Kilpara Page 19

  I waited anxiously. Would Purcenell make the association between my story and Aunt Sadie’s request? There was no recognition in his gaze. He just looked at me with intense distrust.

  “If this nonsense is true, you’re Irish then,” he said.

  I paused. I had to tread carefully. “I’m American born.”

  “Are you staying at St. Bridget's because your mother’s ill, or because you want to buy the quarry?” Sloane asked.

  I decided to focus on the first part of his question and downplay the second part. “My mother needs medical care which she’s getting at Mercy Hospital. The clergy were good enough to allow us to stay in the visiting quarters at St. Bridget's for a generous donation, a goodwill gesture.”

  The tension held while everyone digested this explanation.

  “What's your business in America?” Thornton asked.

  Without hesitation I said, “I’m a partner with Emmons Acquisition Agency.”

  “And your mother’s name?” he probed, pulling out his pipe.

  I drew a deep breath. “Burke, Ann Burke.”

  Purcenell looked blank. The name meant nothing to him.

  “Burke—Burke—Burke.” Thornton rolled the name off his tongue.

  “Burke’s a common name in Ireland,” Sloane scoffed.

  “Her father was Dr. Victor Burke,” I said. Again I watched Purcenell’s face for recognition, but there was none. He was not making the connection. I guessed that Mother’s father had limited association with the landed English aristocracy.

  I started when the Royal Physician said, “Yes, yes, of course. Victor Burke, the well-known medical researcher. He worked to find cures for incurable illnesses. He made immense contributions to medicine, particularly in the area of tubercular disease.”

  Thornton took a sip of his drink. “What’s your horse’s name?”

  “Brazonhead.”

  “Never heard of him.”

  “He’s never run a race.”

  Thornton turned to Purcenell. “You claim Pandora can’t be beat. Perhaps you should humor this young man’s challenge. After all, some unknown horse is no match for a champion.”

  Purcenell puffed out his chest with pride upon hearing the physician praise Pandora’s champion status. He stepped into the middle of the group enjoying this moment of glory. Walking around in a circle, he looked into faces of the expectant patrons. Then tossing back his head, he guffawed loudly. “So you want to race some unbridled animal yourself against my Pandora, now do you?”

  “That's my offer,” I said.

  “You know, you’re no jockey?”

  “I do.”

  “Jockeys are especially trained for horse racing.”

  “I know.”

  “Yet you expect to race this animal yourself?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you think you can beat Pandora?”

  “I’m counting on it.”

  Purcenell roared, slapping his knee with his free hand. “You’ve got guts, lad,” he said when he got control of himself. “Indeed some might even call it stupidity.”

  The audience joined in the laughter.

  The rush of adrenaline I’d been feeling subsided and I began to think more rationally. Purcenell was right, I was no jockey and Brazonhead was no Pandora. The odds were against me that I could pull this off. Looking round at the mocking faces, I knew I couldn’t back down now even if I wanted to. They’d run me out of town. I was in this race and there was no way out. All I had to do was convince myself I could win. I had to. So much depended on it.

  “What’s your wager?” Purcennell asked catching his breath.

  “Two thousand pounds. Against Kilpara.”

  “Good God!” Purcenell’s eyebrows shot up. “When the American decides to lose, he loses big.” He looked at Sloane. “If I keep increasing my fortunes, I’ll never have to worry about my daughter’s future or Kilpara’s either. Pandora is making me a rich man.”

  “Is it a deal?” I asked.

  Purcenell hesitated for a moment. He looked at the grins on the faces around him. “Deal,” he said firmly. “Draw up the papers.”

  “Three weeks from today at Ballybrit.”

  “Agreed,” Purcenell said, “documents in hand.”

  Gully Joyce flashed me a conspiratorial look when I mounted the carriage. After we arrived at the convent, he danced around looking like he would burst if he didn’t speak. I wasn’t in any mood for a discussion with the little man, but I could tell he’d persist if I ignored him.

  “What’s on your mind?” I asked

  “That was some story ye told them back there at the Traveler’s Inn,” he said. “I know what you’re up to.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I was restless waiting outside for ye with the carriage, so I snuck into the gentlemen’s lounge to see what was keeping ye. I heard what ye proposed.”

  I had forgotten about Gully, sure that he and his friends were occupied in the small pub not far from the Traveler’s Inn. He could have challenged me and made things uncomfortable. So why hadn’t he? Did he hope to blackmail me?

  “And?” I prompted.

  The little man beamed. “I guessed ye were trying to get Purcenell into a race so ye could win Kilpara back. I have to say, I admire ye, sir. Ye took an awful chance, almost set yourself up to get mobbed. People ‘round here don't take kindly to strangers that lie. But if I say so meself, ye lie as convincingly as anyone I’ve ever seen. Sure you’ve a right gift for the gab.”

  I frowned and Gully continued quickly.

  “Who would’ve dreamt it, an O’Donovan reclaiming Kilpara. This’ll give people ‘round here something to cheer about. Get rid of that pompous boasting fool, Purcenell.” He rubbed his hands in glee. “Still, he’s a far better cry than the Sloanes. They’ve no sense of the people at all, those ones.”

  I didn’t pursue this discourse but went instead to Brazonhead’s stall and opened the gate. Brazonhead came out and nudged me.

  Gully picked up a pitchfork and threw down some hay. “The O’Donovans always treated the people fairly,” he said. “They took good care of us. Not like these implants that raise rents whenever they please and throw people out of their homes.”

  “The O’Donovans lost Kilpara. They were squeezed out by the British. The people suffered regardless.”

  “True kinsmen, the O’Donovans were,” Gully protested, ignoring me. “Sure, weren’t they forced into exile? Suffered themselves, rather than put more burden on their poor countrymen. And your grandparents reduced to that small cottage. The elder Purcenell was worse than the present one. Jeered, your grandfather, he did, and treated people beneath him like dirt. He would’ve done worse if he hadn’t feared them. A coward of a man, so he was. Had to beg the Crown to protect him against his own tenants; and they did at first. But then, they told him to manage his own affairs. 'Do what ye have to, to control the Irish bastards,' is what I heard they said. Many's the time people thought about quietly murdering the old man.”

  “What I proposed back there is a long shot,” I said. “You do know that.” Saying the words made me realize how desperate I had become.

  Gully surveyed me from head to toe. “We’ll fix that. Anyone can see you’re no jockey. Still, ye have the element of surprise. Purcenell has never seen Brazonhead. He’d take a different view if he had, and the way ye ride. You’re a team if ever I saw one. I’ll teach ye a few tricks. There’s an unused track near here that’s similar to Ballybrit. Ye can run Brazonhead on that so he’ll be familiar with the feel of the ground. Pity you’re so tall; and heavy.”

  He went outside and began unhitching the horses from the carriage. I stood looking after him. I had held back telling him that no matter what the outcome, I didn’t intend to keep Kilpara. I just wanted to possess it long enough to get Mother her wish. After that I was returning to Baltimore.

  I put Brazonhead back in his stall. That night I dreamt of running along the beach with Morrigan and
feeding ducks by the stream called Kilpara River.

  I was finishing breakfast when a grim-faced Aunt Sadie came in and sat down.

  “Is Mother all right?” I asked.

  “She’d like to see you after breakfast,” Aunt Sadie responded. “She’s very industrious this morning. But I'm here to talk to you about another matter.”

  I gave her an innocent look, which didn't fool her.

  “Gully Joyce believes I have power over his soul, that I can damn him to hell,” she said. “He's terrified of the thought, so his conscience prompted him to come and see me with an extraordinary story about a plan to win back Kilpara.”

  Silently, I cursed Gully Joyce for his superstitious streak, his belief that Aunt Sadie could pardon evil and reward goodness.

  “He asked me to have a chat with God about some race,” Aunt Sadie said. “I made him tell me everything. He said you wagered a large sum of money on—umm—Brazonhead to race against Purcenell’s horse. This is irrational, Ellis. You could get hurt, and lose a lot of money as well. Call this whole thing off. Please.”

  “And do what, Aunt Sadie?” I said levelly. “I haven't made much progress with Purcenell and time is running out. Even if I did manage to talk to him, you said yourself he probably won't listen. There's a real good chance he'll throw me off Kilpara when he learns I’m an O'Donovan.”

  “It’s a lie, Ellis. No good ever comes from lies.”

  “And how far has the truth gotten us? Nowhere. Yes, it’s a risk. But what other way is there? Tackling Purcenell’s pride. His vanity. That works!”

  “Ellis, you can't profit from tearing another man down. It's sinful, so it is. If you do win, have you thought about the consequences, and your responsibility to the decent people of Brandubh? They're simple and trusting. They’ll blindly put their lives in your hands because you’re an O’Donovan. If you get what you want, have you thought about them when you leave to go back to America?”

  “Whatever happens, Aunt Sadie, they'll be better off than they are now.”

  “I know you mean well, Ellis.” Aunt Sadie put her hand on my arm. “There’s so much you don’t understand.”

  “My concern is to make sure Mother and Father are buried at Kilpara. After coming so far, I won’t settle for less. It’s all that matters.”

  Sadie squeezed my arm. Without saying another word, she left and walked rapidly toward the convent.

  I stood, staring after her for a long moment.

  I went along to Mother’s room. Her appearance was improving at last after the shock of visiting her family home, but she still looked fragile. She didn’t let this deter her, however, as she dictated to a young nun who sat by her wheelchair quietly writing.

  “I’m asking Dan and Mark to come to Ireland,” Mother said.

  I let my surprise show.

  Her gaze filled with longing. “I’ve made a terrible mistake, Ellis. I thought letting you boys watch me die was the worst thing I could ever do to you. It’s taken a look into the past to realize I was wrong. You and your brothers should decide for yourselves how much you can bear. I’m telling them everything about this illness and the realities that go along with it. I’m letting them know how bad it’ll get and what precautions Sadie must take to protect both them and me as I get worse. They can choose for themselves if they want to come to Ireland.”

  It had crossed my mind that her words were a prelude to discussing my return home. I recalled how emphatic she was at Stonebridge and again on The White Lady that I go back home immediately. I had managed to avoid the subject since our arrival and had several excuses ready if she broached it. I knew I wouldn’t leave her and it gladdened my heart when she continued.

  “Are you in a hurry to go back home?” The question sounded like a plea.

  I took her left hand in mine. “No, Mother, I'm not.”

  She squeezed my hand. “Good. I've suggested to your brothers that they hire an overseer to take care of the farm for a few months, should they decide to come to Ireland.” Tears blurred her eyes. “I never should’ve left Stonebridge, the way I did. I thought I was sparing them—their families—you—from the dreadful consequences of this illness. I didn’t want you to go through what I did with my mother, to be haunted by those same painful images. Mother’s death hung over me all my life. I never wanted you to experience that agony, especially after everything you've been through with your father and Francis. I thought that by coming here I could at least spare you that. I want to make amends.” A fit of coughing overtook her and she released my hand. The nun quietly stood and held her shoulders until it was over.

  I waited. Tears edged down her cheeks. Gaining control she said, “I know Marian and Sarah can’t come with your brothers. The children need them. At least my grandchildren won’t witness my deterioration. They’ll remember me how I was. When they’re old enough to understand, Dan and Mark can explain everything to them.” Her gaze became pensive. “Perhaps I’m selfish to expect Dan and Mark to leave their families, but I want my three sons here with me when I ease from this world.”

  I nodded. “They’ll come, Mother. We’ll be right here with you.”

  We sat without speaking after that. Sadie had been right. The visit to the family homestead had brought about a change in Mother. She had come to terms with her past in a way that would never have happened at Stonebridge. Seeing her old home after so many years had dulled the painful memory of losing her mother and allowed her to examine its effect more clearly. Somewhere in her discovery, she opened herself up to her own family. She was allowing us to face this illness with her, if we wanted, and to share its burden. We were going to work through the separation of death as a family.

  “I’m not going anywhere, Mother,” I said quietly. “And I’m sure Dan and Mark will find a way to be here, too.”

  She patted my hand. “That would be nice. You're such good boys and I've made such a mess of things.”

  “You were only trying to protect us. Let us help you now.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Gully Joyce was trotting Brazonhead around in circles outside the stables when I arrived there next morning.

  “Getting him loosened up for the race,” he greeted me when I joined them. “These exercises will help. Let’s run him this evening and see how he does.”

  The man had obviously made himself my self-appointed trainer. In different circumstances I would have resented his assumption, but since he’d been a jockey once and was knowledgeable in matters concerning racing and racecourses, I accepted his help gratefully.

  Nodding my consent, I borrowed one of the convent horses to ride on the beach. Cantering at an easy pace, I faced the reality of my chances of winning against Pandora. If I had the good fortune to succeed, I would become the temporary owner of Kilpara until after Mother—until after she— My throat tightened thinking of Mother. Kilpara was her past, but it would never be my future. The best I could do would be to return the estate back to Morrigan and her father, adding certain provisions for Brandubh’s tenants.

  I thought about Dan and Mark and tried to imagine their reaction to mother’s invitation. Would they leave Stonebridge and come to Ireland? I wanted badly to talk to them, to tell them everything that had happened in the short time since our arrival.

  I was so engrossed in my thoughts that I was almost upon the fair-haired figure standing in shallow water before I realized it was Morrigan. Her skirts were hiked up and her hands were buried beneath the water. She laughed softly at something below. Seeing her, I was immediately mesmerized, forgetting about Mother, Kilpara, my brothers.

  She looked up, shielding her eyes with her hand. As I drew closer, a welcoming smile spread across her face that warmed my heart. I dismounted and she came out of the water.

  “Hello, Ellis,” she said, letting her skirts drop over wet legs.

  “I didn’t mean to disturb you,” I said.

  “I was amusing myself in a silly pastime, one I’m sure you’d find childish. Her voice
was full of amusement.

  “What is it?”

  “Take off your boots and socks, roll up your pants, and I’ll show you.” I must have looked surprised for she laughed. “Unless you care to go into the water fully clothed.”

  Curious now, I obeyed her command. With pants rolled up to my knees and my feet bare, she took me by the hand and led me into the shallow water. I felt the smallness of her palm in mine, its smoothness, its softness, her touch. Low waves murmured past us.

  “Look,” she said, as schools of tiny fish swam about our legs.

  “What are they?” I asked.

  “Minnows. See how they swim close to the sandy bottom in schools, like families. And watch.” She walked between them. They went through and around her legs and rejoined on the other side. “Watch this.” She bent down and laid her hands on the sand beneath clear shallow water. She waited. When the small fish swam her way, she cupped one. “See,” she smiled, opening her hands, and the tiny fish that wasn’t more than an inch, squirmed on her open palms. “Poor little fellow won’t last long out of water. They’re harmless and amusing to watch.” She put the fish back in the water. He wriggled, seemingly confused at first then swam off with purpose.

  She looked at me. “You try.”

  “Looks easy,” I said. It couldn’t be any harder than catching crawdads in the Wern River. But I was proven wrong. Each time the small fish swam by, I tried to snatch one. They managed to slip between my fingers or through my hands.

  Morrigan giggled at my antics, her lightheartedness lifting my spirits. After some minutes of thrashing about the water, I admitted defeat.

  “Let me help you,” she said.

  Taking my open palms in hers, she laid them gently under the water flat against the sand. “Here they come,” she whispered, as the minnows swam toward us. When they were centered above our hands, she swiftly cupped them shut. We straightened up and two small fish squirmed in my open palms. “A pair,” she said, examining the wriggling fish, their gray coats slimy, their pink eyes shocked.