He would like to be able to fool her on occasion, but so be it. ‘What was I thinking?’
‘That I’m going to dive into another book, and abandon you for months on end.’
‘Correct.’ And shame on him, he was two cents with a hole in it.
‘I am going to do another book. I just don’t know when.’ She gave him a profoundly steady gaze. ‘Books-that’s what I do.’
‘Of course.’
‘You do people, I do books.’
The faint chime of the clock at the end of the hall.
‘Before I retired,’ he said, ‘I think you sometimes felt abandoned.’
‘As hard as I tried not to, I did. You were always caught up in dozens of other lives, and I had to make my peace with it, knowing that’s what you do. And look what came of it-you rounded up the Barlowe children, and saved Lace’s neck-that wonderful, beautiful, talented girl who might have been ruined but for tangling yourself up in her terrible life. So I long ago gave you permission to keep doing that, and you should give me the same.’
‘I do, of course.’
‘But you give it from your head, not your heart.’
‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘You take no prisoners.’
She drew his hand to her mouth and kissed it. ‘So when we grow old-what shall we do besides people and books?’
‘We are old,’ he said, rueful.
She turned over and buried her face in the pillow. ‘Speak for yourself, sweetheart.’
She had gone at William’s portrait like a hound after a hare. He felt the tight muscles in her neck and right shoulder-this was old territory, he knew it like his own flesh. How often had he rubbed the tension from the muscles that did the heavy lifting of her calling? He was ashamed of his peevishness.
‘Who’s next under your unremitting brush?’
‘Anna and Liam. That feels good; don’t stop.’
‘But they almost never sit down, and certainly not at the same time.’
‘Anna said they would do it, she seemed happy about it.’
‘You know Seamus invited us to Catharmore on Monday afternoon?’
She yawned. ‘I’ll be the nosiest guest imaginable. ’
‘No news there.’
‘And Feeney’s dropping by to see you tomorrow.’
Beneath the bed, Pud sighed. He heard birds stirring in the trees beyond the window, and soon, her whiffling snore.
Twenty-two
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.