Jan Karon - In the Company of Others

‘William’s not th’ best player you’ll ever come against, it’s th’ craic he’s after.’

‘Craic?’

‘Th’ fun, th’ blather.’

He was ready for fun and blather.

‘Oh, Rev’rend.’ Liam trotting after him as he started up the stairs.

‘I forgot to tell you I got into Da’s papers. Amazing what’s up there, your bit wasn’t hard to find. If you’ve got a minute…’

They met for a half hour in the library, where he took a hurried scramble of notes.

All previous gazettes would pale.

Forty-one

He’d just been down to speak with Anna, couldn’t find her, left a note on the kitchen worktable, and came back up, blowing like a mule.

A knock.

Lord knows he was afraid to open the door around here.

Anna with a hesitant look. ‘The nurse called, Reverend. She’s asking for you…’

‘Ah.’

‘… and for Da, as well.’

He heard Cynthia say something she hardly ever said. ‘Wow.’

‘I’ll be right along. Does William know?’

‘He does, he’s dressing. He’s-how shall we say?-a basket case.’ She smiled. ‘I saw your note asking about flowers-you mustn’t go to a florist, absolutely not. You may cut from the garden in the morning-best to wait ’til the dew is off-and take anything you like. I’ll have a trug on the bench, and clippers.’

‘Many thanks.’

‘They’ll stay quite fresh; Ballyrush is no distance a’tall.’

‘That will be good.’

‘Thank you for going up with Da,’ she said. ‘I wanted to tell you she apologized to me.’

‘Wonderful.’ Beyond wonderful. He thought Anna a beautiful woman, ever at a loss to conceal her feelings.

‘I believe she will do the same with Liam; it’s just that she feels great shame about her treatment of him, and ’t is harder.’

‘Can he forgive her, do you think?’

‘I pray so.’

He closed the door and turned to his deacon.

‘We need to get out of here,’ he said. ‘It’s time.’

‘Yes. Whatever comes, they’ll work it out. We can’t stay ’til everything is worked out, we’d be here ’til the trumpet sounds.’

‘Precisely.’

‘Why are we cutting flowers in the morning?’

‘Can’t say. It’s a surprise.’

‘I love-’

‘I know.’

‘So.’ She took a deep breath, exhaled.

‘So how about this? Dear Emma, We’re done. Get us out of here ASAP. Your humble and grateful servant forevermore.’

‘I would not say humble to Emma Newland, and definitely not forevermore.’

‘But it’ll be a pain, don’t you think, to get business class this time of year?’

‘For us it would be a pain. For Emma, ’t is her soul’s delight. She loves going up against large corporations of all kinds, not to mention the occasional government agency.’

In the kitchen, he checked his watch for the date.

‹Dear Emma, get us out of here Saturday a.m. and order the lg. vase my Amex.

Your grateful servant›

‘I forgot,’ said his wife when he came back to the room for his collar and prayer book. ‘Don’t say servant, either. Definitely not. She will take it literally for the rest of your life.’

‘Too late,’ he said.

He met Maureen in the hall with her laundry basket, gave her a kiss on both cheeks. ‘A miracle, her askin’ our William up. Miracles still happen, don’t they, Rev’rend?’

‘All the time,’ he said.

William gabbing, retying his tie, puffing up his pocket handkerchief as they rattled up the hill.

‘Looks like you’re preaching somewhere,’ he said.

William’s hands trembled. ‘She’ll be th’ one preachin’.’

Ireland definitely won the trophy for trembling, he reckoned, and yet another for lachrymose. A shelf full of trophies he’d give the old Eire.

William looked done-in. ‘I’ll be fair game for ye tonight, Rev’rend.’

‘We can do it another time.’

‘I’ll take a rain check, then, if ye don’t mind.’

Seamus answered their knock.

‘How is she?’

‘I’m afraid to say it.’

‘Say it anyway.’

‘She’s better. Aye. Some better.’

He crossed himself. William did the same.

‘Still a lot of pain,’ said Fletcher. ‘Some tremoring, some nausea-and the depression, poor love, is terrible. But she’s got th’ quick wit comin’ back, Dr. Feeney says, and a bit of appetite. She might really make it, Rev’rend, I believe she will, ’t will be a Guinness record! On the other hand, I remember hearin’ of an’ oul’ gent who got sober at ninety but it killed him for all that-he only lived a year or two.’

‘That’ll work,’ he said.

William hanging on to his cane for dear life.

‘How shall we go in, Fletcher? One at a time?’

‘She wants you both together.’

‘Joseph, Mary, an’ all th’ saints,’ said William.

He thought he could hardly bear again the sight of the splint, the cast; the entrapment of both arms at once.

‘Dhia dhuit, Evelyn.’

‘Dhia is Muire dhuit, Reverend.’

‘Where would you like us to sit?’

‘Please sit in the corner. Ask Mr. Donavan to sit by me.’

William fairly collapsed into the armchair. He took his place in the corner; Cuch got up, stretched, came and lay at his feet.

Evelyn’s hair dark against the pillow. She turned her head and studied William.

‘Ye oul’ bandit,’ she said.

‘Did ye see my portrait th’ Missus Kav’na done?’

No, no, William, back off that, for Pete’s sake.

‘I thought you might use it, sir, to keep the crows from your broad beans.’

William retrenching, clearing his throat, diving in. ‘I’d like to say I forgive ye for tryin’ to kill me, Evie.’

‘You, th’ bloody savage runnin’ off to disgrace an innocent girl you promised to marry-and you forgive me?’

‘Now, Evie…’

‘And no more callin’ me Evie, as if you deserved to put tongue to my private name.’

‘’t was meself give you that private name, remember?’

‘I remember nothing of the sort.’

William rethinking, giving his handkerchief a honk. ‘Well, then, to go on, if ye’d be so kind-I forgive ye for marryin’ th’ oul’ man an’ bearin’ his children an’ not mine.’

‘A fine husband you would have made, Willie Donavan, with naught to warm y’r bones but a ravin’ lunatic pride in th’ number of lives you maimed and squandered.’

‘I never killed a man, Evie, an’ maimed but a few.’

As far as they were concerned, he had vanished into the paper on the walls.

‘I forgive ye for th’ thankless manner ye showed when you were hard up an’ I bought Broughadoon,’ said William. ‘An’ that’s all th’ forgivin’ I can give ye.’

‘Has it occurred to you even once in that thick skull of yours to ask forgiveness of me? Had you no wrongdoing toward me?’

‘Well, then, if it’s come to that…’ William gathered his forces. ‘Forgive me for bein’ a brute an’ lettin’ ye down!’

Evelyn speaking Irish. Heated.

‘I don’t understand a word ye say in the oul’ tongue. I’m a modern man, Evie, a modern man. Ye’d be better off to say a kind word in dacent English, if ye don’t mind. ’t would be an improvement to your health.’

Way to go, William.

A long release of breath from Evelyn. ‘Reverend. ’

‘Yes?’

‘Bring me the Purdey.’

‘Oh, very sly ye are, with your blinkin’ wit. Still th’ sleeveen, I see, an’ you a woman up in years.’ William stood, huffed.

‘Sit down, ye oul’ gossoon.’

‘Why should I sit an’ be treated like an eejit when I’ve come with forgiveness of every kind, th’ same man who bought your hundred acres an’ a pile of rubble an’ made it lovely so as to give ye a dacent neighbor?’ William’s breath short. ‘An’ why did ye ask us up in th’ first place, as if we had nothin’ more to do than take th’ lashin’ of your desperate tongue?’