by Jan Karon
Laughter at the fishermen's table.
'By the way,' said Tom, 'when we registered our catch in the fishing log, we saw Tim Kavanagh's name, but no record of your catch.'
'Fishing log?'
'The fishing log by the dining room door. What was it, now, a fifteen-pound salmon?'
He felt the heat in his face. 'Good Lord! I thought I was signing the guest register.'
Laughter all around; he was laughing himself.
'Reverend,' said Liam, 'may I speak with you a moment?'
'Of course.'
'Excuse us, Mrs. Kav'na. Only a moment.'
They passed Pud, stationed at the door with his shoe, and walked up to the library. Coals simmered in the grate.
'I went out to the power box to see if I could make heads or tails of this thing,' said Liam. 'The lines have been cut.'
'Nothing to do with the storm?'
'No, no. Cut clean through.' Liam appeared stricken. 'I don't want to alarm the household; I don't know what to make of it.'
'Looks like you've enough candles to go around, and I believe you said the power company comes tomorrow.'
'But who would do such a bloody wicked thing?'
That was the trouble with being clergy--people often believed you knew it all. Then there were those who believed you knew nothing, which had its own set of aggravations.
'I'm sorry, I can't imagine.'
'Of course, of course, righto.' Liam furrowed his brow, dazed. 'But thanks. It helps to tell somebody.'
'Anything I can do?'
'Don't say anything, please; 't will alarm th' house. I'll try to get the ESB out first thing tomorrow, and the Garda, as well. 't is a right cod.'
Coffee was served in the library, where William had taken up residence at the checkerboard. Seamus arrived from his walk downhill, bringing a scent of pipe smoke and hedges into the room. He felt a certain completeness in this patchwork company.
'Figs are my favorite,' Cynthia said when Anna joined them by the fire. 'And your ice cream with verbena . . . I can't find words. It was the loveliest of desserts. Thank you.'
'So glad you enjoyed it. We want you to be happy here.' Anna lowered her eyes and said, 'I'd like to apologize.'
'Whatever for?'
'For Bella's attitude. She's not as gracious to guests as we'd wish. She's . . . in training, you might say. I hope you'll overlook any faults.'
'You needn't apologize,' said Cynthia. 'We shall pray for things to go well.'
Anna glanced up sharply. 'Yes. Thank you.'
'Your father is a handsome fellow,' he said.
'He's an oul' dote, yes. He was quite the prize-fighter in his day, and a fine storyteller when you get him started. He also likes to tell of seeing Mr. Yeats's funeral cortege when his body came back to Dublin in '48.'
William and Seamus had set up their board and were leaning over it, each with a pint by his elbow.
'Da has his one pint of Guinness each evening, as does Seamus. They're two of our more temperate guests.' He thought her smile engaging, a giving out of herself.
'By the way,' said Anna, 'how's your jet lag?'
'I thought we'd cured it with a long nap this afternoon,' said Cynthia, 'but I'm fading again.'
'Let's go up,' he said. He would finish the letter tonight and post it tomorrow with the drawing. Henry would be eager to hear and to see.
They said their good nights to all and walked along the stone-flagged corridor and up the stairs. Shadows cast by the chamber stick leaped ahead of them on the walls.
'This is a dash too Wuthering Heights,' she said. 'Maybe I'm ready for the power to come on.'
'Maybe I am, too.'
He opened their door and set the stick on the night table, grateful to see their bed had been turned down.
'Tell you what. I'm going to run back and get a flashlight, the one I used this morning wasn't top-notch. Back in a jiffy, okay?'
'Okay,' she said. 'Should I close the window?'
'Leave it open; it'll be good to have a little fresh air after the turf smoke.'
He had reached the foot of the stairs when he heard her scream. It pierced his heart like a knife, froze him to the spot.
Again, she screamed.
He was up the stairs and across the landing and up the second flight in what seemed an instant.
'My God!' he shouted into their darkened room. 'Are you all right?'
A pale light shone from the hall sconces; she was clinging to the bedpost.
'Are you all right?' He took her in his arms.
'A man in the armoire, he jumped out the window.'
'Are you hurt?'
'My ankle,' she said. 'When he came out, I stepped back and knocked the candle off the table, it was dark ...' Her body was racked by violent trembling.
'Reverend!' Liam with a flashlight. 'Did we hear a shout?'
'There was a man in the room, he came out of the wardrobe.'
'God above! Are you all right?'
'My ankle,' said Cynthia.
'Where did he go?'
'Out the window,' he told Liam. 'What's down there?'
'The herb garden. What did he look like?'
'He was covering his face with one hand,' she said, 'but I know he was tall. It was so dark ...' She shook like a jackhammer; her teeth chattered as he held her.
'I'll send Anna up, and get Dr. Feeney out to have a look--or should we drive you to hospital?'
'No, please. No.' She was crying, soundless.
'The candle is somewhere on the floor. Could you look it up and get a light going?'
'Righto. For th' love of God.'
The wick flamed; the room came dimly back to them.
'I'll ring the Garda. 't will alarm the house but can't be helped. I'm sorry, Mrs. Kav'na, Reverend, I have no idea . . . Jesus, Joseph, Mary, an' all th' saints.' Liam crossed himself, and disappeared into the shadowed smudge of the hallway.
He helped Cynthia to the green chair, his heart still racing, then turned to shut the window. The smell was familiar to him from his mother's Mississippi gardens--it was the heavy, languorous scent of crushed mint.
Seven
'There, now,' said James Feeney. 'Nothing broken as far as I can tell.'
The silver-haired, blade-thin doctor was seated on the footstool by Cynthia's chair, her foot resting in his lap. Several chamber sticks lit the room.
'But that's only as far as I can tell. It's swelling more than a bit. 'T would be wise to have X-rays. That would be best.'
'No, please,' she said. 'Can't I just stay off it awhile?'
'My best advice is for X-rays.'
'Please, no, I'll do anything.'
Feeney gave a kind of sigh. 'Then you must stay off it, of course. For some days. Perhaps a boot ...'
'No boot,' she said, dismayed. 'I just had one. I promise I'll stay off it.'
His wife was not known for being a model patient; the doctor's face registered frustration.
'You'll need crutches, then; I can lend you a pair.'
'Deja vu all over again,' she said, quoting a ballplayer whose name she could never remember.
'There's no way around the use of crutches unless you confine yourself to your room. And you don't appear to be a lady who enjoys confinement.'
'I'll use the crutches, of course. Thank you, Doctor. Will you forgive me?'
Feeney smiled. 'Absolutely. We'll do what we can and hope for the best.'
Through the closed window, voices in the garden below. An occasional arc of light glanced across the panes.
'Anna, bring a glass of water, please. Reverend, see that she's given one of these every four to six hours, as needed.' Feeney rummaged in his case, fetched up an envelope, shook out a pill.
'You should sleep well tonight, but the pain may give you a fit 'til the medication gets going.' The doctor stood and took her hand. 'As in most of our travails, Mrs. Kav'na, patience will be the best cure.'
She swallowed the pill with a long draught of
water. 'I'm a dab short on patience, Doctor, but quite long on endurance.'
'Can't I talk you into having it x-rayed? I could take you into Sligo myself, if that would help.'
'May I just see how it goes for a day or two?'
'Very well.' Feeney looked his way, amused. So this is what you live with, he seemed to say. 'I'm afraid you must give a few minutes to the Garda. They've done all they can without having their chat with the eyewitness. Are you up to it?'
'I am,' she said.
'I see you're reading the oul' journal,' said Feeney. He opened the cover, peered in.
'A page-turner, actually.'
Feeney laughed. 'Never had more than a minute or two to sit with it. Perhaps when I retire.' He closed the cover, hefted his black bag. 'Well, then, I'll be back with the crutches first thing in the morning, and of course, if you need me, give us a shout. Anna, why don't you stay with Mrs. Kav'na while the reverend and I have a moment?'
'Of course.' Anna's face was blanched. 'Thank you, Doctor.'
'See that the Gards make it brief with Mrs. Kav'na, she needs her rest.' Feeney kissed Anna on the cheek. 'Take care of yourself, Anna Conor, you're working too hard and we can't have you poorly. I prescribe two weeks in the Ibiza countryside. '
He went with Feeney to the landing. Murmurs, occasional merriment from the library. The scent of pipe smoke.
'She must stay off the foot,' said Feeney. 'Absolutely--I don't know what's going on in there. My guess is it's a sprain, but no way to know without the X-ray.'
'I'll see to it,' he said.
'I regret the terrible fright you've had. I've been a friend of the Conor family for more than forty years, and must say I feel the upset very keenly for all of you. While I'm thinking of it, your wife will need help on the stairs. Crutches are bloody suicide on stairs.'
'I'm wondering . . . we have family coming in a few days. They'll be at Broughadoon for a night, then we've a car trip planned.'
'Give me a notion of your itinerary.'
'A few cemeteries, the ruin of the Kavanagh family seat ...'
'Where is that?'
'Fourteen kilometers east and across a sheep pasture.' He knew the verdict already. 'Then Borris House, the Connemara coast . . .'
Feeney pulled at his chin. 'No, no, I don't think so. Not at all. But we'll talk tomorrow. By the way, do you play bridge?'
'Bridge? Roughly the same way I sit a horse.'
'And what way is that?'
'With great trepidation.'
Feeney chuckled. 'Once a month, Liam's mother has the local priest and myself in for lunch and an afternoon of bridge. We're always scouting for a fourth.'
He felt indebted to a man routed from his armchair at a late hour, to attend a willful patient. But, as for sitting at a bridge table, he'd rather have a root canal.
'Perhaps I'll think about it.' He shook Feeney's hand. 'Our warmest thanks for your kindness.'
'Hope you can join us day after tomorrow. Seamus turns out a fine lunch. 't would be champion of you.'
Feeney trotted down the stairs, passing Liam and the uniformed officers coming up. 'Try to make quick work of it, gentlemen. The lady has had a great fright.'
He felt her anguish as if it were his own--indeed, it was his own.
'Anything gone missing?' asked Liam.
'I did a quick search--don't think so.'
''t will be crowded in there. I'll just be in the hall if you need me, I'm tryin' to run down the ESB on th' mobile.'
He went in with two officers and a photographer from the Crime Unit and stood by her as they asked questions and made notes. Bursts of light from the camera flash lit the room.
Tall, quite tall, yes. He covered his face with one hand and it was very dark, only a candle burning, she had no idea what he looked like. She had no memory of his hair color--it seemed his head was covered in some way. He must have been young, as he was very quick going over the sill and out the window. She had come into the room only moments before opening the door of the armoire. When he bolted out, he'd thrown his other hand in front of him and struck her arm, all of which caused her to stumble backward and turn her ankle.
Had the Kav'nas discovered anything missing? They had not.
A Gard pulled on a glove and opened the right-hand door of the armoire. Peered in, closed it. Opened the door on the left--drawers only.
'Anything missing?'
'Haven't looked carefully, but don't think so.'
Cynthia speculated that the intruder had been in the room when he heard them coming along the hall earlier than expected, and had hidden himself in the armoire. The Gards speculated that the intruder may have been looking for easy pickings while the guests were at dinner, and since no one at Broughadoon had found anything missing, perhaps he was frightened off at the top of his rounds. Very likely, they agreed, the intruder had not singled out the Kavanaghs.
Was Mrs. Kav'na known to travel with jewelry?
Only her wedding band, a watch, a strand of pearls, two pairs of earrings.
Was Mr. Kav'na known to travel with cash?
No more than a couple hundred euros, in this case. And he always kept his wallet in his pants pocket, never in a guest room.
Had their room door been locked?
There were no guest-room keys at Broughadoon.
A Gard reported that the soil beneath the window was freshly raked of footprints; a rake was found propped by the gate which opened to a gravel path; the herbs beneath the window were trampled.
Had the Kavanaghs seen anyone in the hall? Noticed anyone suspicious about the place since they arrived? Would the Kavanaghs mind being fingerprinted, and having fingerprint work done on various surfaces in their room?
They wouldn't mind.
Cynthia leaned her head against the back of the chair and closed her eyes. Anna appeared at the door with a pot of tea. The travel club passed along the hall with chamber sticks, peering into the room and speaking in hushed voices. This would be a long night.
He stepped out to the landing with Liam.
'I asked them to dust the power box for fingerprints while they're at it,' said Liam. 'God's truth, I hate this for you. We won't charge you anything, 't is on th' house entirely.'
'Don't think about it, please.'
'Nothing like this ever happened before. We're a very quiet, very decent sort of place.'
'Of course.'
'Anything missing, Reverend?'
'I don't think so. Please call me Tim.'
'Ah, no. I've never called a clergyman by his Christian name, Catholic or Protestant.'
'Give it a try when you feel up to it.'
'Yes. Well. A whiskey, then?'
'Not for me, thanks.'
'Seamus has gone to fetch our Maureen McKenna to be fingerprinted. He said tell you he's ready to give a hand if needed.'
'I appreciate it. How are the other guests?'
'O'Malley's dead asleep in th' library; the other lads have signed off for the evenin'. As for the travel club, they thought th' Gards were real dotes in their new uniforms. So'--Liam shrugged--'they all took it in stride; I was afraid the women would be checkin' out. There'll likely be a wing chair or two pushed up to their doors tonight.'
'Anything missing from the rooms?'
'Doesn't appear to be.'
'I'd like you to know I'm praying about this. All of it.'
Liam looked startled. 'After my father died, I forgot that sort of thing--praying. I put it behind me. Some call it lapsed. As for me, Reverend, I'm pure fallen. Fallen entirely.'
It was a quarter to one when he reached to the night table and looked at his watch. It was close in the room--the body heat and commotion had churned up the peace of it--but he had no intention of opening the window.
He thanked God that nothing worse had happened tonight, and wondered again if they should have made the trip at all. From the very outset, their Ireland plans had been hindered by cancellation and delay, and now this terrible fright for her
, and pain into the bargain.
He listened for a time to her whiffling snore, a musical sort of sound, actually, which had always charmed him. She would make the best of it; she was good at making the best of things.
Across the Pond in Mitford, tourists were strolling Main Street, languid and bemused in mountain air far sweeter than the August haze they'd left behind. Dooley would have finished up his day as a vet's assistant, and gone into Mitford, perhaps, to take his three brothers and sister for pizza-with-everything. He thought of the tall, lanky boy with inquisitive eyes and the way he laughed and the way his laughter infected others. He prayed for Dooley's wisdom and discernment, and for the safekeeping of all the siblings, reunited after years of loss.
He had just found the sweet spot in his pillow when he felt movement beneath their bed. He lay frozen with alarm, listening.
Then, the rapid thumping sound, known to him as the Scratching of the Odd Flea.
'Pud,' he hissed. 'Come out of there.'
Eight
'I'm so sorry for all of it,' said Anna. 'Most guests would have been dreadfully upset by last night, and no power to boot. They'd be packin' up this morning, sure enough. You're a very kind man.'
He was often called kind, and never knew what to say in response. He certainly didn't think he was very kind--curious more like it, interested enough in what was going on not to complain of discomfort within reason.
'And then to have our dog sleeping under your bed. He's done it only once before--adopted himself out to a schoolteacher on holiday from Cavan.'
'I'm his first Yank, then.'
Anna smiled a little. 'We got him from a shelter. They said he belonged to a very hard man; Pud doesn't like the raised voice.' She sighed, then straightened herself. 'Still and all, I shall give you rhubarb every morning if that would make it up a bit.'
'No need to make it up,' he said, 'but I'll gladly take it.'
They sat at the breakfast table, waiting for Liam to bring out Cynthia's fry.
'How is Cynthia this morning?'
'She slept well, and was singing a little before I came down.' Where Christ is, Dorothy Sayers had said, cheerfulness will keep breaking in. A description, in toto, of the woman who shared his bed.
'Do you think she might like to move rooms?'