Jan Karon - In the Company of Others

He stepped out to the landing with Liam.

‘I asked them to dust the power box for fingerprints while they’re at it,’ said Liam. ‘God’s truth, I hate this for you. We won’t charge you anything, ’t is on th’ house entirely.’

‘Don’t think about it, please.’

‘Nothing like this ever happened before. We’re a very quiet, very decent sort of place.’

‘Of course.’

‘Anything missing, Reverend?’

‘I don’t think so. Please call me Tim.’

‘Ah, no. I’ve never called a clergyman by his Christian name, Catholic or Protestant.’

‘Give it a try when you feel up to it.’

‘Yes. Well. A whiskey, then?’

‘Not for me, thanks.’

‘Seamus has gone to fetch our Maureen McKenna to be fingerprinted. He said tell you he’s ready to give a hand if needed.’

‘I appreciate it. How are the other guests?’

‘O’Malley’s dead asleep in th’ library; the other lads have signed off for the evenin’. As for the travel club, they thought th’ Gards were real dotes in their new uniforms. So’-Liam shrugged-‘they all took it in stride; I was afraid the women would be checkin’ out. There’ll likely be a wing chair or two pushed up to their doors tonight.’

‘Anything missing from the rooms?’

‘Doesn’t appear to be.’

‘I’d like you to know I’m praying about this. All of it.’

Liam looked startled. ‘After my father died, I forgot that sort of thing-praying. I put it behind me. Some call it lapsed. As for me, Reverend, I’m pure fallen. Fallen entirely.’

It was a quarter to one when he reached to the night table and looked at his watch. It was close in the room-the body heat and commotion had churned up the peace of it-but he had no intention of opening the window.

He thanked God that nothing worse had happened tonight, and wondered again if they should have made the trip at all. From the very outset, their Ireland plans had been hindered by cancellation and delay, and now this terrible fright for her, and pain into the bargain.

He listened for a time to her whiffling snore, a musical sort of sound, actually, which had always charmed him. She would make the best of it; she was good at making the best of things.

Across the Pond in Mitford, tourists were strolling Main Street, languid and bemused in mountain air far sweeter than the August haze they’d left behind. Dooley would have finished up his day as a vet’s assistant, and gone into Mitford, perhaps, to take his three brothers and sister for pizza-with-everything. He thought of the tall, lanky boy with inquisitive eyes and the way he laughed and the way his laughter infected others. He prayed for Dooley’s wisdom and discernment, and for the safekeeping of all the siblings, reunited after years of loss.

He had just found the sweet spot in his pillow when he felt movement beneath their bed. He lay frozen with alarm, listening.

Then, the rapid thumping sound, known to him as the Scratching of the Odd Flea.

‘Pud,’ he hissed. ‘Come out of there.’

‘I’m so sorry for all of it,’ said Anna. ‘Most guests would have been dreadfully upset by last night, and no power to boot. They’d be packin’ up this morning, sure enough. You’re a very kind man.’

He was often called kind, and never knew what to say in response. He certainly didn’t think he was very kind-curious more like it, interested enough in what was going on not to complain of discomfort within reason.

‘And then to have our dog sleeping under your bed. He’s done it only once before-adopted himself out to a schoolteacher on holiday from Cavan.’

‘I’m his first Yank, then.’

Anna smiled a little. ‘We got him from a shelter. They said he belonged to a very hard man; Pud doesn’t like the raised voice.’ She sighed, then straightened herself. ‘Still and all, I shall give you rhubarb every morning if that would make it up a bit.’

‘No need to make it up,’ he said, ‘but I’ll gladly take it.’

They sat at the breakfast table, waiting for Liam to bring out Cynthia’s fry.

‘How is Cynthia this morning?’

‘She slept well, and was singing a little before I came down.’ Where Christ is, Dorothy Sayers had said, cheerfulness will keep breaking in. A description, in toto, of the woman who shared his bed.

‘Do you think she might like to move rooms?’

‘She hasn’t mentioned it.’ Unloading drawers, schlepping their jumble-an aggravation he wasn’t up to.

‘We don’t have an extra room available, but one of the anglers may be willing to make an exchange. I could ask Pete, his room would give you a larger bath and a lovely writing table.’

‘Same view?’

‘Ah, no. Blocked by the beeches, I’m afraid. I’ve given you our prettiest room, really, with hardly a twig to obscure the scenery.’

‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘Unless you hear otherwise, we’ll stick where we are.’

‘Two of the travel club will be bunking together tomorrow to free up the room for your cousins. That was understood when the ladies booked.’

‘Musical chairs,’ he said.

‘Always.’ Anna ran her fingers through a reckless mass of red curls. ‘Forgive my appearance, Reverend, I’ve somehow not put the comb to my head this morning. It’s as much to keep as the garden.’

She was a beautiful, big-boned woman, intense and present to the moment, with eyes that appeared to take in a horde of details and sort them at lightning speed. Their eyes met as he lifted the cup and polished off his coffee-she looked worn, conflicted, and for a brief moment made no effort to conceal it. He felt there was something she wanted to say to him-four decades of counseling had honed a certain skill at sensing trial behind the forced smile, the hard jaw, the stiff upper lip.

‘I hope you won’t regret not getting about ’til the cousins arrive. There are so many grand places to see-Ben Bulben, of course, and the lovely Knocknarea walk to Queen Maeve’s grave, and Lissadell House and Inishmurray Island, and, oh, the Tubbercurry Fair coming…’

She went on, dutiful in limning the list. Even if they could get about, he lacked the grit to look at anything grand or affecting just now-the view of the lake was enough. He’d never been much of a tourist, and anyway, he’d seen a lot of Sligo on the previous trip. A day in the library would be a banquet of sorts, with a jog by the lake in the afternoon. He had no idea what to do about Walter and Katherine showing up full of vim and vigor, unscathed, as usual, by jet or any other lag. Bottom line, James Feeney was in possession of their immediate future. If Cynthia couldn’t ramble over hill and dale, neither would he.

He was leaving the dining room when Anna dropped a fork, which hit the wood floor, bounced, and skidded under a dish cupboard. He set the tray down.

‘I’ll get it,’ he said, dropping at once to his hands and knees.

‘No, no, please,’ she said. ‘Let me, please.’

‘I can see it, it’s right back…’ He tried to reach the thing, but it eluded him. ‘A broom,’ he said. Peggy had taught him the efficacy of the broom handle-useful for everything from removing spiderwebs in ceiling corners to adjusting a high-hanging picture on the wall. Anna supplied a broom.

He retrieved the fork, embarrassed that he couldn’t shoot to his feet like a young curate. Halfway up, he took the hand she offered.

‘There,’ she said, smiling.

‘There,’ he said, handing over the fork.

They burst into laughter, the nonsensical kind that felt good and didn’t strain anything in the process.

He was passing through the library with the breakfast tray, noting that the fire had been poked up.