The Kilternan Legacy

by Anne McCaffrey

  “Oh, I suspect I’m useful as a gatekeeper, chucker-out, and odd-jobs body.”

  “Don’t believe him,” said Ann sharply. “He came back to take care of his mother when his sisters turfed her out as useless. You’ve a collection of outcasts in your cottages, Mrs. Teasey: unwed mothers, deserted wives, and”—she flashed another look at Kieron—“layabouts. And Tom Slaney’s been back again. You’re not even doing that job right.”

  “No, I threw him out on the roadway yesterday evening. Drink-taken.”

  “He’s only dared to be back here because he knew Irene was dead. She’d have the Gardai on him!” Ann said.

  “You know, I think my great-aunt was women’s lib!” I said.

  Mary Cuniff laughed, a very warm contralto sound. Sally Hanahoe was first startled and then giggled, but Ann Purdee looked upset.

  “No,” she said slowly, thoughtfully. “She didn’t like them all that much. She believed that when you had made a decision you had to stick by it. You had to accept all the responsibility for your actions and never blame anyone else. Like your mother spoiled you, or your father didn’t understand, or this or that. She felt that a lot of the women’s-lib movement was trying to evade responsibility by saying men put them down.”

  “Ann, you’re simplifying it again,” said Mary gently. “You know what a desperate situation we” [and she meant women] “have in Ireland. You know what I’m paid and what that lout Feeney gets, and I do most of his work.”

  “There, that’s just what Irene meant.”

  “Girls, girls!” said Kieron. “Sure and ‘tis the Sabbath! And that’s not what Irene meant.”

  “A squeaky wheel gets oiled,” said Mary, and from the look on Ann’s face I thought the next argument would be launched immediately.

  “Hey, Mom, look at me! I’m riding a horse!” cried my daughter as the circle Horseface had been following brought her around to where she saw me.

  Dutifully, and thankfully, we all went to the fence to make appropriate comments. Ann didn’t seem at all nervous that her children were in the keeping of an absolute novice.

  “Don’t bang so with your heels, Snow. And sit very straight. That’s better. Shorten your reins. You need more contact.” Ann slipped in under the rail and shortened the reins to suit herself.

  Kieron stepped closer to me and said in a quiet voice, as if commenting on the lesson, “You won’t be taken in by the relatives and their notions of how you should dispose of your property, now, would you?”

  “You own your house, so why should you care?”

  “Those girls’ve all had desperate hard times. They don’t complain, but it would be cruel to see what they’ve built so carefully together destroyed by that group of biddies.” He put his hand under my arm and led me away. I wondered what he’d look like without all the face fur. He had such nice eyes. He was guiding me toward the garden patch, as if we were discussing that. “You see, Ann can’t work away from home. There’s no one to leave the children with, and she’d lose her Deserted Wives’ Allowance. Not that it’s much. Sally works in the supermarket. She pays board to Ann for herself and the bahbee. Ann minds Molly for Mary, who’s a cashier at the Montrose. They all look after Mrs. Slaney, who’s a desperate poor creature, can barely see or walk …”

  “Would Mrs. Slaney be better off in a home?”

  “No. She knows us and all. Leave her be the while.” He glanced over toward Faheys’. “But them …”

  “Mr. Noonan’s getting them out. And how does George Boardman get into this queendom?”

  Kieron laughed. “Sure an’ haven’t you guessed yet?” His twinkling eyes enjoyed my puzzlement. “Irene was immensely practical too. Go on, give a guess.”

  “I can’t.”

  “I’m the tenor…” And when he saw my amazement: “Ann’s the soprano, Mary the alto …”

  “And George is the baritone? But Irene’s dead, why have a quartet?”

  “Why not? Long winter evenings, you know. No, now, I’m teasin’. Irene liked George, and Fahey’d turned so sour in his old age he was no more use to her at all. It’s only to be nasty he’s kept on there.” Kieron waved at the messy garden. “So when George offered her three thousand for the place, she told Mihall to get Fahey out. I’m not here as often as Ann makes out, and there should be someone about the place. You see,” and Kieron turned dead serious again, “there could be desperate trouble for Ann, and maybe Mary. We know Ann’s husband’s been looking for her when his ship’s in. He’s a right bastard, and he’d move in on her just so’s she’d lose her allowance, which she would do, even if he spent only one night. And he’d beat her again.”

  Not if Kieron saw him first, I heard plain as day.

  “Is he in Ireland?”

  “No, he took the boat.”

  “Took the boat?”

  “That’s an Irish divorce,” Kieron said with a bitter snort. “Fella takes the boat from Ireland to England and he can’t be forced to pay support for a wife in Ireland.”

  “Good Lord.” I wondered for a frantic moment if Teddie-boy might get some ideas. But Hank wouldn’t let that happen. “They can get away with that?”

  “Oh, indeed they can. The last time was two years ago, when she was pregnant with Michael. Winnie brought her here. The big cottage had just gone vacant.” He gave a wicked grin. “Never have figured out if Irene approved or disapproved of her girl graduates. But it saved Ann’s life, no question.”

  “You’re on her side?”

  “Don’t sound so surprised. Fair’s fair. Add to that, I owe the girls a trick or two.” A muscle began to jump in his cheek. “They cared for my mother until I got home.”

  I started to inquire about his sisters, pure curiosity on my part while Kieron was in this expansive mood, but a wild shriek interrupted me. It was only Snow, sliding off the shoulder of the horse. She wasn’t hurt; in fact, she was howling with laughter as everyone dusted her off and hoisted her onto Horseface again. We rejoined the others, and the horse dipped his soft muzzle into my hand, sort of inquiringly, and made the most endearing whicker. I patted his smooth nose encouragingly and said something affectionate. He snorted with more force.

  “He likes you,” said Snow, almost resentfully.

  “He thinks he recognizes my voice, that’s all. But I don’t seem to smell right.”

  “You do sound much like Irene,” said Ann. Then, as if she’d said too much, she turned briskly to my daughter.

  The littler ones had gone off to play with Molly Cuniff. Mary wasn’t anywhere in sight, but just then Kieron saw the two boys peering at the Mercedes and excused himself. That was just as well. I had quite enough to digest right now.

  If Aunt Irene had wanted to protect her subjects, it was logical to choose as successor someone whose ways were not as inflexible as the relatives’. But how could she be sure I’d not be as hard-nosed? On the basis of our names? Or an interest in G & S? Good heavens! Simply because one sang G & S didn’t necessarily mean one went along with their sniping at Victorian mores.

  I had just turned two eggs into the plate for my belated breakfast when Snow came bouncing in, declaring that she was about to expire from starvation. She was also full of incidental information.

  “Great-great didn’t like men—”

  “With Kieron on the property?”

  “—in general,” and her expression chided me for interrupting. “Particularly Irishmen. Can’t be trusted. Always believe the worst of a man and you won’t be disappointed.” She tried to snag a piece of eggy toast from my plate until I signaled her to make her own.

  “Was she crossed in love?”

  Snow shrugged. “Probably, but Ann said that she’d heard that Great-great always had a lot of beaux, and turned ‘em all away. Ann said it was because they were after her money, and she always said her money wasn’t for any man to drink up. Sally’s not married, didja know?” I nodded. “Mary’s been here since before Molly was born. Her husband was a bigamist, only he wasn
’t because the Church annulled his first marriage. Mary knew about that, but what she didn’t know was that the State didn’t recognize the annulment, so now she’s married only as far as the Church is concerned, not the State.”

  “Why doesn’t she get an annulment from him because he married her under false pretenses?”

  “I dunno. I suspect it costs money, and he went through most of hers and then started going with someone else and she found them in bed together—”

  “Sara Virginia! They haven’t been talking—”

  “Heavens no, Mother. They’re too square, but I can hear just as well as you what people don’t say. Anyway, Mary up and left him when she was seven months gone with Molly. I mean, gee, that takes real guts. Do you know what divorce Irish-style is, Mom?” asked my all-too-precocious daughter. “Taking the boat!”

  “Oh, you mean skipping to England, where the man doesn’t have to pay support?”

  “Oh!” That deflated Snow. “You were smart to be an American, Mom. Daddy can’t do that.” Her eyes widened. “Can he?”

  “I don’t think he could slip anything past Hank van Vliet.” It was easier to reassure Snow than it was to quell that niggle of fearful worry in my own breast.

  “Mommy, aren’t there any nice Irishmen?”

  “Heavens, yes. Look at Kieron and George and Shay and Mr. Noonan.”

  “Yeah! But there’s something that Ann doesn’t like about Shay Kerrigan.”

  “Ohhhh?”

  “She sorta tried to find out if he’d be coming around much. I told her you weren’t giving him any right of way, because you didn’t want a lot of traffic and ticky-tacky boxes lousing up the queendom, and that seemed to be what she wanted to hear. Then Sally appeared and Ann clammed up. Did you know Ann knits Arrans like zappo, it’s finished? Only the Deserted Wives people can’t find out, or they’d reduce what they give her. She does get medical free, but with the price of things going up so … Sally’s got a friend who’s a fisherman, and he always brings up a sack full of fresh-caught stuff Saturdays, and Sally brings in bruised vegs and stuff from the supermarket, but, honest, Mom …

  “So then when Ann heard we were all going to this relative tea this afternoon, she flipped. They had big notions of a clean sweep in this quarter before Great-great was even in the ground. And the relative who was supposed to get Ann’s cottage would only sell it anyway, because she’s already got a luxury-type bungalow in Cabinteely. And Ann didn’t say it, but she’s still scared you’ll change your mind, or you’ll be coerced by the death duties to sell hunks of the queendom.”

  Snow’s vivacity suddenly drained from her face, and she looked woebegone.

  “Sara Virginia, you know perfectly well I won’t. Certainly not to that crowd. But we do have to put in an appearance today. Besides, there’re the young people that Aunt Irene wanted to help. How’re we going to know who they are if we don’t go where they are?”

  “I hope they’re there. Unrelieved Great-aunts Alice and Imelda are indigestion-making. Ugh!” She gave an expressive shudder, but her spirits did not revive.

  Nothing will make me rise to battle stations faster than the need to cheer up Snow. I hurriedly distracted her by asking how we should redecorate the kitchen. This worked like a charm, although I wasn’t certain that Aunt Irene would have liked purple trim.

  “Fer Pete’s sake, Mother, are we always going to be dominated by what Great-great would have wanted, done, said?”

  “Well, no, of course not. I was just making—”

  “Definitely.” She ignored me and pivoted slowly about the room. “Purple in the kitchen, and we’ll find a purple design—they must have contact paper in Ireland.”

  Simon strolled in, saying that he was hungry and were we going out to dinner or did we have to wait to stock up at the tea.

  “What color do you want in your room?” Snow asked.

  By the time we’d figuratively redecorated the entire house—it was almost four o’clock, and we scattered to get suitably attired for the relative tea.

  Robert Maginnis drove a sober black Ford Zodiac. “Not that he drove it well,” Simon said later. For my own peace of mind, Robert Maginnis was a most pleasant-spoken, amiable man, with a ruddy complexion, a shock of rumpled white hair, and a very sweet manner.

  “By golly,” he said, “you do sound like Irene.” He placed a hand under my elbow to guide me to the car. “You put quite a fright up Melly, I can tell you.” I had to quell the twins with a stern eye, because his accent, not to mention his calling Imelda “Melly,” made the phrases rhyme. “Hope we won’t be too much for you all at one blow, like. We’re a long-tailed family, we are.”

  Uncle Bob, as he asked to be called by the time we were halfway up the Kilternan Road, was a beef merchant, buying from farmers, fattening steers, and selling to local independent butchers. He had a chain of meat shops, but said he preferred the buying end.

  “Gets me up early, like, to attend the auctions. Keeps me feeling young, y’know.”

  He was so affable, so jolly, so completely different from what I’d expected Aunt Imelda’s husband to be that I was glad he was so talkative. I was too surprised to do more than make the proper responses.

  I couldn’t have found my way to the Maginnis house, and whether I’d want to find my way back there again would remain a moot point. The house was distinctive, set in its own grounds, surrounded by fields and a high stone wall. We drove into the stableyard, past nearly empty hay barns and cattle sheds, onto a flagged drive that led to the two-storied house of such varied design that I guessed amateur architects had enlarged it to suit their particular tastes.

  We entered through the kitchen, which had been extended to incorporate a back room; the separating beams were a constant danger to six-footers, of whom there soon appeared to be many. There were seven people seated at the round table chatting with Aunt Imelda, who rose to greet us most effusively. Just as she was introducing me and explaining the degree of cousinship to the people at the table, Alice came barging in, two steps ahead of an anxious-faced Winnie. Winnie hovered for a moment, seemed to be reassured, and made off with the twins, whom she wanted to introduce to the younger set in the parlor. Uncle Bob was asking me what I’d like to drink. I thought tea or coffee, and there was a large guffaw from one of the men. I was then apprised that tea in Ireland does not necessarily mean the beverage tea; it can very easily—as this evening proved—be an excuse to have a party.

  One of the men at the table had risen when Alice and Winnie arrived—I couldn’t remember his name just then—and he took me by the shoulders and guided me to the seat next to him, rather beyond Alice’s conversational arc.,

  “I’m your second cousin at a couple of removes, Gerry Hegarty, and you stay by me and I’ll protect you,” he said, with an engaging grin and the most incredible blue eyes.

  “Watch out now for Gerry,” said the black-moustachioed man across from me, offering me a cigarette. “I’ll protect you from him.”

  “And who’s to protect her from you?” asked Gerry as he lit my cigarette, waving aside the other man’s lighter.

  “My wife!”

  “I’ll see that my dad doesn’t slip you any poteen,” said Gerry with mischievous solemnity.

  “What’s poteen?”

  “What’s that she says?” Gerry repeated as if amazed. “Sure and you don’t know what poteen is?”

  “Mountain dew!” said the other man, rolling his eyes wildly to indicate potency.

  Well, I knew what that was, so I eyed the drink set before me with suspicion. Gerry sniffed it and handed it back to me with a reassuring shake of his head.

  “Safe! Weak Irish!”

  Encouraged, I took a sip. “Safe?” I cried when I could speak again, wondering what form of distilled lightning I’d got.

  “Stir it” was Gerry’s suggestion.

  I did, and took a very cautious sip. Evidently no one had stirred the mixer properly: I’d got a mouthful of pure Irish.
r />   “You’ll not be telling me this is the first drink you’ve had in Ireland?” Gerry asked, having watched my performance with intent curiosity.

  I was framing a reply when I heard the black-moustachioed man speaking to Aunt Alice, who was leaning toward him with all the attitude of a private conversation.

  “Sure and I’ll have a chat with her soon’s Gerry gives me the chance. Isn’t that Maureen coming now?” And he pointed out the window.

  With that, Aunt Alice muttered something under her breath and then flounced off—if a woman of that build and age could be said to flounce.

  “What’re you and Mammy cooking up there?” Gerry asked the man.

  “Aunt Alice is your mother?” I was astounded, dismayed, and mortally glad I’d not had the chance to put my foot in my mouth.

  “I’m her bahbee,” he said draping his hands across his chest and giving me the eye, for all the world like a bashful three-year-old.

  “I’m Jim Kenny,” said black-moustaches beside me, “for I’m sure you’d not manage to remember all the names flung at you before. And I want to make one thing very plain to you.” He glanced over his shoulder to see where Aunt Alice was. “Nothing would get me to move out of my modern, unpaid-for, centrally heated, four-bedroom house in Blackrock to a cold hillside far from the delights of town.” As I stared at him, shock vying with relief, he went on. “I’m Maeve’s husband, and while she’s a darling girl an’ all, she will get caught up in those rainbow schemes of her mother’s.”

  “What we’re trying to say,” put in Gerry on my other side, “is that we know what she’s about,” and he nodded his head toward his mother, busy talking (and nodding in my direction) to two new arrivals. “And you’re not to worry. Never a soft word for Irene in her life, plenty of tears at the wake, oh my yes, and a different sort of noise altogether when the will was read.”

  The letter! “Oh, you’re the Gerry who’s to have the Mercedes,” I said, suddenly recalling Aunt Irene’s instructions.

  “Oh, no way. You’re the Irene that still has the Mercedes.”

  “No, I’m Rene.”

  “Praise be! It’s got so the very word ‘Irene’ puts any decent one of us running in the opposite direction. Seriously now, Rene, that car is a gem. Kieron did give back the carburetor, did he not?”