkey carpets. The 1773 Philadelphia tea table with porcelain tray-Uncle’s pride-is positioned near the hearth & the mantelpiece fitted out with export ware as is the taste. The Paul Revere wine cooler and Pickering salver are particular favorites, but no one with whom to crow over their merits.
In the overmantel I have hung the painting of Niagra Falls that excites the imagination more than I remembered-it captivated the workers to such a degree that all labor was suspended for a full half hour, which they obligingly made up at the end. All their lives they have seen only Water lying flat in a lake or River or spouting from the spring of a Holy Well & now they observe it gushing down a precipitous inclination with a fine Rainbow into the bargain. One of the men could but utter a blasphemy, being his way of approving the astonishing Sight.
When C & A were at last fetched, the Turf Fire was alight & the chimney drawing sweetly as a man’s fondest pipe. It is beyond my dreams, C said & did not reserve her tears. In no time past was I was so over-joyed, I think we would all say the same.
As for the Library, there is much to be done. I shall strive to catalog the books after the manner of Mr. Jefferson whom Uncle greatly admired-Anatomy Agriculture Architecture Botany Chemistry History Horticulture Medicine Philosophy & so forth. It is a library well furnished with eminent works on Architecture, a passion which Uncle shared with the third American President. I am reminded yet again that an Irishman designed the White House & have related this to the men & showed them a photograph.
With the burthen of the Great Move taken from me, I find I cannot savor the relief of having finished, for indeed it is not finished by any means. The two upper floors-including servants rooms-remain to be completed at a cost beyond reason. Thanks to God for my restraint on the exterior details.
Keegan has taken to looking at Aoife in a most unsettling manner. While fixing his gaze on her yesterday he muttered something in Irish. A bitter gall rose in me & I ordered him to translate at once.
She’s a Beauty, he said not looking my way.
14 August 1862
With the last of my enfeebled strength, I mark here the passing of a most Blessed & Joyous & Memorable Day which I trust will forever endure in Lore hearabout.
Today came the Legions soon after Mass was dismissed at noon. Every form of locomotion known to man-from unshod foot to rude sled, pony cart & horse-even a quaint buggy cobbled together like a toy but large enough for several solemn children riding behind a father who drew the thing along with great pride. There were whistles & a drum at the lead as if all had convened at the foot of the hill with the notion of giving us a parade. C, A & Keegan & myself stood at the front portico gaping as the Great Smoke of roasting meates beckoned them up the lane. We looked toward an end to the stream yet it flowed on. It seemed every soul in Sligo was drawn to Cathair Mohr as the tides to the moon!
There’s naught left to home but th’ Wee Folk, said Keegan. C put her hands to her face, alarmed-There’ll not be enough, she said. There’ll be enough, said Keegan-Enough & more.
I record here that the heat of the early afternoon was crucifying, I was after mopping my brow the livelong day.
Our eyes searched the lane for Balfour & his party but they did not appear. Then at the tail of the procession came my nephew Padraigin in a carriage exasperated by age & intemperate cargo-Himself overdressed & overfed, his new & clearly costive bride of one year with a suckling babe, the bride’s sharp-faced mother, two glum sisters-in-law, a lad of seven or eight years & the poor fellow who drove them in this hired contraption with two massive trunks lashed atop.
We were greatly dismayed to learn of their intended stay of a full month. Yet-Where there be a country house, the droves will arrive to occupy it-it is a law unto itself.
I confess I feared a mild Pandemonium at the food & was astonished by the solemnity with which our many guests dressed their bowls & filled their cups & punished at once any child out of order. They sat everywhere about the place-along the hedges & on the porticos & leaned against the garden wall & even climbed with their rations into the trees where a number of children sat like monkeys eating with fierce appetite. Father Dominic stood on the portico & in a voice as loud & clear as Chas Wesley was said to possess pronounced a blessing which I copy out here.
O heavenly Father Almighty God, we humbly beseech Thee to bless & sanctify this house & all who dwell therein & everything in it & do Thou vouchsafe to fill it with all good things; grant to them O Lord the abundance of heavenly blessings & from the richness of the earth every substance necessary for life & finally direct their desires to the fruits of Thy mercy-deign to bless & sanctify this house as Thou didst deign to bless the house of Abraham, of Isaac, & of Jacob & may the angels of Thy light, dwelling within the walk of this house, protect it & those who dwell therein. Through Christ our Lord Amen.
Then came a blessing upon the barn & stables, the nearly-completed Carriage House & last but not least, all those who cross these boundaries & threshold.
As many as could then recited with Fr Dominic a portion of the Breastplate-
Christ be with me, Christ within me,
Christ behind me, Christ before me,
Christ beside me, Christ to win me,
Christ to comfort & restore me,
Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ in quiet, Christ in danger,
Christ in hearts of all that love us,
Christ in mouth of friend & stranger.
Sometime in all the pomp I stood & gave a talk of sorts shouted at the top of my lungs & felt nearly faint for it. It is not what I do best, oratory.
And then Danny Moore brought out his fiddle & soon the dancing began & the lifting of cups to the doctor & his good wife & even to the Great Kettle for its bounty, after which began the pony rides & as C later said, twas the Pandemonium after all!
I was at last filling my plate when Rose McFee sought me out-the sight of her was astonishing. The left jaw was swollen beyond belief for such a scrawny face as was now wrenched with suffering. Without a word she opened her maw & pointed to the black cavern within. I reeled from the stench.
Have it out! she commands. ’t is a savage pain-I can bear it no longer.
Now, Rose, I say, I am no puller of teeth. Your man Aidan Murphy is the one for that-I saw him only minutes ago at Biddy Fitzgerald’s mouth.
He wants a shilling, she says. An’ he’s known to yank th’ bloody wrong one out. Then you’re left with th’ misery you had in th’ first place an’ back ye trot to th’ oul’ dosser for th’ real thing.’
Heaven only knows what Germs might be loosed upon the Region while mucking about in so monstrous a hole. I was after giving her two bob for Murphy & be done with it when she says, Do ye see y’r man Balfour didn’t come to y’r feast?
Yes, yes. A weight gone off us all!
Ye can thank me f’r that, if ye please.
And why would I thank ye for that?
For all he done to ye, she says, I set a curse on ’is privates.
The ructions caused here by Balfour had been noised about to the entire Region.
She gives me one of her dooming looks. Ye owe me th’ comfort I’m after, she says.
And would ye do such a thing to me, Rose, if I decline what you’re askin’?
Ye niver want to learn th’ answer to that, she says, wincing with pain.
I confess I trembled. How shall we do it then? I say.
Nippers is what I’d say. But if you’ve not th’ spunk to do it I’ll do it meself an’ th’ devil with ye.
I grew faint as any woman. I can amputate a limb or remove a rotten appendix, but a tooth is another matter altogether & especially if residing in the mouth of Rose McFee for nigh a century.
I looked about for C or A, but did not see them. Thus I passed my dinner plate off to another, all appetite quelled for the day if not Eternity itself.
In the Surgery I lit the lantern & hung it above the chair & she tipped her balding head back upon the slat. I washed my hands & looked in, holding her mouth on either side & prayed my own dear Mother would assist me in this Torment.
In a region of severe dental disease, I had never seen such an orifice-its contents but one black stump in a perilous swelling of the lower left quadrant. I held my breath against the reek & covered her withered chest with a scrap of linen.
Are ye fearful, Rose McFee? The sweat poured off me.
Do as ye must, she says.
We’ll pull it with the nippers, I say, then lance the abcess & drain it. Try not to swallow til after we rinse or ye’ll be fillin’ yourself with poison.
Out comes the ould stump like a cabbage in November.
Aye, God! she says.
Spit, I say, holding the bowl. Rinse, I say, offering the cup. I regretted my failure to tie on an apron.
When she puts her head back again I slit the angry gum & Great God what a letting of blood & pus-it splatters my shirt front as if flung from a bucket. She reels off a thoroughly medicinal amount of Irish epithets.
I hold the bowl, offer the cup, relieved that my hands have stopped their palsy.
I’m going to press your cheek, now, I say, at the point of the abcess-we must force it all out of there. Are you with me, Rose McFee?
I’m with ye, ye brute!
There comes a gurgling sound as air & fluid are expressed. I vow never again to do such hog butchering.
I washed up then sterilized a needle at the flame of the lamp & pushed the tip of it in where the pain was originating. Again the bloody pus pouring forth & the spitting & gargling & supplications to the Holy Mother & Her Blessed Son.
When the worst of it was past, I did as I’d seen Mother do-swabbed her mouth with peroxide, then fetched a potato from the cellar with instructions to peel & cut it up & every two hours hold a piece against the incision to draw out infection.
May God himself give ye a blessin’, she says.
I sent her off with a vial of peroxide & further instructions & went up to scrub myself & dress again. I noted the sense of satisfaction God sends often enough to keep a man at such a calling.
The dancing continued beneath a three-quarter moon until nearly midnight, with the Moore sisters singing til spent. All the Sweets had vanished & even the crumbs. Trageser’s Great Kettle hung dry above the coals, & gathered from around the spits & piled in baskets for the road home were the bones-every half-starved dog & not a few children & elders would have the amusement of them on the morrow.
Little by little & save for Father Dominic who would abide with us overnight, they went their way, carrying sleeping children, a few swinging lanterns-we stood at the open windows of the parlor, listening to the rattle of carts in the lane, the nickering of a horse or pony. Some reeled & staggered, some sang until they passed out of hearing, whole families lay down by the lane to sleep until sun up-but all went away as happy as we had human ability to make them.
A clearly does not fancy herself a beauty, which adds to her grace. In her frock the color of peaches stirred with cream, she was a sight such as I have never before seen & such as words could never express.
To Mass tomorrow, the Feast Day of The Blessed Virgin.
19 August
Unseasonal damp & chill
From dawn until dusk yesterday, the new Surgery received a horde of visitors-many out of simple curiosity, for it was not opened to the publik on our own Feast Day, except to Rose McFee. To abuse the Damp, we kept a turf fire on the Hearth which gave a note of Cheer to sick and hale alike. One old fellow stood hat over heart, looking about with Wonder. He swore he had never seen a lovelier place outside the sanctuary at Drumcliff!
Lovelier than Palmerston’s place? I jest.
Th’ divil with Palmerston, he says, offended, & curses the name of England’s former Prime Minister whose work at Classiebawn is a spectacle of men & materials. Twill be a castle, they say, brooding on its barren ridge & claiming the eye for miles around.
As I earlier refused to doctor beasts, I must now refuse requests for dental doctoring-my fame has rapidly spread & I shall likely be pestered unto death. A woman came at me this morning with her mouth open wide as any cellar door.
C & I feeling our great age, myself of 52 years, she of 48.
At a little past noon today, Balfour sent his man to summon me.
I must come at once, he said, to see his master. When I inquired after the trouble, the fellow looked abashed. A scaldin’ stream, he said.
I took Adam & arrived at half past one o’clock to see Balfour in his bed chamber. Would I wish such a Pox on my worst enemy? I would not. I did what I could & learned from a stable boy that Balfour spends a deal of time hanging about Palmerston’s work site which is largely a pile of Donegal stone. He says B treks the 40-odd miles horseback every other fortnight & lodges in taverns. Good riddance.
While there, I was enjoined to see half the population of Balfour’s place-they lined up belowstairs, man, woman & child, with everything from goiter to blood in the stool & ructions of the gut. I was then summoned upstairs to Balfour’s wife & her Diarrhea. Having no ready Nostrum I must go again on the morrow. I learned from a doctor in Phila. that Mr. Jefferson was afflicted much of his life with Diarrhea. How in God’s name a man could be so discomfited & yet give speeches & attend fine dinners, I do not know.
While I was away, C answered at the Surgery & kept A as busy as any bee.
Nephew & the lad were fishing, it is said.
C experiencing a return of the headaches suffered so frequently in Philadelphia. I have sent to Dublin for Passiflora Incarnata which works chiefly upon the nervous system & is said to be relieving of the Sick Headache. It should come up to Sligo by train in the next week or so.
20 August
A lowering sky
Keegan has told me he will wed in September-the Bride being Fiona, our Head Cook at the Feast. He says I should consider both of us lucky men as he will have a wife to cure him of his long face, & C & I will have an able Cook & House Keeper. You could not do better, he says, in the whole of Ireland. He confesses he has looked both far & near for a suitable Wife & there she stood in the kitchen under his very nose, baking 40 Loaves as easy as rolling off a log. Her husband has been dead these four years & no children-a fact which relieves Keegan for he has little patience with the Young. I was obliged to get out the whiskey & sat with him in some amusement as he told his tale of Courtship over a period of but four days thus far-to a woman seven years his senior & easily twice his girth.
Keegan says it came about the day before the Feast-he had passed through the kitchen & nicked off a chunk of dough to mollify his famishing hunger. When caught in the act he says a large woman flew at him with an iron rolling pin which she vowed to use if he laid another hand on her rising dough. He replied that he would make her dough rise, bedad. Thus commenced a chase down the stairs & through the lower halls & when she was nearly upon him he surrendered by waving a scullery rag. He says he was taken prisoner then & they fell down together laughing. I did not press him for Details.
I am eager to have Sukey’s Philadelphia Cookery book put to use here. A freed mulatto slave brought from Jamaica to America by Uncle, Sukey was a cook like nothing known before or since. Thus my earnest inquiry of Keegan-Can Fiona read? He assures me with a gushing pride that she can both read & sign her name with a flourish.
I have found Keegan a decent judge of character but suggest he move forward with caution. He says he has waited many years for such a stirring as Fiona provokes & declines the proper use of either Patience or Common Sense. He is merry as a whiskey priest- & this a man inclined to be sour as a Protestant.
Two large roasting hens, a pike & the greater portion of a ham employed this late afternoon at our supper for eight. The infant was brought to table with his mother & cried bitterly the whole duration. The lad has hardly spoken a word & looks at me with doleful eyes.
As C passed up to bed this evening with another of her Headaches, I observe her lips & fingers moving. What are you doing? I ask.
I am counting the days, she says.
20 September
Mild
I cannot but wonder why the War between the American States is of such grave concern, disturbing my sleep. C says it is a simple matter-I thrived on the Hospitality of that Soil for thirty-three years & became the ardent supporter of its many just causes. Yet in these years at Lough Arrow I have sought to invest all my powers-of hope & strength & knowledge & affection-in the dire needs of my own people. If this incendiary conflict were indeed roused by the right or wrong of slavery I would side with the North. But as in everything in this world it is but Greed & more Greed which requires the issue of slavery to mask the wicked truth.
May God have mercy upon Union & Confederate troops alike, & upon President Lincoln in this crucifying Struggle.
Balfour’s condition appears remedied. I would have him feel indebted to me-but we shall see. I have diagnosed his wife’s condition as stemming from a disreputable kitchen & have advised the frequent sterilizing of knife blades, basins & tableware. This counsel met with eyebrows raised to the brim of her cap. Thus any good I might have done with Balfour may be undone by my bold come-uppance of their Yorkshire cook & scullery maids.
As Nephew has lodged with us many days beyond the month, I ask when he intends returning home. He says he is having difficulty getting the carriage brought out. I say I will send Keegan to inquire though it will be some days hence, as Keegan is to wed tomorrow at noon.
I believe Keegan expected me to rouse a celebration but C & I not yet recovered from the one roused earlier. I will provide a fair portion of whiskey, & tobacco to lift a haze over the celebrants. C will send ahead a large pot of Apple Dumplings. I’ve no more to give, she says-I am given out.
21 September
A grand day
I took some time in making my toilet this morning & was dashed when I looked in the mirror to comb my graying beard. It is every morning of every day that I look upon this face & yet this time saw it more soberly.
My brow displays the furrows of a potato field! I examine my pate-tis growing as bald as Uncles- & recall that Father possessed a head of hair to equal any privet hedge. It must be true that the persecution of baldness travels down the maternal line. At the long mirror in the upper hall, I pause to judge my physique. Taller, in the main, than most & fit enough-with no paunch thanks to God. I do heartily despise the paunch.
Having a few minutes to spare I sit to this journal-it has become a warm friend who hears all, sees all & forgives all.
Keegan’s Bride will be moving into the little room next to the Surgery as she’s ‘after being close to the housekeeping.’ It was never meant to lodge two people, but we have nonetheless furnished these tight Quarters with a good bed, a floor mat, two chairs & a bureau. The turnips & potatoes have more room in their cellar than the newlyweds will enjoy in this cranny. Fiona to bring ‘a wee drop’ of her own things, according to Keegan. We will then be at full house until Nephew & his legions depart, please God.
Speaking of the legions, they wish to accompany us to the Wedding today. How on earth we are all to be transported I cannot say-I shall not risk the ruination of my Carriage by adding even one more passenger to the load over four miles of rough track. As to why they must attend the Wedding of a complete stranger, I posit they are following the scent of Whiskey & Apple Dumplings.
Late evening-
As Adam cast a shoe this morning & no time to remedy the circumstance, there was naught to do but walk, as Little Dorrit is not yet broke to the Carriage. I had managed to round up a wagon for the Multitudes but the women of that party declined such a rough amenity & then C was stricken with the Headache. All this whittled our party to Nephew & the lad & myself. Knowing that A had looked forward eagerly to the occasion, I asked C if I might take her along. C was lying on the chaise & did not turn her head. As you please, she said.
The lad who seldom utters a sound became a regular magpie along the route.
Do ye have th’ Wee Folk? he says, casting his gaze about in the hedges. He wore his stubbed shoes slung about his neck by means of the laces tied together.
I’m afraid I don’t believe in Wee Folk, I say.
He looks at me with astonishment, then recovers himself & says deferentially, They’re there nonetheless.
We walk on & he says, Aren’t they, Aoife?
A looks at me, suppressing a smile. I wager she believes in them.
Twas the peach frock she wore & the shoes her Father made.
23 September
God have mercy. The wee drop that accompanied Fiona was a wagon load piled to the heavens. I have never seen such a look on C’s face as the whole of it appeared in the lane pulled by a horse nearly dead from privation. Then came more than several of the Missus Keegan’s women friends & their children skipping along behind with a passel of dogs & a pig at the rear.
I insisted C leave the surgery & rest herself in our Bedchamber.
I cannot, she said, the oul Flanagan Sisters have waited since early morning & the Bailey infant has a miserable case of Thrush. She stood rigid as a broom handle, but I persisted, for the wagon load & all the rest would soon be spilling into the little room near the Surgery, surely provoking another of her Headaches.
Send A to see me through, I said & wondered at the look she gave me for the relief I offered.
God help us, there is no strength to tell the rest of it-a farce if ever there was one. The jumble is forced into the small room as a sausage into a casing-one might fear to open the door lest the flotsam of cupboards & coat pegs & crockeries spew forth & strike one down.
Arrival of the Passiflora anxiously awaited. Though found to be salubrious in Philadelphia, Valerian & Peppermint Oil now have but weak effect.
A now complaining of blisters raised by the wearing of shoes on Wedding Day.
They’re from your father’s own last, I chide. Tis a discredit to fling about the talk of blisters.
I am lately persuaded that we are overly insular here-I have no Discourse with anyone save Keegan & our patients. C has but A for company & the work of two upon her shoulders, though I pray the Missus Keegan will lift the burthen. There remains the issue however, of the several unfinished guestchambers. Thus if more guests are attracted than we can immediately handle, we’ll be hanging them up by a horseshoe nail.
In any case we must somehow introduce Society into the halls of Cathair Mohr.
Day following
Fog heavy o’er the Lough
Rose McFee came late yesterday with a basket of Burdock Root, & Nettles which she calls Devils Claw. She named her price for something I had not asked for nor required.
Why, Rose McFee, I say, how can ye charge a man who eased your pain & dunned ye nary a penny for the service?
That sarvice, she says, was paid by what I fixed on your neighbor.
I gave her a coin which she grabbed from my hand while instructing me in the proper use of her gleanings. I turned the raw stuff over to Aoife with a request to make a tea of the Burdock, as Rose attests it will unblock the sweat glands & urinary system which may help with the Headache.
It never arises in conversation, yet Nephew is clearly pleased to be my Heir. He swaggers about as if he owns the place in advance of my demise, suggesting where the pig sty be located & giving Keegan the business. Keegan gives it back. Th’ Young Bladder, Keegan calls him, being full of th’ piss, he says, tells us the goat is a most profitable animal & we should buy a flock of two hundred to begin. Keegan stalks away without a word & Young Bladder tells me Keegan must be dismissed-God have mercy. It is Nephew & his flock of hungry mouths who must be dismissed. I wonder at the numerous mistakes I have made here-chief among them, accepting land from a man who is no Christian neighbor, & now the issue of Nephew as heir to Cathair Mohr. It was the right thing to do, to pass my estate to the eldest son of my eldest brother & my Namesake into the bargain. I only wished to do as had been done unto me by Uncle. I will soon discuss the matter with my Solicitor.
Fiona on duty at an early hour-I have never heard such Rattle & Bang as she commandeers the arrangement of the kitchen to suit her taste. I’m told by a patient that the Missus Keegan can bottle a full Orchard in a day. A has fled to her family til the morrow, barefoot as any waif.
I did not return home to be a man of Show yet I require a horse for Keegan so that he needn’t take Adam when he goes about my business. And then I must provide a Carriage for C’s ministrations among the people, for oft times we are called out separately in any wether & she has her monthly rounds of near twenty miles, to boot. A could do with a cart & pony to visit her family & make the occasional call on a patient.
There is as well the problem of sheep & cattle-all these things I am able to see clearly now the house is liveable & the long labor essentially done. One wants a bit of mutton & beef for the table without dashing about to fetch it from others. And how then shall we have cattle when the pastures of Cathair Mohr are so long overgrown? And how then shall we manure the fields to restore their vitality if we have not cattle?
At the end, I am a town man lacking even the heart for tramping about in neglected fields wounding the Game. My father was a Sawyer whose husbandry ran to cultivating a patch of Turnips & keeping a bay mare, & no use to look for the bucolic influence from Uncle, a gentleman chiefly disposed to business, an interest in architecture, & the private life. Clearly I must furnish myself with a man to oversee further Improvements here. Keegan bright enough & industrious but not one to grasp the Long Picture.
I am reminded that Balfour employs roughly twenty or more men and women, tis a factory over there to feed and keep but three people, though I hear their entertaining of guests is near constant.
One concludes that it is not enough to have a comfortable house & a roof over one’s equipage-the monstrous thing begets itself like the common hare, adding up to the full Plantation & rendering a man as impoverished as his neighbor in the windowless cot.
Day following
Mackerel skies
Nephew & his legions departing day after tomorrow, thanks to God.
The lad says to me this morning, How do you cut off a leg?
I say to him, Why do you ask?
He says, I seen Danny Moore’s stump. He shown it to me, took th’ wrap off it.
Aye, I say, he likes to do that.
How do you cut off a leg? he says again.
A sharp knife for the flesh & muscle, I say, & a saw for the bone.
I have never seen a more solemn look on a young face.
I’d like to do that when I’m a man, he says.
Are you sure of it? There’s blood & guts to cutting into people, it’s a messy business & neither Doctor nor Patient relishes a minute of it.
I should like to do it, he says, very firm. Well, then, I must go out in the carriage tomorrow. Would you like to come along?
He thinks about this. Thoughts move over his face like shifting clouds reflected on the lough.
Yis, he says. Yis, sir.
Very well. Twill be raining cats & dogs & we’ll get a good soaking in & out of the carriage.
He looks at me, expectant.
We won’t be cutting off any legs tomorrow. Will you still come?
He thinks again, puckering his lips. Yis, he says & gravely takes my hand & shakes it.
Day following
The lad & I got away early & the rain held off until we were nearly done with our calls. We had a bite of mutton stew with Granny Moore & a fine soda bread to sop the gravy. He ate as if famished, then watched intently my ministrations to a nasty sore on Bridie Flaherty’s knee. Bridie had limped to the Moores to meet the doctor. Here, I said, offering him the nasty bandage that had been on near a week. He looked at it, aghast, then took it. Put it in the fire I said & he did. And wash up in the basin, I said & he did. In any case, the wound was nearly healed. To celebrate Bridie did a jigging hop on the other leg, which caused the lad to laugh.
We drove homeward in a misting rain.
After a long silence, he says, I don’t care to go back to Mullaghmore.
And why is that?
I like it here very fine.
His mother is one of the glum sisters-I could understand his reluctance.
We were trotting along by the great stand of bracken, on one of the smoothest carriage roads hereabout-I had my own men render it so.
How did you come by the name Eunan?
Me granda got it off an oul’ saint.
The boy looked over at me, serious as a monk.
Where is your father?
Me da has got no legs.
No legs!
But stumps like Danny Moore.
My God, I say. How did it happen?
’t was th’ stones fell on ’im when he was layin’ a wall.
He’s a mason, then.
Yis. His legs was trapped under th’ stones a full day & th’ part of a night.
Can he work?
No. He has th’ coughin’. He’s with my oul’ granny who makes medicine for ’im to stop th’ coughin’.
Does it stop, then?
No. Yis. Sometimes.
My thoughts fly to the many aggravations of the Lungs.
If it had been me at th’ cuttin’ off of ’is legs, he says, twould be a better job than them butchers done.
He looks suddenly thrice his age & turns his head & stares at the lough.
How do you get by?
Mam takes in sewin’.
Aye.
For them as goes from thin to fat & back th’ other way.
Twould be mostly the other way these days, I say.
I nick out the oul’ stitches, she puts in th’ new, too fine for th’ naked eye to see, they says.
How old are ye, lad?
Siven, soon to be eight.
Are you the eldest?
Yis, an’ th’ onliest.
Just yourself, then?
He turns to me now & smiles but weakly. Mam says they only done it th’ once.
To be polite I laugh at the little joke he has clearly been trained to put forth.
Are you schooled, then?
Yis.
I’m sorry about your Da, I say.
With all the suffering I’ve seen I should be able to deliver a greater consolation but I am dumb as a spoon for all that.
There’s a man, I say, Arthur MacMurrough Kavanagh, whose Seat is Borris House in Carlow. He was born with stumps for legs, an’ only a bit of arms. Tuck your thumbs deep into your armpits.
The boy looks at me, wondering.
Yes, do as I say I’m going to show you something.
I drop the reins & tuck my thumbs into my armpits.
Follow suit I say, & he does.
Are your thumbs deep in your armpits, so?
Yis.
Do your fingers meet over your chest?
No.
I pick up the reins.
Exactly! I say. Tis the kind of arms MacMurrough was born with. Very short & no fingers to speak of, yet he’s fearless for all that.
The lad looks desolately at his hands upon a thin chest.
He’s traveled to India & hunted tigers & according to the talk that goes round, he’s a very fine shot.
This sets the lad to thinking long thoughts.
Fishes, too, & quite fierce on horseback, I say, aspiring to suggest some hope for those without proper limbs.
The boy’s face is frozen with astonishment.
Well, now, there’s more to the story of Arthur MacMurrough Kavanagh, would ye believe it? Into the bargain, he’s said to be a poet & an artist.
He gawps at me. How does he hold ’is brush, so?
In his mouth, I’m told.
What about his gun, does he do it th’ same?
I’m dashed if I know, I say.
How does he ride if he has no legs to grip ’is mount?
In a little chair strapped upon the horse’s back, they say.
The rain pelting us now, drumming the top of the open carriage.
Giddyap, ye brute, I say to Adam, which is what Uncle’s driver Mercy always said to his horse, & always in a kind manner.
At the house, Keegan is there to greet us with a gnarly apple for Adam. I hand over the reins.
Drive to Rose McFee with all speed, I say. Take a large jug & tell her to make a fresh portion of her cough Nostrum. First thing the morrow, fetch it back to me-tis going with the lad- & easy on the carriage, I say, for Keegan has little patience.
We were greeted in the rear Hall by A & a blast of cooking odours to make the mouth water-twas roasted pork shoulder & the sweet scent of baking bread. I lately learned that Fiona has taken a shine to the lad & is trying to put meat on his bones.
Come & wash, A says to Eunan, & tell us about your doctorin’.
She takes the lad’s hand in hers & they walk away, chattering.
I burned th’ rag, I heard him say as they went along the stair hall. Twas a desperate fester on her oul’ knee.
She turns then & looks back & smiles at me.
I watch them pass out of view & find my heart thundering strangely. I do not know the cause & then-I am suddenly enfeebled by the power of a yearning long hidden.
A pesky turn for O’Donnell, he thought. And amazing, this reference to a man believed to be of his own Kavanagh line. A small-world sort of thing, which he would tell Henry in a forthcoming letter. He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes-the faded ink demanded a price.
He thought of his own lad who, like Fintan’s, hadn’t wanted to go home again. Dooley had instead come to live at the rectory, and both their lives were changed forever.
He closed the journal and gazed at the innocence of Cynthia’s utter absorption in the book. She moved her lips, silent as any school-girl at memory work. Her ankle had given severe pain in the night, shortening their sleep. She confessed she had slipped in the shower the day before, felt a twinge, but thought little of it. It was only a small slip, she said, and nothing to worry about.
He stood and stretched his limbs, yawned. ‘I’m going down and call Dooley.’
‘Dooley?’ she said, not looking up.
‘You remember him. Tall, skinny as a rail, red hair.’
‘Um,’ she said from the distant continent she occupied.
‘Freckles.’
Rain drummed the panes.
‘Anything I can bring you from below?’
‘Did you say something?’ Still reading, brow puckered.
‘Anything I can bring you from below?’
She looked up, blinked, smiled. ‘A pot of tea.’
‘Any swelling?’
‘A little. Nothing to worry about.’
‘Have you come to the piece in the journal about the Kav’na with no arms or legs?’
‘I’m a few entries short of your bookmark-they’re just getting ready for the Feast. The one who was a member of Parliament and the father of seven?’
‘The same.’ He slipped his feet into the brown loafers; Pud appeared from beneath the bed.
‘Feeney will be along this evening.’ He went to her side of the bed and kissed her forehead. ‘Back in a flash.’
‘If you see Bella, tell her I send my love.’
He was mildly startled-it seemed a trivializing gesture.
‘What will she think of such a thing?’
‘I don’t know. But she needs to hear that word today, I just feel it.’
‘Well, then,’ he said.
He had been given more unlikely missions, though not many.