Through the fall and winter months, Will visited the auction houses. He bought farm machinery and cows whenever the price was right. With farmers moving to tractor-pulled machinery, horse-drawn equipment was plentiful and cheap. Milk cows were another matter; there was plenty competition for young, quality livestock.
With no repair work and no customers, Will left the shop early again. Bennie’s was almost empty. One customer sat at the bar and a fella with a bright green coat slumped over a shot glass at a back table. “Hey, Bennie,” Will said as he stepped in out of the sunlight, “Pour me a Mineral Springs, will you?”
“Not drinking whiskey?”
“You’d be surprised at how good a five-cent beer tastes when you’ve only got change in your pocket.”
“Can hardly keep it in stock. You’d think our town was full of Krauts. Good for our brewery though.”
Will held the brew to the light, admired the amber color of the last few drops, and then he emptied his glass.
“I better get on home. The wife doesn’t like me spending time here. You’re not her favorite citizen, you know.”
“She’d prefer I go broke.”
“That she would, but she’s a bit quiet after our recent attempts to outlaw it. Not clambering to ban it anymore. One night at a speakeasy numbed her enthusiasm for prohibition.”
“Business was better then.”
“Say, Bennie, who’s that colorful fella in the back? I haven’t seen him before.”
“He’s new to town. A cattle dealer.”
“I’m looking for cattle. Calls himself?”
“Finian McCarthy. That’s what he goes by.”
Will approached the back table, but at first McCarthy didn’t seem to notice. “Mr. McCarthy,” he said.
McCarthy sprung off his seat and waddled toward Will. “Sir, what can I do for you?”
Will almost laughed aloud. McCarthy wasn’t exactly ugly, but he was far from handsome. He was a short fella who looked overfed. His ruddy cheeks blended into a bulbous nose. Thin lips stretched upward toward his eyes and anchored his cherubic face. His smile lines twitched when he spoke, and it was that broad smile that drew Will forward.
But it wasn’t his physical appearance that rendered Will speechless. It was the man’s attire. He wore a brown checkered derby hat with matching knee-length corduroy breeches. His swallowtail jacket was emerald green, his shirt field-corn yellow, and his buckle shoes a bright red. Will hadn’t seen such sparkle since last Christmas.
McCarthy grasped his arm. “Don’t be smitten, my man. A little color grabs the attention. Pays to advertise, you know?” He released Will’s arm, bent forward, and gawked into Will’s eyes. “So, sir, can I be of assistance?”
Will shook the astonishment from his brain and tried not to smile, but he just couldn’t help it. “Mr. McCarthy, you do command attention. Only an Irishman, I think.”
“Your name, sir?”
“Will O’Shaughnessy.” He shook his head again, tried to bring the glitter into focus. “I never thought I’d see such a sight, not this far from the wee folk in the Wicklow Mountains.”
“A Wicklow man, now are you? I was raised in Avoca, yes I was. Spent many a pleasant hour at Fitzgerald’s.”
“I’ve never been there,” Will said, “but I know Thomas Moore’s poem, ‘The Meeting of the Waters.’ Can’t be a more beautiful place.” Will looked away as he recited the words of the poem.
“Drank many a Guinness there at The Meetings,” McCarthy said. “The thought brings a tear to my eye.” McCarthy swiped the back of his hand across his cheek. “Now we’ve established kinship, how can I help you, my man?”
“I hear you’re a cattle dealer.”
“Two of the man’s drink, if you will,” Finian called to Bennie. He dragged a chair away from the table and urged Will on to it.
When Will pulled change from his pocket, Finian grabbed his arm. “Put your money away,” he said. “This ones on me.”
McCarthy gulped his beer and called for a second round.
Will waved Bennie away.
“Drink up, my man,” McCarthy said as he pushed a full glass toward Will. “How can I help you?”
“I’m going farming. I need cows. Good Grade A cows. Know of any?”
“Hard to come by but I’ll keep my eyes open. Like to help a Wicklow man.”
McCarthy snatched Will’s untouched glass and emptied it before Will reached the door.
But he was true to his word. By the end of December, McCarthy found all the Grade A cows that Will could afford.
* * *
The new year was upon them before Will was ready. With the first month of 1936 at its end, and the house not sold, Will rented to Paul Swartz who moved in with his family on February 25th, the day after the O’Shaughnessys left for Willow.
But Mary wasn’t happy. “I have a bad feeling about this. I think it’s going to cost us. I don’t like renting our lovely home to a drunk.”
“He just takes a nip now and then.”
Will thought that Mary’s temperance obsession colored her opinion of Paul. But they didn’t have a choice. Mary knew that.
When Paul handed him a fresh twenty-dollar bill, Will felt vindicated. He was glad to have new money in his pocket when they loaded the sleds for the trip north, and now, he’d have that income every month, a supplement to his unknown farm income. But he felt a bit uneasy, too. Will didn’t like going against Mary. She was a good judge of people.