The Mill River Recluse (21 page)

“I will,” Mary said. She smiled to herself as she remembered Father O’Brien standing awkwardly in her hospital room, his face contorted with shame, after she had first asked him about the spoons. “He is very kind, having spent so much time with me in the hospital. I do feel comfortable around him.”

“Good, good. So, my dear, do you feel well enough to walk an old man back to his car?”

“Of course, but you’re not old, Grandpop.”

Conor smiled and offered his arm to Mary. “Oh, I almost forgot. I’ve hired a local girl to help around the house. She’s already been to the market for groceries for you,” he said, as they started back toward the marble house. “Also, I’ve had two boys from a farm a few miles out coming each day to look after the horses. I’ll tell them to continue, at least for the time being, yes?”

Mary nodded. “They’ve done a wonderful job,” she said, but then her brow furrowed. “As long as it doesn’t cost too much. I can’t imagine how much it was to have the vet out for Monarch all those times.” In fact, she hadn’t thought about that at all, or about her own hospital bills, or any of the other bills for the house or the car.... She touched the patch over her left eye.

“Good gracious, Mary, you needn’t worry about any of that, or any of your other expenses, for that matter. I’ve made arrangements to make sure that you will be secure financially. I just need a few more days to work out the details, and then I’ll sit down with you and go over everything.” He patted the hand she had linked through his arm. “Promise me that you’ll worry about nothing except recovering, and getting your life back.”

Mary looked up at Conor and nodded. “All right. If you’re sure.”

“I am,” he said. They had reached the door to the marble mansion, and he reached out to open it.

“Grandpop?” Conor looked down at Mary and saw her eye becoming teary. “I just want to tell you . . . I feel as if nothing I can say can thank you for everything you’ve done, for taking care of me. . . .” Her voice trailed off as she wiped the tears that spilled down her cheek.

“Mary, my dear,” he said, but his words caught in his throat. He put his arm around her, kissed her on the forehead, and tried his voice again. “Mary, that’s what your family is for.”

~~~

The next day was Sunday, and, true to Conor’s word, Father O’Brien stopped by in the early afternoon. Mary invited him into the sitting room and went to put on water for tea.

“It should be ready in a few minutes. I’ll hear the kettle when it whistles,” she said, joining him.

“I’m in no hurry,” he said, settling back into the chair. “I had two visits scheduled after the service this morning but nothing else for the rest of the day.”

They looked at each other for a moment, each aware of the lengthening silence.

“Have you given any thought to attending Mass? Once you’ve settled back in here?” Father O’Brien asked.

“I have,” Mary replied, “but I don’t think. . .I don’t think I will.” Father O’Brien’s face registered polite surprise. “Michael, I don’t want you to think my decision has anything to do with you. It doesn’t. I don’t think I could bear being around all those people. And even if I could, my memories of being in the church are painful, the beginning of a year I wish I could forget.”

“I understand,” Father O’Brien said. “I only thought that it might help you work through everything that’s happened. Many people find coming together with each other, and with God, to be comforting.”

Mary averted her eyes, glanced down to where her arm rested on the arm of the davenport. She looked meek, almost ashamed, as she smoothed the fine fabric beneath her hand. “I’ve never been comfortable coming together with other people. Well, I suppose that’s not completely true. With Patrick, I had started to feel more comfortable, but now, it’s so much worse.” Mary appeared to be searching for words, but they did not come to her. She shook her head quickly to herself and continued. “As for God...I have a lot of questions right now. Patrick insisted that we attend Mass, and at first, I thought doing so might be a good thing. But now, I find myself wondering if there is a God at all. Conor was telling me the latest news of the war on the way home. Why would a God who’s supposed to love everyone let the world turn on itself? And what about me?” Her voice cracked. “In the last year, I’ve lost nearly everything—my father, my marriage, my husband. I’m lucky that I didn’t lose my life.” Mary was trembling, clenching the arm of the davenport, staring at him with her one blue eye. “I feel almost as if I’ve been punished for something, but what? I’ve never hurt anyone. I’ve never
wanted
to hurt anyone.”

Father O’Brien flattened himself against the back of the chair. Questions such as Mary’s were to be expected. He had counseled many who had begun to question their faith after suffering personal tragedies. But the intense pain in Mary’s voice and the grief that distorted her young face rendered him speechless. He gasped and tried to come up with something to say.

The tea kettle beat him to it. Its whistle had an immediate calming effect, much like a bell signaling the end of a round in a boxing match. Mary took a deep breath, straightened the black patch over her left eye, and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Excuse me a minute,” she said, and left for the kitchen.

A few minutes later, she returned with a silver tea tray. She set it down on the coffee table, revealing, in addition to the teapot and two cups with saucers, a plate of cookies, a bowl of sugar cubes, and a pitcher of cream. He noticed that a small teaspoon rested on each saucer.

“Here you are,” said Mary, filling the first cup. “I didn’t know how you take your tea, so I brought out everything. Please help yourself to whatever you like.” She handed him the cup and saucer and proceeded to pour some tea for herself.

“Thank you, Mary,” he said, carefully accepting the tea. He was most interested in seeing the spoon tucked on the saucer behind his cup. It would surely be a beauty, made of fine silver and patterned with delicate swirls. Holding his breath in anticipation, he held the saucer in his left hand and grasped the silver spoon handle with his right. He brought the spoon up over the edge of his cup, but it wasn’t a spoon.

It was a fork.

He would have thought this an oversight with anyone else, but he knew Mary’s choice of flatware was no accident. He swallowed and felt his cheeks begin to burn.

Mary was watching. She herself had a spoon, which she was using to deposit sugar cubes in her own cup. She added cream and stirred. “It’s just a little precaution, Michael,” she said with an apologetic smile. “I hope you understand.”

“Ah, yes,” he said, and used the fork to take a sugar cube. This was turning out to be a most unpleasant visit.

Mary set her cup back on its saucer and sighed. “I’m sorry I got upset a few minutes ago. It’s just since that, since I’ve been home, I’ve had time to think about...what happened to me. It makes me angry to know that I loved—that I
still
love--someone I didn’t really know at all, someone who would do something like this to me.” She paused, waiting for some response from Father O’Brien, but he only nodded. “I’ve thought about how Patrick died and it doesn’t seem fair. He didn’t suffer enough. Not like I did, and Monarch did. He didn’t live to face a life of half-vision, or his family in mourning. And even if he had, he probably wouldn’t have cared.”

“Mary,” Father O’Brien said, “even though Patrick is no longer living, I have to believe that he is being made to atone for what he did. I also believe that everything happens for a reason, although it may not be clear to us what that reason may be.”

“You believe that God allowed Patrick to do this to me for a reason?” The edge began to creep back into her voice.

“Man has free will, and Patrick chose to do what he did. But, yes, I do believe it happened for a certain purpose that neither of us is aware of, at least right now.”

Mary stood up and walked to the sitting room window. “So it’s fate, then?” she said, focusing on an indeterminate target outside. “I don’t think so. I believe our choices alone lead to certain results. Look at me. My choice to marry Patrick, and not having the ability to see beyond my feelings for him, to realize I was in danger....” She lightly fingered the patch over her left eye.

“But Mary, what brought him out to your father’s farm in the first place?”

Mary did not reply for a moment. When she spoke again, it was almost to herself, and Father O’Brien had to strain to make out her words. “Seeing him was still my choice. Who I see, what I do, what I believe. Now all I have is me. I can’t afford to make wrong choices anymore.”

“Mary, you have me, and Conor, and God. You should especially try to have faith in God. It is all right to ask for His help in making decisions in your life.”

“What I believe,” she repeated, turning around to face Father O’Brien. “Michael, you have been wonderful to me over the past weeks, and I’ve come to think of you as a friend. Other than Conor, you’re my
only
friend.” She paused a moment as she came back to sit on the davenport. “But going out for any reason would be so painful for me. Right now, that’s the last thing I need. Too much has happened. I have a lot to think about. I have to protect myself and get better. Maybe someday, things will be different.” Mary’s voice and her one visible eye were pleading. “Now that you know how I feel about this, about not going to Mass, I hope you can continue to be my friend.”

Father O’Brien swallowed and looked at Mary. “Well, I, uh, of course,” he said. “You’ve been through so much, and I’ll do everything I can to help you. But let’s look on the bright side, shall we? You’re so young. The rest of your life is ahead of you. I know that time is a great healer. And it may be that, with time, your anxiety will subside. Do you remember when you first experienced it? Perhaps, if I knew how the anxiety started, I could help speed up that process, help you overcome it.” At least, he intended to try--his promise to Conor required it of him. Besides, she knew about the spoons. Despite her assurance that she would not divulge his habit, her knowing of it had begun to trigger bouts of paranoia in his mind. He dared not give her any reason to go back on her word.

Mary stiffened at his suggestion as a frown settled over her face. “No. I can’t,” she said. Her terse reply was almost reflexive, and she shuddered and turned her head so that she no longer faced him. “I can’t talk about that. I’m sorry, I just can’t.”

“Oh, Mary,” he said, surprised that his innocent question had provoked such a response. He chose his words carefully. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. Please know that I absolutely respect your privacy. You’ve been through so much, Mary, and as your friend, I’m here only to help however you want me to.”

She nodded and turned back to him as her expression softened. “Thank you, Michael. I do need a friend right now.”

~~~

Father O’Brien visited Mary again on Wednesday, and Conor showed up at the marble house again the following Friday morning. Mary was surprised at how quickly the week had passed. She had spent much of that time reading and resting or with the horses. She had also opened the windows of the white mansion so that the sweet summer air could flush the staleness from her home. The scents of honeysuckles and pine trees drifting through the rooms rejuvenated her. Her strength was returning.

Mary had just finished dressing when Conor knocked at the door. Wearing her riding clothes, she rushed downstairs to greet him.

“Grandpop!” she said, embracing him. “I didn’t expect to see you until the weekend! I was just going down to the stables. I’m taking Ebony for a ride. Would you like to come along?”

“Whoa, wait a minute now! Are you sure you feel up to it? Did the doctor say you could go riding so soon after coming home?”

“He didn’t say one way or the other, but I can’t wait anymore. And besides, Ebony’s so gentle, I’ll be perfectly fine. Oh, won’t you come with me, Grandpop?”

Conor smiled but shook his head. “I’m afraid I can’t today. I have to get back to the Marbleworks. I decided to make a special trip out here today to bring you something--this.” He removed a fat white envelope from his jacket pocket. “Could we sit down for a few minutes?”

“Yes, of course,” she said, looking with a slight frown at the envelope. She took his arm and walked with him into the sitting room. “There’s nothing wrong, is there?”

“Oh, no, Mary, not at all,” he said, settling himself into a chair. “Here,” he said, handing her the envelope. “Go ahead, have a look.”

She opened it and removed several folded sheets of paper. A small blue booklet was wrapped in the center. Slowly, she unfolded the paper and began to read the top of it.
Last will and testament of Conor M. McAllister. I, Conor Murphy McAllister, a resident of Rutland County, Vermont, being of legal age, sound mind, and disposing memory do hereby make, publish, and declare this to be my Last Will and Testament....
Mary stopped reading and shook her head. “Grandpop, I don’t understand.”

Conor smiled. “Do you remember last weekend, when I told you not to worry about your bills?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’ve taken care of everything. I’ve updated my will, you see. You don’t have to read the whole thing. I just wanted to show you a particular passage. Let me see it for a moment,” he said. Mary handed him the stack of paper. Conor put on his spectacles and began thumbing through the pages. “Here it is,” he said, and passed the papers back to Mary, pointing at the bottom of a page.

I give and bequeath the sum of Two Hundred Fifty Thousand Dollars to Mary Hayes McAllister
, she read. Her eyes grew round as she looked at him, speechless.

He laughed, delighted at her reaction. “I wanted you to have a copy of the will. But let’s hope you won’t get that money for a while, shall we?” he said. “In the meantime, what’s written in that little blue book should take care of anything you may need.”

Mary reached for the blue booklet in her lap and dropped Conor’s will on the floor. For some reason, her hands were not working very well, and she had a difficult time retrieving the scattered papers. Finally, she set the stack on the coffee table and opened the little blue booklet.