Jan Karon - In the Company of Others

C said in November that Padraigin would want money for the lending of his sister-in-law’s son. He would not put it that way, C said, but would somehow seize this opportunity which he has regrettably done. Three-hundred pounds he’s asking, desperate was his word, for a debt owing on his business.

If you do not send the money, C says, I believe he will not send the lad.

I considered offering less but this smacks of playing cheap with a human soul. Indeed it is small payment for the pleasurable company of a lad who daily entertains my thoughts.

C insists that the wallpapering can wait. The time has come when we cannot have everything we wish whereas with Uncle we might have had wallpaper & the lad’s visit, together. These days we must make choices, a reasonable thing in this life when so many must choose between filling their bellies or the bellies of their children, between meat or broth, between one room or none.

9 December

A bitter evening with smoking turf due to heavy winds

My hand trembles to write that I have been to the Mass Rock in a falling snow & received what I believe to be a message from God.

I would describe the experience as a warming sensation about the heart coupled with a light head, during which I closed my eyes & saw before me a commission of just three words printed in thick letters on a severely white paper. I have said nothing to C & feel a terrible urgency to act upon the commission. It may be that I am going a little mad, I do not know-I am both frightened & overjoyed.

A fair, temperate day, cannot keep track of dates-perhaps 11 Dec

Keegan, I say-we are sitting at the door of the carriage house, each of us peeling an apple with our pocket knife-how are you taking to the Married life?

There is a long silence. With the point of his knife he scratches his grizzled chin.

Well enough to get by, he says at last.

I say nothing. He is a talker & will say more if I remain silent. But he does not say more.

Only well enough to get by, is it?

She likes to commandeer things, he says. Meself at th’ top of th’ list.

I thought that was what you found appealing-that she would take charge, keep you in tow.

He gives a bitter snicker.

And I believe you said she makes you laugh.

Haw, he says. She’s bloody sober as a nun now we’re tied. All work an’ no play now she has me in her pocket.

He cuts a piece of apple & stares off into the woods, his jaw clenched.

He turns suddenly to me, on the boil now. An’ a monstrous pack rat, he says, the like of which we’ll never see again in this earthly life. Last night when I went to climb in my spot by th’ wall, there sits a dishtub of dinner plates broke in a hundred pieces, which she’d turned up in Balfour’s dump hole. Move th’ bloody dishtub, I say, & let a man get his rightful sleep. There’s nowhere else to put it, she says. And where will you put meself, if you don’t mind me askin’? Hang yourself up on a horseshoe nail, she says.

With that, I have my opening. I can hardly believe such good fortune.

You’ll soon have space in plenty, I say. I am moving my pharmacopoeia into your quarters on Wednesday morning at first light. Running up and down stairs to my books is a waste of valuable time-I’m having Jessie sweep out the cabin for you.

I say this mildly, as if we are talking pork prices.

He looks as if he hasn’t heard aright.

Wednesday, I say. Early, of course, to get ahead of the patients.

Keegan is at once shocked by the suddenness of the announcement & fearing the outrage of his wife.

But she dotes on bein’ in the big house, he says, his voice rising.

Of course.

Wouldn’t like walkin’ over in rain or foul weather of any kind, or at night when th’ bastes are out.

He is throwing down the gauntlet now.

Oh, yes, there’s that, I say, sanguine.

I refuse to remind him of the cabin’s many fine qualities-two spacious rooms, the broad hearth, a chimney that draws sweetly.

I stand & toss my apple core to a clutch of chickens scratching about in winter weeds. Well, then, I say, Wednesday morning it is for moving my library down. You’ll need to be set up in your new quarters by late Tuesday, with everything taken away from here so Jessie can sweep out.

He is aghast.

But I must go to Mullaghmore on Thursday & back on Friday, he says, as if such tasks in a row are too weighty for him.

I walk across to the house, dismissing his complaint. My knees are weak as pond water. I have never been so forthright with him, a problem born of cowardice. I had just arrived here when we met & befriended one another-he became an intimate to whom I told much & from whom I learned a great deal about country ways. Then I hired him & money entered into it, switching matters to the business side & formenting unease between us.

I find C in the Surgery, making the table ready, pulling out the stool for young Mick Doolin who will be coming up the lane about now with his fierce young Collie. There is a fire on the hearth, the tea kettle singing.

Is it done?

I nod to her.

There, she says, I’m proud of you.

I feel at once a child & do so relish the feeling.

I hope we won’t taste her displeasure in the Christmas pudding, she says.

She’s too proud for that, I say, as if I know the truth which I do not.

She has the serious look on her face. The lad must have his pony, she declares. Brigid Collins tells me Willie has got himself a pony from Connemara, a mare but a year old & pulling a red cart.

The thought of this makes her smile.

Since our discussions of altered income, I had planned to forgo the pony. Her goodness is a nourishment to me.

As Little Dorrit is now well-broke to the old carriage from O’Keefe, I shall send her to Mullaghmore with Keegan & ride Adam out to Sullivan the Mason on Thursday. Then we shall see about Willie Collins.

The date? God only knows

A pale sun, very cold

I could not help myself. I have bought both pony & cart from Willie, for an offer he could not resist.

I hadn’t thought to sell her, he says, looking aggrieved.

Saying nothing, I hand him the envelope.

He breaks the seal, looks in, removes the money & counts through it.

Jesus, Joseph & Mary, he whispers.

I had given him enough to cover his expenses in seeking another like Brannagh-a name which he says means ‘beauty with hair as dark as a raven.’

Sullivan the Mason hard at work with his helper Danny Moore & nearly done with the job-the bookcase ready for staining. I have said the room is for the storing of trunks and such.

Keegan & Bride gone to the Cabin, C & I feel the monolith resting on us these months is lifted off.

18 December

The lad has come!

He asked for her immediately he entered the hall & burst into tears when told that she went away to her family.

Why, he says, desolate, why did she go away? She liked it here very fine, she told me she did.

Tis her family, I say, as if that explained everything.

I thought you was her family, he says.

I do not know how to proceed with this. C takes him in hand & we go to the kitchen where a bale of sweets is arrayed upon a silver tray. Silver for a lad but eight years old!

Fiona stands arms akimbo & beaming down upon him as if from On High. No, we will not taste her displeasure in the pudding, for her Great Pleasure is standing here before us in his suit, the scant sleeve revealing a thin arm as he reaches for a floury scone.

After lunch, he slipped down to his job in the dining room, where Liam did brushwork around the French doors, and window frames, and he rolled the wall opposite the painting.

Warm, humid; birdsong in the beech grove.

They didn’t talk much, though he sensed there was much to be said.