Jan Karon - In the Company of Others

‘Sit down,’ she said.

William sat.

‘Thank you for forgiving me, William.’ The tremoring. ‘As you might imagine, I asked you up for a purpose.’

‘I’d be keen to hear th’ purpose.’

‘I forgive you, William.’

William waited. ‘That’s all ye have to say?’

‘That should be enough.’

‘I’d thank ye to put a bit of shine on ’t, if ye wouldn’t mind. Is it th’ matter of bein’ a brute an’ lettin’ ye down which you’re forgivin’? Ye could try bein’ more…’-William chose his word-‘specific.’

‘Well, then. I forgive your brutish ways and selfish pride, William Donavan. I forgive your indifference to human suffering, your cunning deceptions, your careless betrayal, and until now, your refusal to admit any wrongdoing whatever.’

He was quiet for a moment. ‘An’ I forgive you, Evelyn McGuiness, of each an’ every one of th’ same, thank ye.’

They rattled down the lane after a cup of tea with Seamus.

‘That’s a mean oul’ woman,’ said William with some pride.

‘Aye,’ he said.

He was having a quick look at The Independent when Liam came into the library.

‘I’d like to know how it went, but it’s O’Malley on th’ phone-another bit for th’ lovelorn columns. Wanted your contact in th’ States; he’s thrilled to find you’re still about.’ Liam handed over his mobile. ‘Step out, you’ll get better reception.’

Out into birdsong and a mild breeze whipping up. ‘Pete!’

‘Tim, you lucky dog-still soakin’ up th’ best of th’ west at ol’ Broughadoon!’

‘Leaving soon.’

‘How’s Cynthia?’

‘Ankle improved. We’re seeing a few sights.’

‘Great. Just wanted you to know she’s still here.’

‘Aha. How’s it going?’

‘I’m afraid to say.’

‘Say anyway.’

‘Looks like she’s in for th’ long haul.’

‘You must be doing something right, O’Malley.’

‘I’m tryin’, Tim. Keep your fingers crossed.’

‘That does no good a’tall, I hate to tell you.’

‘Do th’ other, then, and thanks-thanks a lot. You an’ Cynthia try to get back next year, okay? I’ll bring Linda.’

‘Linda and Roscoe, and we might have a deal. What do you think did the trick? I might launch a scientific study.’

‘All th’ stuff you said, plus…’

‘Plus?’

‘Leavin’ tomorrow for two weeks in Ibiza.’

‘Keep up the good work,’ he said. ‘And Pete?’

‘Yo!’

‘Remember to listen when she talks.’

‘That’s the bloody hard part,’ said Pete.

He gave Pete his home number, returned the phone to Liam.

‘Looks like we’re in th’ marriage counseling business,’ said Liam. ‘How did it go up th’ hill?’

‘I suppose you could call it a miracle and be done with it. Or maybe an uneasy truce. They forgave each other, after a fashion.’

‘I never know what to say for all you do.’

‘I didn’t do it.’

‘We’ll call it a miracle, then, an’ be done,’ said Liam.

‘Any developments?’

‘God above, my head’s thick as plaster. Corrigan called. He wants us at the station tomorrow to make things official. Bella’s clear.’

‘Thank heaven.’

‘No previous record; she fell in with a bad sort, made some bad decisions, then had the guts to come clean about it, Corrigan says. He wants her to stay close for six months, and write a letter of apology to her mother an’ me. One to th’ Gards, too, who blew out time an’ money.’

‘A very fair man, to say the least. Does Cynthia know?’

‘She does. Bella’s with her now. They had Slade’s fingerprints from the Tubbercurry arrest, matched ’em with prints on th’ louvers, th’ light switch, all over th’ cellar. And here’s another gobsmacker. Lorna Doolin, the book writer, wants th’ Broughadoon job while we’re away. She managed a four-star inn in New Hampshire an’ can make a fry into th’ bargain. Bella’s after takin’ over dinner, an’ we think she’d be grand. What do you say, Rev’rend?’

What could he say? ‘Wow.’

‘But we have to shake a leg an’ go before th’ niece’s school opens. Lorna’s in training as we speak, ’t will be fodder for her next mystery, she says.’

‘She just missed the mystery!’

‘We didn’t want to be away if things, you know, don’t go well with… up th’ hill. I asked Feeney-he said such a chance won’t come round again, he thinks we should go.’

‘Anna knows the plan, then?’

‘She’s blown away.’ Liam rocked on the balls of his feet, eyes blue. ‘Me, too. Any advice for the oul’ second honeymoon crowd?’

‘Oh, just the usual. Be sure to listen when she talks.’

‘That’s tough,’ said Liam.

‘I know,’ he said.

‹Dear Fr Tim,

‹e-ticket, Biz Class, 11:00 a.m. Saturday, Dublin, non-stop Atlanta, express to Hky., details below.

‹Pray for Harold’s test on limp nodes.

‹This will come as a shock but I am retiring. Don’t worry you can still be my servant, ha ha. Call when home.

‹Vase ordered.

‹Love,

‹Emma›

He met Bella coming from their room. He realized that until now he had never seen her smile.

‘Good work,’ he said.

‘Thank you.’

He wanted to give her a hug, but he’d done that last night.

‘Dhia Dhuit, Bella.’

‘Dhia is Muire dhuit, Rev’rend.’

He didn’t show Cynthia the email.

‘We have this evening and tomorrow. Then up and away at six-thirty Wednesday morning. I’ll call Aengus.’

‘Busy, busy.’

He headed downstairs. By rough calculation, this was his thirteenth time on the stairs today. Like the rest of the common horde, they’d need a holiday to rest up from their vacation.

Their last hurrah.

‘The full Irish!’ Cynthia told Emily.

‘Make it two,’ he said.

Lorna Doolin was at the Aga this morning; she and Emily served them with a certain bravado.

‘Perhaps a mite long under the broiler, your tomatoes,’ said Lorna, using the short a.

‘That’s how we like them,’ said his agreeable wife.

Emily poured their coffee. ‘I read your books when I was a child,’ she said.

‘And how long ago was that?’

‘Ages ago,’ said Emily. ‘I found them really well done.’

‘Well, thanks very much. And you, Lorna, I hear you’re doing this two-week stint as research for a book.’

‘Hoping to refresh my lapsing memory of the innkeeping business. I’ve always wanted to set a murder mystery in a guest lodge.’

‘Nothing too bloody, I hope,’ said his wife.

‘Aunt Lorna loves blood and gore,’ said Emily.

‘Nonsense; I don’t like it in the least. It’s my readers who love blood and gore. Back to the States, then?’

‘First thing tomorrow.’

‘Will you want your fry?’

‘We must be out by six-thirty. Just coffee and fruit, thanks.’

‘I’ll have it on the sideboard at a quarter ’til six.’

‘We wish you well in your new occupation,’ said Cynthia.

‘I’ll relish it for precisely two weeks and not a moment longer.’

‘Running a guest lodge can be very taxing,’ said Emily.

They were off in the Vauxhall, the contents of the trug nearly overcoming the smell of motor oil and aging leather.

‘I thought Lorna looked confident in her hair cloud and borrowed clogs.’

‘Um,’ he said.

‘Whatever happened to child labor laws?’

‘Um,’ he said.

She gave him a look, itching for a clue.

‘You’ll get nothing from me, Kav’na.’

It was a morning the poets might easily call glimmering; their last morning of a full day in Ireland. In their time here, they’d seen very little, though somehow he felt they’d seen everything. It had been Blake’s ocean in a drop of water, a broad beach in a grain of sand.