Kilpara (19 page)

Giggles came from inside Mother’s room when I
left the bar to check on her. I knocked on the door. Trista was out
of uniform and dressed in a plain blue peasant dress, her slim neck
exposed, smooth and inviting. She sat reposed in a big chair by the
bed, smiling broadly. Aunt Sadie sat beside Mother on the bed,
against a wall of pillows, their hands still clasped
together.

“
Ellis,” Mother said, “I was
telling Sadie about Stonebridge and when you were all little.” Her
eyes shadowed as she turned to Aunt Sadie. “I wish you could know
Dan and Mark and their families. They are such fine men and they
married caring women.” She began coughing, prompting Aunt Sadie to
move quickly into action.

She massaged Mother’s back, speaking softly,
“Take your time, Ann, dear. It’ll pass soon enough.” The coughing
began to ease and Aunt Sadie said,” Remember how you love salmon,
Ann? Well, I’ve requested a wonderful dinner, the likes you’ll
never find in Maryland. It’s Corrib salmon, covered in hollandaise
sauce, with roast potatoes, steamed carrots, and a good Irish
trifle for dessert.” She smiled at Mother. “Trifle was always your
favorite.”

“
You’ve the memory of an elephant,”
Mother said, regaining composure. She patted Aunt Sadie’s
hand.

“
You took charge of us when we were
little,” Aunt Sadie said. “It’s my turn now. I get to be boss. I’m
ordering you to rest before dinner.”

“
Tyrant,” Mother said, and what was
meant to be mock anger sounded more like relief.

Watching Aunt Sadie take control of Mother in
this easy manner, I marveled how effortlessly she shifted into the
role of caretaker. She did it so naturally that Mother accepted it
in a way she never would have consented to it from us; her
children.

Aunt Sadie and I went to the Tea Room, leaving
Mother in Trista’s care. We sat at a small table by a long window
that looked onto well-shaped lawns with flowerbeds. Garden tables
were mostly empty now that the afternoon sun had moved behind
clouds.

“
Changeable weather in Ireland,”
Aunt Sadie said. “Sunshine one minute, clouds the next.”

“
The doctors say Mother’s disease
is in advanced stages,” I said, hoping Aunt Sadie would confide her
opinions. “The voyage did her good even though they said the
crossing would be too much for her.”

Aunt Sadie didn’t answer right away. She
stared out the window, her face devoid of emotion.

“
I know this disease,” she said,
turning to look at me. “I've examined Ann and I know exactly what
stage it’s in. There’s so little time to make up for all the years
we’ve spent apart.” She smiled sadly, reached over and patted my
hand. “But then, I’m getting to know you, my own blood. Your mother
says you have your father’s ambition and her practicality.” Humor
crept into her voice. “A deadly combination, to be sure. A
contradiction of sensibilities; desire for adventure restrained by
a sensible mind. You’re fortunate to have had them for parents,”
she amended gracefully.

I didn’t meet her gaze, but concentrated
instead on the warmth of her wrinkled hand still covering mine. I
was momentarily at a loss for words.

Trista came into the Tea Room, bouncing
lightly as she moved toward us, hips swaying, making the heavy
linen swing provocatively around her ankles. She halted beside Aunt
Sadie, the familiar smell of scented soap drifting about her. “My
father is here to take me home, Mother Superior,” she
reported.

“
Have a good visit, Trista. I’ll
expect you back at the hospital in a fortnight?”

“
Yes, Mother Superior. I left Mrs.
O’Donovan sleeping.”

“
I’ll look in on her shortly
then.”

Trista turned to me and curtseyed. “Goodbye,
Mr. O’Donovan,” she said, her eyes lowered.

I wanted to laugh at this formality that was
expected in front of my aunt. I stood up and bowed. “Goodbye, Miss
Joyce. I shall look forward to seeing you again soon.” Trista
raised her eyes slightly, and noticing my aunt’s gaze was averted,
she winked.

“
Goodbye, Mother Superior,” she
added quickly, and almost ran out of the hotel.

After Trista left, Aunt Sadie and I resumed
our conversation. I talked about my father, my brothers, and life
in Maryland. “Such brave and courageous men,” Aunt Sadie said. She
looked at me kindly. “Your father's coffin will be kept in vigil at
one of the side altars at St. Bridget's Chapel. Until such time
as—”

I looked at her all-knowing face and
nodded.

“
There's something else I must tell
you and there's no easy way to say it.” She knotted her hands
tightly together and her next words were laced with frustration.
“After I got the news Ann was coming home and of her dying request,
I paid a visit to Lord Purcenell. I told him she wished to be laid
to rest in the O’Donovan cemetery. He laughed at me, said Kilpara
belonged to the Purcenells, now that the O’Donovan’s had no claim
to burial there, to go talk to the parish priest—he’d find
something suitable for her in the church graveyard.”

She looked at me anxiously. “I waited awhile
then approached him again, even convinced myself I had caught him
by surprise before. I was sure he’d view my request more favorably
once he adjusted to the notion. I begged him again to allow my
sister and her husband to be buried at Kilpara, promised him it
would be a very quiet matter, and that we wouldn’t create a
disturbance. But he was more adamant this time around. He told me
never to come back again or he’d set the dogs on me. By then it was
too late to send a letter to Ann. I can't tell her. She’s come all
this way and to have her heart broken like that— You won’t say
anything, will you? It wouldn’t be good for her right
now.”

“
I won’t,” I said, my blood already
rising from indignation. I wanted to pound my fist on the table.
Damn, how could this happen? In an attempt to control the impulse,
I rose and walked over to the window. Aunt Sadie didn’t follow me
but waited quietly to see what I would do or say next. As I tried
to calm myself, I wondered what monster of a man Purcenell was to
object to a simple burial in an old graveyard once owned by former
Kilpara landlords.

“
I should talk to him, impress upon
him to understand,” I said, returning to the table.

Aunt Sadie held up a hand. “Mention the name
O’Donovan and he’ll shut the door in your face.”

“
He must be reasoned with,” I
responded firmly.

“
I’m sorry, Ellis. He’s made it
very clear he won’t hear any propositions from O'Donovans. You'd be
wasting your breath.” Aunt Sadie rose and patted my hand. “It
breaks my heart to have to tell you this news. We have time yet; we
must pray to God for guidance.”

I walked her to Mother’s room and then retired
to my own room after asking one of the staff to serve my dinner
there. The news about Purcenell’s indifference stirred anger in me
again and I knew I would confront him—try to reason with him. Offer
him handsome compensation if that would convince him. After eating,
I was too restless to sleep, so I sat down at the plain walnut desk
by the window and wrote two letters, one to Astelle and one to Dan
and Mark.

I left the hotel around mid-morning to walk
along the sea-front which, today, bustled with activity. Small
boats bobbed in the harbor announcing the arrival of fishermen and
their first catch. Fish, of all kinds, were displayed on makeshift
stalls as vendors called out prices to groups of people milling
around. Women in bright cloaks arrived with empty baskets and left
with them full of carelessly wrapped fish. I watched these
curiously dressed vendors at work. They wore tall, wide-brimmed
hats, knee breeches, and shoes that appeared to be made from
cowhide with the hair left on. Many of them had features I began to
recognize as Irish: Bright ruddy faces and quick smiles that
reached their eyes.

Upon my return to the hotel, I walked through
the courtyard to the stables in back. Finding a stable hand whilst
pitching hay into the stalls, I inquired about Brazonhead's
whereabouts.

“
Your horse is in good hands,” he
assured me. “Gone to the convent, he has. They’ll take care of him
there. They’ll be bringing back the carriage this evening for the
morning’s journey. Mother Superior’s orders.”

The rest of the day passed pleasantly enough.
With the help of the hotel staff, we got Mother into her wheelchair
and covering her with blankets, we took her into the hotel gardens.
She and Aunt Sadie chatted about childhood memories, with one
exception, neither seemed willing to talk about their
parents.

In the afternoon, while both women rested, I
sat in the saloon and amused myself with a game of solitaire. The
lounge was empty except for the clinking of glasses being placed on
shelves by the barkeep. The outer Tea Room was also empty, the
ladies from the previous day nowhere in sight.

Suddenly loud voices broke the silence and a
group of men barged into the saloon, cheering loudly. They
thundered up to the bar. One man demanded, “Drinks for my friends
here.” The barkeep immediately went to work filling glasses of
black foamy beer that were then passed down the line of
men.

The two men of the previous day came in but
weren’t cheering like the rest.

The man leading the celebration turned from
the bar and greeted them. “Charlie, Henry, will you join me in a
victory drink?” Neither Charlie nor Henry answered. The man
guffawed loudly and turned back to his admirers.

The tall thin newcomer with the mustache, the
one addressed as Charlie, turned to his companion and said, “How
could this Pandora have beaten Black Knight? He’s the best racing
horse in Great Britain. It’s simply not possible.”

I now presumed the short portly man was Henry.
“Arthur Purcenell wasn’t bragging this time,” he said. “Pandora is
good.”

Charlie frowned back.

“
Black Knight is the better horse
for sure,” Henry added to soothe his friend. “He had a bad race,
that’s all. Unfortunate, most unfortunate.”

The two men moved back as more men pushed
their way toward the bar. Amid the jostling, Charlie bumped against
my table, causing the cards to spill onto the floor.

He turned as I reached down to retrieve them.
“I beg your pardon,” he apologized. “How dreadfully clumsy of
me.”

“
No harm done,” I said, picking up
the spilled cards.

“
Sir Charles Sloane,” he said,
holding out his hand. “And this is Lord Henry Ligham.” The portly
man bowed stiffly. “You're new here. Up from Dublin for the
race?”

“
No,” I shouted, above roars of
hip-hip-hurray that erupted from the celebrants. “I just arrived
from America. The name’s Ellis O’Donovan.”

“
Mr. Ellis you say? From America?”
Sloane reiterated above the din.

“
Yes,” I said. I started to correct
the stranger, but then remembered Aunt Sadie’s words that Purcenell
would never hear a plea from an O'Donovan. Sloane’s mistaking my
name gave me the sudden idea to remain anonymous. Under an assumed
name, I’d have a better opportunity to get closer to Purcenell, to
observe his weaknesses and use this to my advantage when I
approached him.

“
I should've guessed you were
American, Mr. Ellis,” Sloane said, observing my suit made of
broadcloth that stood out among the tweeds worn by the native
Irish. “Will you be staying in Ireland long?”

I considered his question for a moment. “It
depends, I’m here on business,” I finally answered.

Sloane leaned over the table. “Horses or
cattle?”

“
Neither.” I pointed to two chairs.
“Please—join me?”

“
Are you staying in Galway?” Ligham
asked.

I hesitated. “I'm a guest at St. Bridget’s
Convent.”

“
You're a seminarian
then?”

“
No, I’m not a priest.”

Ligham pointed to the cards. “A gambling man
perhaps?”

“
Just a pastime,” I
said.

Sloane got the attention of one of the extra
barkeeps that had appeared to help with the crowd. He ordered
drinks for all three of us.

“
You're at St. Bridget's, so you
must be here to acquire the marble quarry,” he said. “I'm afraid
you've made the long journey for nothing. There's a fortune to be
made there, but the clergy will never sell.”

Another wrong assumption, yet I managed to
look interested.

“
The quarry belongs to the Catholic
Church—acquired with the grounds long ago,” he continued. “They
bicker over the selling price and can’t agree on anything. They
entertain bids from time to time, including one from yours truly.
But they've turned down every single one of them. They sell the
marble locally, and cheaply, but there's a bigger market out there.
It'd be better off in the hands of a businessman. Clergy should
stick to what they know best. Saving souls.”

“
I agree,” I said, running my
fingers along the ridges of the cards fanning them accordion style
as they folded into a neat pile.

“
We should play sometime,” Ligham
suggested watching closely.