Jan Karon - In the Company of Others

‘Paddy’s innocence will help your mother.’

‘Paddy, for God’s sake! I hope it teaches him a lesson, to spend time in th’ slammer.’

‘Did they release him?’

‘They’re holdin’ him ’til we take Bella in for a statement. He deserves a bloody fortnight in th’ can, just on general principles.’

He laughed. Liam laughed. Laughing was good.

‘Any fingerprinting done yet?’

‘They didn’t find Paddy’s, an’ Seamus’s were only around th’ light switch an’ furnace box. They’ll keep working.’

‘You’ll put in a good word for Bella.’

‘No question,’ said Liam. ‘Beg if we have to. I think she’s turned a corner, we mustn’t let it count for nothing.’

‘Amen. And is there, by any chance, what we call a chain of title for Catharmore? Would Paddy have it?’

‘I have Da’s papers, they came with his library. He was pretty meticulous about records. Endless fishing logs, correspondence with his solicitor, that sort of thing. Why?’

‘Curious. Reading the journal has us interested in how things fell out for O’Donnell and his crowd.’

‘Can’t do it now but I’ll give a look. We have a loft room where all that’s stored. I need to get up there anyway, for the provenance on the painting. Da made quite a thing of it, several pages on Barret, Sr., that I haven’t read in years. A must-do.’

‘How’s Anna this morning?’

‘Grand. Having breakfast with Bella in Ibiza, then we’re off to th’ Garda station.’

‘Ah, Ibiza.’

‘I’m takin’ Anna to th’ real place, Rev’rend.’ Liam grinning. ‘For two weeks. Don’t say a word to a soul, especially Maureen, she’ll shout it from th’ rooftop.’

‘Scout’s honor. When would this happen?’

‘As soon as we see how things come around.’

‘You mean with Bella?’

‘And with Mother.’

‘Who will mind the store?’

‘God above, I’ve no idea. If I waited ’til that was sorted out, we’d never leave th’ car park. It’s only fourteen years we’ve talked about it. I’m lookin’ in Riverstown for someone cheerful to manage th’ place.’

‘Thumbs up,’ he said. ‘What’s that sound?’

Wings threshing the air overhead. He looked and saw the great white bird flying above the beeches, then another, and another; heard their snorting cry and the sound of their terrible wings, like a contraption designed by da Vinci.

‘’t is th’ swans goin’ over,’ said Liam. ‘They fly about now and again-to exercise their wings, it’s said. Clamorous wings, Mr. Yeats said.’

Another and another, their orange beaks and black masks against the blue sky…

He was five years old, his mouth open in a gape, heart pounding. Back up the stairs, then, and out of breath with the morning gazette:

He’d seen swans flying, he said. You can hear their wings working. They creak.

The Conors would beg the judge or whoever they had to beg for the best decision for Bella.

Liam had laughed-out loud.

And here was the cover story, the best of the breaking news:

Liam was taking Anna to Ibiza as soon as things settled down and they could find someone cheerful to manage the place.

‘Don’t look at me,’ said his wife.

The old boatman was nowhere to be found, though a small boat was drawn into the reeds.

Out of the car with the art hamper, stumbling about to find a stone to sit on, and the ensuing sketches of A Boat in Reeds at Innisfree.

‘Very small,’ he said of the island. ‘Clearly no human habitation on it, and too densely wooded to walk about, anyway.’

‘Yes, but on the other hand, midnight’s all a glimmer there, noon is a purple glow, and evening is full of the linnet’s wings.’

‘You have a point,’ he said.

A warm day, the midges out in great number. They found Tobernalt at once serene and celebratory. Visitors were inclined to leave ribbons, beads, trinkets of all sorts hanging from every bush and tree. Coins slept like fish at the bottom of a clear pool, people spoke in whispers or not at all. And all the while, the cool, natural spring burbling up in the heart of the ancient forest as it had done long before St. Pat-rick first arrived as a slave boy.

They prayed for those at home, both here and abroad, for safe travel whenever that might be, and for God’s richest blessing upon the Eire and its people. Though against everything in his nature, not to mention the Scout’s oath to leave things better than they were found, he wanted to offer something, too-something beautiful, from the heart, not bought over a counter.

She went through the hamper to no avail. He went through his pockets and found the Connemara Black with its feather from the crest of a golden pheasant, dark fur from a seal, and beard hackle from a blue jay.

He held it in the palm of his hand and she put on her glasses and looked at it again. ‘So delicate and beautiful. Are you sure you want to leave it?’

He couldn’t say why, exactly, but he did. She sketched it-for posterity, she said-and he hung it on the smallest of twigs and thought it handsome there.

Balfour’s pile was a shock of sorts, though Cynthia had known for some time what had happened.

‘A terrible fire,’ she said, ‘on Christmas Eve of 1873. No one died, but it spread to the stables and…’

And there was the ruin of it, dark against the afternoon sky.

‘All flesh is grass,’ she said, ‘and architecture, too.’

‘Do you want to sketch it?’

‘No.’

‘What did Fintan have to say about it?’

‘That it grieved him for the Balfours, and for the lovely horses.’

‘When you read ahead of me that time, what did you learn about Eunan, what became of him?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I only read about the fire and how people hereabout picked through the embers and found food stored in the cellar still edible.’

He took Cynthia to their room and went down to find Liam, who was repairing the hinge on a shutter.

‘Thomas Jefferson said, It’s wonderful what may be done if we’re always doing.’

‘Just foostering about,’ said Liam. ‘Dinner is easy tonight. Poached salmon, a few roast potatoes. How was your day?’

‘Good in every part. How did it go at the Garda station?’

‘They haven’t released Paddy, they’re pursuing his tie to Slade. A Gard had a chat with Jack Kennedy, who remembered that Slade and Paddy had knocked back a few together.’

‘When was that?’

‘During the time Slade worked at Broughadoon. ’

‘What do you think?’

‘Paddy admits he had a drink with Slade, who was already there when he came in. A total of thirty minutes, he says, and Jack Kennedy agrees. Paddy says they talked about the economy, nothin’ more. Paddy says he has no idea how th’ painting got in th’ cellar-his fingerprints aren’t on it, that’s one bit out of th’ way. I don’t know, Rev’rend. As low as Paddy can be, I’d rather think he had nothin’ to do with it, though there are times I’d like to see him rot somewhere.’ Liam looked down, kicked at the gravel. ‘But he’s my brother, for God’s sake.’

‘How did Bella do?’

‘She was wonderful. Really sharp and clear. Terrific.’

‘What do you think is next?’

‘Corrigan was very touched by her confession, it seems. He has a daughter her age. We don’t know. He says keep her close by, they’ll get back to us.’

‘What’s your gut on it?’

‘No way to know. She has no record, she’s clean. That helps.’

‘Your mother?’

‘Anna went up with a jar of her famous chicken soup. Says Mother took a little an’ it didn’t come back.’

‘Good,’ he said. ‘I’d best go to the room and get myself ready for the big game tonight.’