Kilpara Page 10

  I tried to smile, but it was a bad attempt.

  “Your life be joined with hers now, Mast'r Ellis,” she said in a sad voice.

  Slowly, she turned and walked away. I watched her return to work, reluctant to move. There was something soothing about the methodical way the workers tended the fields.

  When I returned to the house, I decided to check on Mother before going to my room to wash up. Entering the corridor, I saw Trista Joyce, Seamus, and Eileen, arms loaded, going toward the back staircase that was closest to the stables. I was almost upon Mother’s room when I noticed a shiny object on the floor. I stooped to pick it up, recognizing it as the harp brooch Trista Joyce wore on her uniform. I was examining it when a murmur inside Mother’s room rose to a distinct sharpness. I hesitated where I stood.

  Mother’s words came cracked from raised forcefulness. “Don’t chastise me, Adam, for putting my family through this separation. I know all about separation and pain, remember? Sadie and I watched our own mother turn to skin and bone from this very disease when we were girls. Day after day, for months and years, we watched her fight the illness as it ate away at her. She begged God to give her relief and to take her soul. We begged God to keep her from leaving us—but she died anyway. We watched as she was fed, cleaned, and comforted. When she got really bad, we weren’t even allowed to be in the same room with her. Father’s orders. He isolated Mother to just one room and kept us out because he feared infection and contagion. We didn’t understand then that he was trying to protect us. We could only watch her through the keyhole. Can you imagine what that was like, Adam? I won’t let my boys or my grandchildren see me deteriorate that way. They’ve been through enough already with their father. With Francis.”

  “Your boys aren’t children, Ann,” Dr. Thompson’s voice responded calmly. “They'll comfort you and ease your ordeal if you let them.”

  “You're wrong, Adam. Haven’t you seen the pity in their eyes? It’ll get worse when I’m closer to—to—”

  “You have time yet. Let them share it with you. For the love of God, Ann, don’t embark on this journey.”

  “I've waited too long already. I must go. I won't let my sons, or their families, watch me worsen the same way I watched my mother wither away. My father grew old then, staying up nights searching for a cure, obsessing over it, and the hopelessness at the end left him feeling a failure. He had nothing left to give to Sadie and me after she died.”

  “Your father was a brilliant doctor, Ann. He discovered pain-killers and medicines that became world-renowned in our profession.”

  “The same ones I’m using now.” Mother laughed, her bitterness echoing into the corridor. “Ironic, isn’t it, Adam?”

  “You could’ve been a doctor yourself, Ann.”

  “Not in today’s thinking. You know yourself that they shun women in the medical profession. There's Sadie, better than any doctor she is, and she calls herself a nurse.”

  “There were times when I would’ve lost patients if it hadn’t been for you...”

  I stood paralyzed in the corridor. I remembered Dr. Thompson’s carriage coming for Mother, and Father urging her to go. She was gone sometimes for days, and Father explained her absence by saying she was helping a sick neighbor. Dan became even more fretful than Mark, Francis or I when she had to leave. He remembered being separated from her for long periods when she took care of Mrs. Frichard. Father consoled him, reassured him that she would come back soon. I knew Mother delivered most of the babies at Stonebridge and had tended to illnesses and wounds. But Dr. Thompson was inferring she had assisted him in even more important ways.

  “We saved a lot of lives together, Ann,” he said.

  Mother rasped loudly, and I could hear her struggling to get her breath under control. At length she said, “I’m helpless now, Adam. This consumption has finally gotten the best of me…”

  Her wavering words turned into a bout of coughing. I heard the chair move and Dr. Thompson’s voice urging her to spit. She recovered, and moments later when she spoke again, her voice sounded softer, regretful. “I don’t want to leave this world, Adam. I want to see my grandchildren grow into adults and marry and have children of their own. I want to see my sons mature into middle age. If only we knew for sure we’d all meet on the other side in eternal life. What a comfort that would be.” She heaved a shaky sigh. “But I’m talking gibberish. When our bodies fail us, it’s our time to go. I never gave much thought to time passing before. There always seemed so much of it. Angus and I always imagined we’d go back to Ireland; get back Kilpara. We struggled here at first, and then we inherited this property. That firmed our future so we did the next best thing; we built Stonebridge to look exactly like Kilpara. We felt safe here. There was so much turmoil in Ireland. Still is. But nowhere’s safe. We discovered that when our farm was plundered by Southern soldiers. When our sons went off to war, we lost Francis. Then Angus followed him to his grave because he was heartbroken.”

  There was a pause with heavy breathing after which Mother continued.

  “My family still needs me, Adam, and I want to stay. But if it’s a choice between spending what time I have left with them and sparing them pain—then I’ll spare them pain. When I leave they’ll remember me as I am and that’s how I want it.”

  There came another bout of coughing. I stood pressed against the wall, the conversation in the sick room hammering in my brain. I could hear Dr. Thompson’s chair being pushed back and the sound of his shoes on the floor. He was assisting Mother again. Unable to see him, I imagined a look of frustration and helplessness had overtaken his face. If he had a curable medicine at his disposable, he would have healed the physical and mental complications tormenting Mother’s body.

  Standing there, I marveled how she had convinced us this journey was one of remorse and sentimentality. The signs were there, if we had just looked past her stubbornness to leave and our unwillingness to agree with her. We were disputing the wrong argument. It was clear now she planned to keep secret her real motive to die in Ireland for our sakes. The evidence was in her refusal to bury Father at Stonebridge, her insistence that his coffin be interred in a Mausoleum at Hagerstown, and ultimately her resolution to make this hazardous pilgrimage to Ireland. She had known about her illness and its devastating consequences long before any of us ever suspected she was sick. She had waited until the last possible moment to leave Stonebridge, an obvious heart-wrenching decision to stay with us as long as she dared, conscious that she must go away to spare us anxiety and grief.

  “Adam, please say you understand that it’s better this way.” Mother’s voice was very soft now and I had to press closer to hear. “Sadie knows what to expect. She’ll be with me at the end. If I stay my sons will refuse to send me to a sanitorium out of a sense of obligation. You know the burden that will cause them, along with the torment of watching me die.”

  “What about Ellis?” Dr. Thompson asked, his voice deep with emotion.

  “Ellis lives for diversion. Ireland will be too dull for him. He’ll leave quickly.”

  “The boys don’t suspect then?”

  “No. I’m sorry to deceive them. I’ll write and tell them. Perhaps when they know why I did it, they’ll forgive me.”

  “I wish I could change your mind, Ann. Your sons are stronger than you give them credit.”

  “It’s for the best.” The chair creaked, and I knew Doctor Thompson had gotten up again to help her.

  I stood pressed against the wall, my emotions conflicted. I fought back the impulse to burst into the room and tell Mother I had heard everything. That Dan and Mark and I demanded she stay at Stonebridge. She already knew that’s what we wanted, yet she insisted on leaving. She feared our reaction to her suffering and pending death, but she professed absolute faith in her sister Sadie. Could she be right?

  I thought back to how Mark looked like death warmed over for weeks after he brought Francis’s body back to Stonebridge. How Francis’ death sent Dan on a r
ampage, tracking rebel armies, putting himself at the forefront of battle. The only thing that brought him back to sanity and reality was his commitment to Marian, his wife, and to their first-born son, Angus II. I wondered if there was no family obligation to bring him round, could he have become another casualty of the war. Could we have lost Dan, too? These same thoughts must have plagued Mother. And Father, who lived to work the farm and care for his family, took to moods of pensiveness after Francis’ death. Sometimes the spells lasted for days and even weeks, before he shook them off and returned to normal. As for me, I avoided Stonebridge after Francis’ death and even more after Father died.

  No sound came from Mother’s room now, and while my mind and emotions ran rampant, I no longer felt the urge to confront her. Quietly, I retired to my own room where I paced back and forth mulling Mother’s words over in my mind. I had to admit she had been precise about every detail even to the point that she knew I wouldn’t stay in Ireland. When I visited Stonebridge, I was always anxious to return to the city. She counted on my restlessness when she chose me to accompany her. She knew Dan and Mark would never leave her in the hands of strangers and would stay with her out of their strong sense of obligation.

  She had emphasized that my only duty was to deposit her into Aunt Sadie’s care. Before, that had made perfect sense to me, but now that I understood her true motives, I found myself wondering if I could merely do that. Her desire to spare the family heartache had awakened a protective tenderness in me that I didn’t know I possessed. I started to understand why she wanted to be placed in the care of her sister who would help her die with dignity.

  I had to find Dan and Mark and tell them. They had a right to know the truth. I rode out to Stile Valley and was disappointed when they weren’t there. In frenzy, I scoured the vicinity of Stonebridge with no better success. It was growing late and I concluded they had returned to their families for the comfort they needed to face Mother’s departure only a few hours away. Tired and hungry, I stabled Brazonhead. As I climbed the steps to the front door, it occurred to me that I was no longer reluctant to enter the house despite the sadness that lay within; it was as if a sense of destiny had already taken over. Pausing in the marble foyer, I began to wonder if Mother’s choice should be honored after all.

  Anxious now to see her, I hurried to her room. Dr. Thompson had given her a sedative. Groggily she wished me goodnight. “I love you, Mother,” I said. She struggled to focus but the medicine had taken effect. Tenderness washed over me as I thought about the strength she had shown throughout our lives and how her unselfish determination had left its imprint on us all. In her own unique fashion, she continued to place our welfare above her own. Devoted as Mother was, it was clear her decisions were influenced by unresolved yearnings for her own mother and father. Her desire and drive for permanence had merged with Father's determination to rise above adversity and provide for his family. Together, they had reproduced Kilpara, thus binding our ties to their forsaken homeland. She and Father had succeeded in assimilating the past, and in doing so had preserved our ancestry.

  It was dark outside, yet I felt too restless to sleep. I grabbed a bottle of rum from the library and slipped quietly outside following the path to the Wern River. The night air, the gurgling water hitting rocks just feet away, and the alcohol helped to calm my frayed nerves.

  I lay staring at the moon when I heard the noise some yards away. It came again. I jumped up just as the moon came out from behind some clouds. Turning toward the sound I saw the ebony silhouette standing on the bank just above white specks of cascading water. At first, I thought I was imagining things but then the silhouette came closer. I could clearly see it was Lilah.

  “What?”

  “Shhhh. Mast’r Ellis, it’s me Lilah.”

  She pulled the worn shift dress over her head.

  I blinked at the sight of her breasts, the softness between her legs, her strong hips. She put my arms round her and together we sank down onto the soft moss. I looked into her eyes. “Your husband…?”

  “He be sleepin.’ I know youse came here and I’s thinking we should say goodbye the same way we says hello.”

  “But?” I was already running my hands over her firm nipples.

  “Youse and me, we not be seeing each other again. I’s wanting to remember you and I’s wanting you to be remembering me.”

  “I’ll be back before you know it.”

  She didn’t reply, just looked at me sadly. Already, everything was slipping from my mind, and my senses were filled with her musky smell, the way she felt beneath me, her strong hips carrying me to ecstasy.

  Afterwards, we didn’t speak as I traced the beads of sweat on her breasts. She flashed her engaging grin and began stroking my back with the tips of her fingers. I fell asleep.

  I was surprised to awake to streaks of orange creeping over the horizon. I turned to shake Lilah awake but she was gone, only her musky scent lingered next to me. Fuzzily, everything came back to me crowding out thoughts of Lilah. I rushed back to the house, quickly freshened up and came downstairs. Dan and Mark and their families had already gathered in the Great Room. They looked drawn, as if they hadn’t slept at all. They talked softly about trivial things, everyone fearing to mention what was taking place.

  Simple conversation distracted us from the turmoil of Mother’s departure. I reminded Dan that the Travers planned to visit. He responded he had already penned them an invitation. Fearing this may be the last opportunity to change the events that Mother had set in motion, I began to feel the weight of her secret. I had to tell Dan.

  “Dan—I—er—” I began, struggling to verbalize my thoughts. I concentrated so hard on the words ready to spill out of my mouth that I flinched when an urgent tugging on my sleeve interrupted me. I stopped abruptly and turned to find Maureen trying to usher me aside. Dan squeezed my shoulder and walked away. I watched him leave. Forlornly, I knew if I didn't stop him, there would be no more chances to change Mother’s mind. Yet I couldn't bring myself to call after him.

  “You look strained,” Maureen said.

  I nodded. “I can’t seem to think clearly. I don’t know what the right thing to do is anymore.”

  She stood on tip-toe and kissed my cheek. “You’ll figure it out.”

  I smiled weakly. Her experience with Shanley and the secret we shared had formed a conspiratorial bond between us. Delving into her apron pocket, she pulled out a telegram and handed it to me. “I got this from Tom Townsend, the Travers’ groom. I’d value your opinion.”

  I glanced at the words. Tom wrote that he was informed he would be sent to Stonebridge on a mission to search out a suitable pony for the Travers’ grandchild. He wanted to know if he had Maureen’s permission to ask her father if he could come courting. He understood they had met under unfavorable circumstances, but hoped she could overcome that unpleasantness. A letter would follow to explain his intentions more fully.

  “Well?” Maureen asked quietly.

  “He did rescue you,” I said.

  Maureen’s eyes clouded. “I know. I’m afraid that every time I see him, I’ll remember...”

  “I’m sure he knows that's an obstacle. When you next see him, it’ll be here at Stonebridge. If you concentrate on his good intentions perhaps it will outweigh the bad memories, and you can truly make a fresh start.”

  “Maybe,” Maureen said. But she didn’t sound convinced.

  I had been aware since we arrived at Stonebridge that she was making a conscious effort to put the incident with Shanley behind her. Eileen and Seamus doted on her and that was what she needed to help her heal.

  “I’ll miss you,” Maureen said.

  “I’ll miss you, too,” I said and meant it.

  Eileen came in and announced Rengen and Seamus were bringing Mother down in a wheelchair. We went to meet them in the foyer as they brought the chair to rest at the bottom of the stairs. The silence and sadness was so thick, it felt as though Mother had already passed away an
d we were gathering round for her funeral.

  Farmhands crowded the front steps to see us off. Each of them touched Mother as she passed by. She smiled at them through a medicinal screen. At the carriage, she hugged the family in turn, uttering a special message to each of them. Dan and Mark were last, the strain of watching Mother leave evident in their moist eyes and tight lips as they struggled to hold back their feelings.

  It was still within my power to stop what was happening. I wanted to utter the words that could change things right here and now. They formed in my mind but got stuck in the back of my throat. Then, as Mother was helped into the first carriage, occupied by Dr. Thompson and Trista Joyce, she looked at me and smiled faintly. I could see how much effort this was taking. She would never see her family again, and while she was causing them great sadness, the alternative was more painful in her mind. Did I have the right to deny her decision? No, I didn’t.

  As I stood waiting for the second carriage to move forward, Dan walked purposefully past me leading Brazonhead. He took the horse's reins and tied them to the back of the carriage. Without a word, he laid his head against Brazonhead’s mane and caressed the horse's neck. He stayed there for a moment before turning to look at me. Not sure what all this meant, I waited for him to explain.

  “Brazonhead belongs in Ireland,” Dan said finally. “Take him there with Mother and Father. Let him taste the life that he was truly made for. He's Father's finest success and he belongs with them. I'm sure Aunt Sadie will find good use for him.”