Kilpara Read online

  “Sorry, I missed you last night,” Dan said his blue eyes serious. “Got tied up with foaling and didn’t get back to the house till after dark. You’d already turned in, so I went on home.”

  “How did you know where to find me?”

  He grinned. “You’re easy to track.” Brazonhead neighed his protest. “Okay, okay,” Dan relented. “I looked for you at the house and when you weren’t there, I rode up to camp. Rengen said you’d taken off on Brazonhead. He’s predictable. I knew where he’d go if you rode him out.”

  “I saw Mother,” I said, unable to avoid the subject any longer. “What’re we going to do?”

  Dan looked thoughtful. “Don’t quite know for sure.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me she was so ill?”

  “We tried, Mark and I, last time we saw you, but you were too busy carrying on with some young filly to hear.”

  “You should’ve made me understand,”

  “You weren’t listening.”

  “I would’ve come sooner—”

  “There was no point. Isn’t anything anybody can do.”

  “She’s talking nonsense. Wants to go back to Ireland to die.”

  “Yep, she started that after Father passed on. Then she took a bad spell and forgot about it for a while. She took it up again lately, seems more convinced than ever...”

  “It’s absurd. Crazy. She wants me to go with her, to take care of things. She’s irrational.”

  “The doc says it’s the only thing keeping her going. She always wanted to go back, Father did, too. I reckon she figures it’s time.”

  “We have to convince her it’s insane to go back to a country that robbed her and Father of everything. She needs to stay here where she can get better.”

  Dan looked at me sadly. “She ain’t ever getting no better. The doc says so. He checks on her every so often, gives her medicine for the pain. It’s all he can do.”

  “There’s got to be something, new treatments, specialists—”

  “Won’t do no good.”

  “I can’t go along with this screwed up mess. Everything’s falling apart.”

  “Yep,” Dan said, and mounted his horse.

  I did the same and we galloped back to Stonebridge House in silence. We were unsaddling the horses when Eileen came into the stables.

  “There you are,” she said. “The Missus is asking for all three of ye. Master Mark is waiting inside.” She frowned at my partially clad body. “Master Ellis!” she scolded in the same tone she had used when I was a child. “You’ve been in the river again.”

  Brazonhead whickered. She frowned at him and he had the good manners to bow his head in shame. “So it’s your fault, Brazonhead, I should’ve known.” She turned back to Dan and me. “Into the Great Room with ye,” she ordered. “Food’s getting cold. And Master Ellis, get out of those wet things, so I can take care of them.”

  Dan and Mark were already seated at the long dining table when I walked into the Great Room. I sat down beside Mark, and Maureen filled a plate from silver dishes on the sideboard, placing it before me.

  “So you’ve met Brazonhead,” Mark said, slapping me on the back by way of greeting. “Nice going little brother. You always were one to rise to a challenge. I see you haven’t lost your touch.”

  “It was a struggle,” I admitted. “I underestimated him.” I stopped, catching Dan’s intent gaze fixed on the family portrait hanging on the wall facing us.

  “Brazonhead’s tricky,” Mark said, not noticing. “Won’t let anyone ride him till they get the best of him.”

  I frowned at Mark who just laughed and continued his bantering. He avoided the subject of Mother altogether, but the seriousness of the situation showed when he and Dan exchanged glances. They shared the same worried look.

  It wasn’t long before Eileen came in and ushered us upstairs. Dutifully, we knocked on Mother’s door. It was opened by a tight-lipped Trista Joyce who gestured us inside. She quickly moved aside the moment I stepped into the room and peered at me nervously from beneath downcast eyes.

  Perhaps it was the daylight or maybe it was my brothers’ presence that made Mother’s room appear less ominous today than it had the previous evening. Heavy drapes were pulled back, the window slightly open allowing fresh air and medicinal odors to filter through Mother’s rose-scented perfume.

  She had rallied enough to take great pains with her appearance. Although her eyes and mouth were strained, she looked happier, evidence of a burden lifted. She smiled at us almost shyly and motioned us closer. Without hesitation, I sat beside her this time, taking her hands in mine. She took a deep breath and looked directly at Dan and Mark.

  “Ellis has agreed to accompany me to Ireland,” she said. “We’re taking your father with us. It’s what I want.” She looked uneasily at my brothers. “I know you disapprove of my decision.”

  “Mother,” I began tenuously, “perhaps you should get stronger first. Then attempt the journey when you’re feeling better.”

  Mother glared at me and tried to talk but started coughing instead. Trista Joyce rushed to her side with a basin. Mother coughed up phlegm, her face becoming flushed as she tried to catch her breath. I steeled myself from recoiling and sighed with relief when she regained control.

  After resting a moment, she turned to look at me again. “I don’t have much time,” she said soberly. “I want to go home. Back to Kilpara, with your father. It's what we always intended.”

  “This is your home, Mother” I said. “Ireland was a long time ago, another lifetime.”

  “It was yesterday,” she emphasized. “Stonebridge is your legacy. It belongs to all three of you now.” She looked at each of us, in turn. “When I pass on, you’ll be on your own, but never alone. Your father and I, though not here to count on, will be with you through the life we provided for you.” She paused, her breath coming quickly. We waited for her to speak again.

  “I beg you not to see my leaving as deserting the family,” she said, at length. “But as a return to the essence of our being. It’s my deepest wish to see, one last time, what sustained me throughout my life.”

  “But Mother…” I began. She raised her hand.

  “Ellis, I will go, with or without you. I want you to accompany me. Your brothers have responsibilities. They have families—” Her unspoken words ‘that’s how I prefer it,’ hung between us.

  The effort of her words brought on coughing again and Trista Joyce immediately to her side. I looked at my brothers who looked back helplessly.

  “Mother, I’ll take you,” Mark offered, agony in his eyes. Mother looked from Mark to me.

  “You can’t, Mark,” she said. “You can’t leave Sarah and young Erin by themselves, not with another baby on the way.” She touched a portrait of Francis lying beside her. “This land took his life. It owned him and it owns you, the same way Ireland owns your father and me. Ellis, you promised…”

  I sat quietly, unable to find the courage to refuse her. She took my silence for agreement and rambled on. Weak as she was she was in control, setting everything in motion, determined to say goodbye to a country that had generously provided for her and her family.

  CHAPTER 3

  I remained at Stonebridge one more day before making the journey back to Baltimore. I spent an uneasy night, but as the sun dawned, my mind had begun to take stock of Mother’s condition. Despite her emotional rhetoric, I was resolved to make her understand what she proposed was impossible. I went to her room after breakfast silently rehearsing the words I hoped would sway her decision.

  I knocked on the door; Trista Joyce opened it immediately. “Good morning, Master Ellis,” she greeted sweetly. Her gaze met mine directly, her chin set in a determined manner as she moved boldly about the room. This caught me off guard for I expected the downcast eyes of yesterday, the nervous reaction whenever I got close. I gathered she adopted this new attitude to make it clear she was someone to be reckoned with, someone who would not permit her per
son intruded upon. She needn’t have worried; my focus was solely on Mother.

  “Good morning,” I replied sourly, and immediately regretted not being more cordial. Trista had managed somehow to get Mother into an armchair by the open window. I let my surprise show, and Trista looked at me smugly.

  “Hello, Mother,” I said, pulling a chair close. I leaned forward and kissed her cheek.

  She stroked my face with weak fingers. “Isn’t Trista taking wonderful care of me?”

  “She is,” I agreed.

  “I must get stronger—in preparation for our journey.”

  “It's best not to overdo it, Missus,” Trista cautioned.

  Mother ignored her warning. “I’ve sent for Dr. Thompson and asked him to stay at Stonebridge until we depart. No doubt he’ll try to change my mind.”

  Her words provided the opening I needed. I sucked in a deep breath. “I’m sure Dr. Thompson will agree it’s an enormous undertaking, Mother. Won’t you reconsider?”

  “Ellis, darling, please don’t question any more. My mind’s made up.

  “But Mother, you’ll be leaving Dan, Mark, their families—your grandchildren—behind.”

  She sighed. “I know you think my decision is heartless. But it’s this disease that has no mercy. It’ll take away my dignity, force me into a sanitorium. It’ll be easier on your brothers, and everyone, if I go to Ireland to your Aunt Sadie who knows how to treat this illness.”

  “Your leaving will devastate us. Stay. Let us consult the doctors here who are better than any you’ll ever find in Ireland. We’ll take care of you at home. Engage nurses. You’ll be well looked after. This journey, it’s difficult even for a healthy person.”

  Agitation clouded Mother’s face. She opened her mouth to speak, but words strangled on her breath and she began coughing. I quietly waited for her to continue.

  At length she said, “There are no doctors anywhere as knowledgeable as Sadie. She knows every stage of this disease and all its consequences. I’d be selfish to stay here and force your brothers and their families to watch me slowly die. Believe me when I say I love you all more than life itself. This decision is not fickle. I’ve thought about it long and hard. Please try to understand and say you won’t deny me this one favor.”

  I opened my mouth to argue, but the words melted on my tongue; I couldn’t refuse the naked plea in her eyes. “All right, Mother,” I relented.

  Relief flooded her face. “Thank you, Ellis.”

  I left her room defeated. Mother’s irrational assumptions plainly outweighed any practical solution I could offer. She had lured me into agreeing with her. Again.

  I had to get out of the house, away from these fortified walls pressing in around me like impenetrable prison bars. I went to the stables and was pleased to find Brazonhead unhappily stomping about in his stall. His ears forked at my approach. When I opened the half-door, he snorted his displeasure at his confinement. I offered him a handful of hay which he crunched while I unhooked a saddle from the wall and placed it on his back.

  We rode out into the courtyard, pausing momentarily to admire the springtime valley that showed signs of rebirth. I glanced in the direction of my brothers’ houses unable to bring myself to call on their families, deciding that they weren’t expecting me anyway. They knew the seriousness of my visit, Mother’s illness, and the dilemma I faced to overcome her conviction to return to Ireland. I guided Brazonhead northeast toward open countryside. He allowed me to ride him without argument. I even imagined he was grateful I had rescued him from his confinement in Stile Valley. We halted when I spotted Lilah in the fields, spooning seeds into plowed rows from an apron she held gathered in front. Seeing me she grinned her enticing grin and moved toward me across plowed rows with the ease of a mountain cat.

  “Mast’r Ellis,” she said, looking up at me, her face damp from sweat.

  “Mother won’t change her mind about going back to Ireland,” I announced. “I’m returning to Baltimore tomorrow to take care of business. After that I’ll be back to carry out her wish.”

  Lilah smiled sadly. “When youse take the mistress to her home, youse be gone a long time?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “It be the right thing to do,” she reassured me.

  A negro man had moved closer while we were talking. He looked sidelong at us. The seeds he threw down missed the furrows and landed off to the side. I frowned. He jerked his hand as if I had slapped it.

  Lilah followed my gaze. “That be him,” she said.

  “Bring him over.”

  “Elibe,” Lilah called to the man. He lumbered meekly to where we were. “This be Mast’r Ellis,” she said.

  I raised my hat slightly.

  “Pleased t’meet ya, Suh,” he said. His gaze held steady with mine briefly before he lowered his eyes, shielding a look that seemed to mask a deeper fear.

  “He be learning about being free,” Lilah explained. She took his hand in hers and this seemed to give him courage, for he grinned nervously. I nodded my approval. Lilah, her hand still clasped in Elibe’s, started back across the ploughed rows. Before they reached the other workers, Lilah turned and waved goodbye. I waved back, then turned and rode away.

  Toward evening, I rode to Stile Valley to be with Rengen and my brothers. We sat idly around the campfire, horses grazing lazily close by. This evening, as in the past, Rengen was drawn into the flames, to his life of captivity, his escape, and his eventual arrival at Stonebridge. His story grew more profound each time he told it, like a myth purified with each telling. It never grew monotonous, the details forever crystallizing in his mind.

  “My shoes was all but broken away,” he said, talking about his escape northward. “I been walking almost on bare feet when I sees the barn next to the stables. It been drizzling cold rain all day and by nightfall I’s feeling chilled, tired, and mighty hungry. I climbed up into the loft and hid out of sight, burying myself beneath the hay. I be so bone tired I’s not seeing the big house.”

  “That’s where Father found you,” Mark said, already familiar with what came next.

  Rengen nodded. “I still be sleeping when your papa comes into the barn next morning. The horses was whinnying, so right away he knows something was up. He begins poking round in the hay for vermin, looking for what’s disturbing them horses. He jabs at me with a pitchfork, and I awoke to the strangest face I ever seen. All that red hair and beard. I never sees anything like it before.

  “I’s getting fevered in the night and thought for sure I be imagining him. He bein’ nothing like them fat cigar-smoking plantation boss men who grabbed at colored girls. That’s what my master be doing, satisfying hisself with colored girls whenever he pleased. Them’s all running away from him when he’s coming near, but that only gets him more intentioned. He's not stopping till he gets one of them and he be pulling down his pants, exposing his fat, white belly, and taking his pleasure right then and there. He be laughing then all mighty pleased with hisself, knowing he be master.” Rengen heaved a frustrated sigh, anger burning in his dark eyes. We had seen the scars on his back inflicted as retribution for interfering with outrages against his younger sister.

  “Your papa stood over me with the pitchfork,” he continued. “His eyes fierce-like was enough to frighten any vermin. He’s not dressing like no Southerner neither. He’s not wearing them fancy white pants or straw hat; he be having on thick work pants tucked inside them rubber boots that come up to his knees. His red hair was fringed like fire around the edges of that flat cap of his. I just lies there staring at him.

  “He begins aiming that pitchfork at my throat and says, ‘Boy, youse be trespassing in my barn’ in his strange sounding voice. I knows for sure then he be no Southerner. I’s try to answer but my mouth was gone dry so no words was coming out. I says my prayers then because I’s thinking this be the end for sure. Then he does a strange thing, your papa, he calls out to his men and tells them to go fetch your mama. She’s coming then to take a l
ook. She says I be fevered and orders them men to get me into the bunkhouse.

  “That’s when I sees the house for the first time. My eyes was bleary like, but it be nothing like them houses in the south. All that stone and no lounging porticos. I sees them flower gardens in amongst the lawn with them tables and chairs sitting outside under leafy trees. This be the North, I says to myself, and I’s giving thanks to the Lord for delivering me here.

  “Theyse put me in a bed. I never be sleeping in no bed before.” Rengen paused, a smile spreading across his big face. “It be so soft and smells so good that I’s sleeping on and off for several days and when I’s waking up for good, there be your mama’s beautiful face, all sympathetic-like. And Miss Eileen, she be rubbing some kind of salve on my feet, complaining to your Mama that these be the worst pair of famine feet she’s ever seeing. I’s not understanding what she’s meaning, but it don’t matter no-how. She be rubbing something on my feet that makes them feel mighty good.

  “I’s needing to go because I’s not trusting no white folk, and I’s wanting to meet up with other coloreds heading further north. But your Mama, she stops me, says I be too sick and has to get better before I goes anywhere. Her words wasn’t harsh like them other white folk and I be listening ‘cause she’s talking all kind-like.”

  “Mother and Father knew what it was like to be victims,” I broke in. “The Crown stole their family home in Ireland. Then the Confederates and the war robbed from them, too.”

  “We’re all victims of something,” Dan interrupted.

  “Give me a beautiful woman and I’ll gladly be her victim,” Mark jested.

  “Like Trista Joyce,” Dan teased.

  “She’ll do all right,” Mark said.

  “Better not let Sarah hear you talk that way,” Dan warned.

  Mark stood up and put his hat over his heart. “No woman will ever make me stray from my sweet Sarah’s side,” he recited. Turning to me, he continued, “What about you, Wiz? Do you find Trista Joyce as tempting as those fancy women in Baltimore?”