Jan Karon - In the Company of Others

Men framing

One wants a Name for this mighty effort-it is ever gnawing at me to find the pleasing name-Inistiorc perhaps-Irish for Island of the Boar.

When Keegan came to us we rowed to the Island & found a wild Sow and her sucklings-where the Boar had gone, we couldn’t know, perhaps to a table hereabout-Keegan wanted a suckling for his own board, but I couldn’t stomach the killing of it-he didn’t disguise the sour look he had for me nor his disdain for the fact that once dressed & properly cooked I would agreeably eat the innocent Creature.

The People along the water are calling it Cathair Mohr or Big Fort-Caitlin declares it a good name, easily disguised in English as Catharmore-we must not appear to think too highly of ourselves with a ‘Big Fort.’

Clar House, meaning Plain House-that will do it for Balfour no doubt-but tis disagreeable in the extreme on the page & on the Tongue. We consider Cluainaigh or Cloonee, for it is mostly pasture land. Then there is Caiseal Mor, or large stone fort, which anglicizes to Cashelmore. I am fond of Tullagh Mor or Tullachmore, for great hill-but perhaps after all, Catharmore, letting the People be the judge-a pesky business to tag the work of one’s heart & hands.

As wether permits, we labor on the large building sited near the Lough in a grove of ancient Beeches. Six bay two-storey Limestone on the rectangular plan with projecting end bays to the East elevation-hipped slate Roofs, clay ridge tiles, mitred hips, roughly-dressed stone Voussoirs to arches, stone sills, square-headed door openings to North and South, square-headed central threshing room & Loft.

Keegan has made a fine temporary stall for Adam off the Surgery which confers a secondary benefit-though but a mite of equine heat escapes through the wallboards, it is welcomed by all-Caitlin wished our good mount to be blanketed at night with one of Uncle’s Turkey rugs but Keegan ascribes to the Country way of warming a horse from the inside which he accomplishes with a daily feed in Winter of heat-producing corn-Adam is the sleekest Steed in these Wild Regions.

Tis a most humble satisfaction to be the source of economic improvement to families of this Region. Near twenty men take home wages from Cathair Mohr & many learning trades to which they would not otherwise be exposed.

We pray toward the completion of the house by Spring & thank God Who is the one true Source of all our Blessings.

After praying the Morning Office at five-thirty, he had opened the window to the patter of rain among beech leaves, then sat with the journal, reading pages at random.

20 November

A virulent Maladie has lately run amok though the Countryside, especially infecting the young-we can find nothing like it in the many journals on these shelves.

Twill run its course, says old Rose McFee when we despair of our helplessness-Rose is believed to be of great Age, perhaps beyond the century mark-she has but snags in her head, alarmingly revealed in a roguish Grin used to frighten unruly Children.

Balfour noses about overmuch, walking among the men, playing the Cock, suggesting improved ways to do the work at hand-he also sends a steady stream of servants from his household presenting every offense from Bunion & Sty to Gout & Goiter, all to be treated gratis-we often see angry welts & bruises on the skin but they decline to comment. If anything should aile the family we are called to come at once & minister as best we can in a small, foul Compartment without windows or good light. We have twice rid his stout wife of Hemoroids using the homeliest of methods-a procedure requiring the Hemoroids to be opened externally with the subsequent application of a poultice of boiled Onion-this was not learned in Philadelphia but from my dear Mother, a natural Physician who swore by it-I have not seen it fail. As for Balfour-the old Proverb, He who marries for money earns it, reminds us that he who receives Land without charge pays for it-til the Lord comes with His trumpets.

C & I are swamped beyond our Mortal Energies yet she vows she has never been happier nor have I. May God have Mercy on us in this impossible Calling.

In turning the November pages, he found a scrap of paper folded in half. He liked finding the odd scrap in old books; he recently came upon a list of his mother’s in the devotional she wore to tatters. Qt milk 5 lbs potatoes cake flour 1 coconut Ovaltine

The few words had startling power-he had tasted her coconut cake, smelled the Ovaltine in her cup.

The ink on the scrap was more faded than that of the journal entries, and the handwriting distinctively different. He put the flashlight to the task.

My dearest F, I found this in my reading last evening of Mr. Dickens’ Little Dorrit, Uncle’s last book purchase before his passing. It reminds me of you. He went like the rain, among the just and the unjust, doing all the good he could.Your loving C

12 December

By dint of unstinting Sacrifice amongst the People, Caitlin has been obliged to take to her bed-She has forged her own Lenten season through an exhaustion both utter and complete-I have not watched over her properly-am sick at heart for the frightful turn in her Health-She hardly sips Tea. She gives until there is nothing left in her store-I now know that it is I who must mind her store. The eldest child of O’Leary the Shoemaker, a scantling of a Girl just turned fourteen, comes to address C’s needs while I’m about the business of Doctoring-as well as minding the labors of twenty men as Wether permits. To have the fine Surgery in the basement of the new house will be a Blessing beyond telling to us & to the People.

The shocking lore about Dr. Wilde reaches even to these Remote Quarters-if a man is paying his due portion of service under God he should have no time nor even spunk to sire an Infant in every cabin as all say of him-Tis the heartless and self-serving fool who would add to the world more mouths to be fed in these desperate times.

Father Dominic has delivered the Host today on his mare Fiddler, finding ice still moored in patches along the bleak Road-ice on the Lough thinning somewhat-have brought our seven Red Hens inside lest their few Eggs be frozen-am thankful that C finds the hens an amusement though young Aoife is not amused in the least. As A has no shoes to equip her in this wether-(I am reminded of the proverb)-we have paid her father to fashion a pair with great haste.

Prior to Tuesday’s mild Thaw I had broken a slab of ice in Adam’s watering Trough on nine consecutive mornings.

A grinding hard Winter.

He laid the journal on the table and got up and cranked the window shut, petitioning God for the grace to adopt a more agreeable attitude toward the day at hand. With Fintan and Caitlin O’Donnell making themselves useful, who was he to carp about a card game?

He eyed in the far corner of the room the carton of books they’d schlepped across the Pond. They were both fearful of being stuck without a decent book, and who knew they would find everything from Virgil to Synge on the shelves of a fishing lodge?

Returning to his chair, he opened his notebook, uncapped his pen.

‘… longest.’

You and Peggy are faithfully in our prayers. Will write again soon, reporting the outcome of said ruckus.

God be with you, my brother.

Timothy

He folded the letter with the watercolor, licked the envelope he’d rounded up, laid on more Irish stamps than were probably needed, checked his watch.

Six-thirty; the sun had been up for a half hour. He wanted coffee.

He also wanted soda bread with local butter, and rhubarb compote cooked to perfection on an Aga the color of a fire engine.

That was the trouble with vacations. At home, he was perfectly content with cereal and a banana, or the occasional poached egg. Here, he was ravenous from first light onward and eating like a field hand-while his sole exercise consisted of tossing around a shoe, no pun intended.