2

 

“Hello, I’m back,” I called as I opened the front door. My mouth watered at the smell of onions and potatoes, mutton and thyme that greeted me.

“Well, how was she? Was the bus late? We’re just having our tea and I kept a bit of dinner for you. Before you get your coat off go find your father, see if he’s nearly done with the milking. It’s too much for him, really, it is.”

Mam rattled it all off without waiting for an answer. I didn’t even try, simply went right out the back door to find Da. He was in the shed milking the last of our few cows by hand. The sweetish smell of warm milk permeated the air. He squatted on a stool, head against a cow’s flank, hands pumping rhythmically.

“Tea’s ready,” I said.

“Aye, I’ll be right in, five minutes. I’ll not keep you. Keep your news for me, right?” He didn’t turn. His hands kept their rhythm as the milk hissed into the bucket. He loved those cows, and I thought him happier since we were down to only a few that he could milk the old-fashioned way. He wouldn’t last long if we moved away with nothing to occupy his hands. I patted his shoulder and went back to the house.

 

“She’s much the same,” I reported over the meal. “She seems well enough, wandering a bit, as usual. Probably tired, the nurse said. She’s not better, that’s for sure.”

We had never expected Maggie to need care for so long. When she first became ill we were sure she’d get over it. We even had her home with us a few times, but each time she deteriorated to the point Mam couldn’t cope on her own. We never did have an explanation for her condition that made sense to me as a nurse, but as her sister who knew her well I understood her state.

“I need to get up to see her,” Da said. He’d been saying that for years. He’d never go. Maggie didn’t recognize him, and he couldn’t take it. He always sent her sweets, though, and still managed to find the ones coated with soft sugar she’d loved as a child.

“The fees are going up again.”

Mam concentrated on spreading a thick slab of butter onto her bread. Da put his cup down and looked at me.

“What? They just went up not so long ago. How much?” he asked.

“Enough,” I said. Telling the exact amount would make no difference anyway as the level was just about over our heads as it was.

Mam wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I don’t know. We can’t keep it up. I don’t know what we’re to do.”

“I can go to the bank tomorrow. Maybe we...” Da left the rest unsaid.

“We can’t,” Mam said. “We’ve used up all we can. The manager warned about that last time.”

“Jesus.”

“Don’t swear.” It was my mother’s automatic response to swearing of any kind.

“Well, if there was a time to, it’s now. “

“Maybe we should look for somewhere else for her, outside Dublin, like. It would cost less.” Her voice was flat with defeat. It was a familiar round for us.

“But, sure we searched high and low last year. Everywhere was full and they were awful places anyway. Not enough staff. They know her in St. Mary’s. She knows them,” I reminded them. Reminded myself.

Mam put her fork and knife down and lined them up neatly on her plate.

“Your father and I talked about all this after last time. I don’t know what else we can do. We can’t go on. Could we have her at home, do you think?”

“Jesus, no. We tried that before. She needs looking after all the time. Who’ll do it? You and Da can’t and I’m not even at home some evenings when I work. I’m not even in Kiltilly sometimes. Getting someone in would cost more than where she is.”

“We could sell the farm,” Da said.

Mam and I stared at him in silence.

“We could,” he said again. His eyes were on his plate as he spread raspberry jam on his bread.

“No. We can’t.”

Da looked up at my sharp tone. We stared each other down a moment, then Da cut his slice of bread in two.

“Who’ll take it on when your mother and I are gone anyway?”

“I will. You know I love it here.” I was surprised I even had to say it.

“You have your own work, you couldn’t run the farm,” Mam said. “Could you?”

“Maybe not, but I can keep the land in the family. Besides, most of what we’d get if we sold would go to the bank.”

“Well, you’ll have to make a hard decision right off the top,” Da said. “It’s the farm or Maggie now, isn’t it?”

“Let me think about it for a couple of days. I might be able to come up with something.”

“If ye can ye’re a miracle worker,” Da said. “Haven’t ye done everything all along?”

“Well, just wait a few days, ok? “

He patted his shirt pocket for his glasses and gathered up the paper.

 

“Daniel Wolfe is ill and wants me to look after him. As a private nurse, like. He offered good money,” I told my mother when Da was out of earshot. The words were out of my mouth before I meant them to be. We were at the kitchen table with a last cup of tea before getting on with the dishes. Mam’s head swivelled toward me. I tried not to squirm like a schoolgirl under her gaze, and not for the first time I wondered how much she knew about Daniel Wolfe and me.

“Daniel Wolfe? What does he want with looking after?”

“He’s sick. He wants me to come up to the house and look after him. The trouble is, he won’t last long, so we’ll be back talking about this again before a year passes. But it’s another year. Maybe we can figure something out in that time.”

Mam got up and emptied the teapot into the sink.

“You can’t be seriously thinking of it, surely? That man! After the trouble he caused Maggie,” she said. “When were you discussing this with him? Sure, he’s hardly ever in the village.”

“Trouble he caused Maggie? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know exactly what went on, but he has something to do with Maggie’s state. I’m not a fool, you know. She makes no sense most of the time, but I can pick up the gist.”

“I told you, Mam, Maggie had nothing to do with him as far as I know. She’d have told me if she did,” I said.

“Well, he’s mixed up in it somewhere. I’m certain of that. When did he talk to you?”

She sat back down at the table and fiddled with her teacup. Her wedding ring was loose on her finger and rattled against the china. She’s getting old, I thought. I reached across the table and touched her hand.

“I stopped off at the café when I came down. He was there, and he asked me. It would help us out, Mam. “

“Well, I hope you said no.”

“I said I’d think about it. The money is good. Maybe I’ll say yes. It means I won’t be here too much for the next few months. Can ye get on without me?”

“Of course we can, pet. It’s your work. Haven’t we always got on without you when you’re at your work?”

 

I walked up the back field just after dawn. I missed the old dog, wished she were still alive. The company would be welcome. Sleep had been erratic, interrupted by my nightmare of being caught in coloured gauze, careening around trying to save myself from something. I’d woken fighting with the air, my hair drenched in sweat. Next I dreamed of Maggie, her arms outstretched calling for baby, baby, but there was none to give her.

The climb to the top of the hill felt like a trek in lead boots. At the top I turned a complete circle, then stopped, facing our farmhouse below. Set back a bit from the road, it seemed part of the earth; the yellow wash on the walls gave it a spring-like air even in the grey winter light. A couple of hens scrabbled in the yard. I was born and grew up in that house. Daniel’s offer turned over in my mind. I was well respected and liked as a private care nurse so no one would think it odd I went to work for him. Agency work was always available but offered nothing like the money Daniel Wolfe did. It would gall me to have anything to do with him, but double my usual rates for three or four months would let us keep Maggie in the home for another six or nine months at least. What would happen when that job was gone? We were in dire need of something more than a good wage for a few months. If Daniel Wolfe wanted me to look after him, my price was his help to secure a reasonable mortgage on the farm, no matter what the banks told us. He was a very rich man and well connected. And he owed me something more, more than I’m sorry, whether he recognized that or not. Much as it rankled to ask him for anything, I would do it. For Maggie’s sake. For the sake of the farm, too, but mostly for Maggie.

 

Next day at precisely half past two I was on Daniel’s doorstep. It was called the Big House in the village for a reason. It was huge, compared with village abodes, and stood on acres of land. The house had been in the FitzGibbons family for generations and came to Daniel only after his wife, Ellen, died. Between what he inherited from her and the sale of his books, he was a very rich man. The entire cost of our farm would hardly make a dent in his interest earnings, I reckoned. I’d never been inside his house, and never wanted to be. When I was a child, the Wolfes had thrown a summer party for the village children each year, but it was strictly an outdoor affair held on the grounds. It had been madly exciting. There were magicians and a merry-go-round. There were all kinds of treats and sweet sugary drinks, lemonade and orange, the kinds of things that we had at home only on Christmas or birthdays. Each child was sent home with a two-layer-deep box of rich chocolates. Standing on the doorstep, I felt like a child again before the heavy wooden door painted an ugly brown. I felt small. I’m not a beggar, I reminded myself. Even then, I could have changed my mind and left, and I almost did. My sense of responsibility for Maggie took over, so I took a deep breath and pressed the bell. From where I stood I caught the faint echo of a Westminster chime from somewhere inside.

Daniel himself opened the door. He was all smiles.

“Come in, come in.”

He moved me down the hallway and into the parlour. Though earlier I’d been curious about his house, I was too nervous to take in the room, except to notice the warmth from the fire lit in the grate. He gestured me toward one of the enormous soft armchairs next to the hearth.

“Warm yourself, it’s a wickedly cold day. I’ll make some tea.”

“No, thank you. Wait. I’ve got a proposition for you.”

No use beating about the bush. Besides, if he said no, I didn’t want to be sitting with a cup of tea in my hand. I put it to him straight. If he wanted to “make things up” to me and have me look after him until the end, he had to help us get a reasonable mortgage on the farm.

“It’s Maggie’s care,” I told him. “She’s settled in St. Mary’s. She’s used to it. The only other options are one of those small private understaffed places in the middle of nowhere or a locked ward in some hospital. Every penny we have between us goes to the home. The farm belongs mostly to the bank these days. They won’t remortgage.”

“Your father still works the place?”

“A few cows and chickens left, that’s all. He’s in his seventies, too old to run the full farm now. We let out a couple of fields to Sam Ryan for grazing. It helps keep things afloat for now.”

“And with a reasonable mortgage? You could manage the fees then?”

“With what I earn we’d be fine for a good while. It’s the mortgage is killing us.”

Silence settled between us. Sunlight shafted into the room and the dust motes floated lazily down the beam.

“I’ll do as you ask, Delia. I’ll take the mortgage on the farm myself. We’ll settle on small enough payment. Even when I’m gone I’ll see you right, make sure you can always afford it.”

The tension I’d been holding almost released into tears, but I managed to appear calm. I’d at least expected him to think about, maybe even haggle, if not outright refuse.

“Why do you want me to take care of you?” I was genuinely curious.

“I know you. Well, knew you. Delia, I don’t imagine your entire character has changed. Let’s say I trust you. Besides, I’ve checked, and by all accounts you’re the best nurse for the job in the whole place. I don’t want a total stranger here day in and day out. Please?”

To tell the truth it would have given me great satisfaction to say no, to deny him something he wanted, but I reminded myself it was for Maggie. There was justice in his paying to support her. My silence provoked him to plead, which gave me some mean satisfaction.

“Can’t we put the past behind us in this, Delia? It was all so very long ago. I was out of my mind after Ellen died. Then Fran went missing. I didn’t behave well, I know that. I was a louse.”

I nearly turned and left right then. What did he know of my life? We hadn’t kept in touch at all, and I didn’t flatter myself that he kept up with what was going on for me. Even if he did, he’d not know everything.

“Is that it, because you were a louse?”

“I know I treated you shabbily. It’s been on my mind. A lot of things have been on my mind these last few weeks since I got my death sentence. A long time has passed, I know, but I do want to make some kind of amends and die in peace. And I do trust you to take care of me well. Your reputation stands high in these parts. Very high.”

“A lot you care about my reputation.”

As soon as the words were out of my mouth I was sorry. Clearly, if I worked for him I’d have to keep control of my tongue.

“Look, Delia, I’ll meet your terms. And pay you what I offered at first too, if you’ll come up every day for a while, at least until Jude comes. If she does. I’ll draw everything up properly with my solicitor about the farm.”

I wasn’t expecting this. Being his housekeeper wasn’t what all my training had been for. Besides, I’d no great skill at it. I told him so.

“Of course not,” he said. “Mrs. Conway comes in a couple of days a week and takes care of the house. I know you have great nursing skills, but I’m all alone here and find my own company, well, not the best at the moment. Will you do it for me? Please?”

“Where’s your daughter now?”

“She’s away in Canada. Vancouver. Married a fellow out there. I’ll have to tell her what’s going on with me sooner or later. I hope she’ll come. We haven’t seen eye to eye these past years. She needs to come back and learn how to manage the estate. It’ll be all hers after I’m gone. Jude is the only family left. It was her sister who had the interest in it, but…”

He didn’t finish the sentence. His older daughter, Fran, disappeared not long after his wife died. A horn blast from a ship leaving the harbour cut the silence between us and a yearning to be anywhere else on earth yawned inside me. I wanted to have nothing more to do with this family. Nothing. But there was never any real chance I’d say no. I knew that from the moment he agreed to my terms. There was too much on the line for me, but I wasn’t about to let him know that. All the same I felt angry and trapped. I’d be months tied to this man. Maybe even a year, but that was unlikely. He’d told me his test results before we’d left the café.

I nodded my agreement.

“Let’s have a drink then, to seal the deal.”

While Daniel was rummaging in the drinks cabinet, I took a look around. The room wasn’t what I’d expected, not in any way modern. It was, in fact, stuck somewhere in the late sixties or early seventies. A beige shag carpet covered the floor, faded except for where the edges met the walls. The settee and chairs were a velour-type fabric in dark brown, the seat too deep to be comfortable without several cushions behind your back. Flocked wallpaper in orange, yellow and beige tweed-type pattern covered the walls, except for the chimneybreast, which wore a gold leaf pattern. It was probably the thing in its day, but that day was long gone. A line of photos stood to attention on the mantelpiece. One of Jude at her wedding, with her husband, a tall, weedy fellow with a too-thin face and black eyebrows that arched over brown eyes like he was amazed to find himself there. The couple was flanked by a man and a woman, his mother and father most likely, on one side, and Daniel on the other. There was no corresponding female to represent Jude’s mother. Everyone in the photo looked stiff and edgy, except Jude, who seemed perfectly relaxed and happy. There were photos of Daniel, his two daughters Fran and Jude, and his wife Ellen from when the children were younger, about ten and twelve. There was only one photo of Fran as a young woman, her red hair caught by the sun as she stood under a tree. Daniel handed me a glass with an inch of whiskey at the bottom.

“I’m not much of a drinker,” I said.

“Just to seal the deal.”

Before Daniel could clink my glass with his I raised mine in a salute then took a sip. The liquid lit up my mouth and burned down into my chest.

 

It took me more than a week to bring the matter up with Da and Mam. It was a Sunday afternoon and we were settled into the front room. The papers were ready, Daniel had seen to that, but if my father didn’t agree, I was sunk. I told them they had a big decision to make and we should talk. The two of them exchanged glances. Da took his glasses off, folded up the newspaper and put it on the floor next to his feet.

“Well, what is it?” Mam fidgeted her dress down over her knees.

“I’ve solved the problem of money.”

They both straightened themselves on the couch, spines not touching the backrest.

“How so?”

“Daniel Wolfe has agreed to assume the mortgage for the farm. He’ll charge no interest, and intends to set a very reasonable monthly amount.”

The two of them looked at each other, then back at me as if I’d grown two heads.

“Why would he do that?” my father asked. “What interest does he have in the farm? Hasn’t he land enough up there?”

“He wants me to look after him. We were talking about an arrangement and I told him about the farm being in hock and Maggie needing the stability of where she is. He offered.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie.

“But why? I know you’re a skilled nurse, girl, but that’s one big payment. It doesn’t make sense.”

It didn’t, that was the trouble. My father was no fool, and he couldn’t see someone like Daniel Wolfe giving his money away. Mam cut in before I could answer.

“Because she’s young enough to earn it out. What’ll happen to us?”

“Oh, Mam, everything will stay the same. The deed will still be in your names. It’s just that the mortgage will be held by Daniel Wolfe instead of the bank. I’ve got papers for you to look at. You’re guaranteed a place here until the end of your days. Nothing will change except we won’t need to worry about Maggie’s care. We can stop worrying about it all.”

“And what happens when he goes? Will his heirs want the money back? Or want to get their hands on the farm?” my father asked.

“It will stay with us. Look, you can look over the papers. Take them in to a solicitor in Limerick before you sign them. Even when he dies he’s set it up so no increase can happen and the mortgage can’t be foreclosed.”

I still didn’t trust that man at all, but I had given the agreement a good read myself. It certainly looked watertight. I would be relieved when the solicitor looked it over.

“Have a look anyway, Joe. It’ll be great not to have to worry about Maggie and the farm, won’t it?” My mother held out her hand for the papers. Da stepped forward and took them from me.

“I’ll have a look. Your mother and I will talk on it tonight.”

The papers trembled in his hand as he turned and left the room.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Mam said.

“Sure, there’s no downside to it. Except that I’ll be working for Mr. Wolfe for the next while.”

“I’m no fool, Delia. I know something is going on. Just watch yourself. The likes of the Wolfes make sure their own nest is feathered every time. I just hope you haven’t sold your very soul to them.”

In the end, of course, they agreed. Within a week the papers were approved by their solicitor and signed by the two of them. Knowing we could live our whole lives on the farm without worry put a real lightness in my step that even Mam’s tight-lipped disapproval couldn’t squash. What choice did any of us have in the long run? It was up to me then to fulfill the bargain and look after Daniel Wolfe.