MCGILLVERY AND MCGILLICUDDY
TINKERS AT LARGE
Wealth
Book 1
by
Ben Meyers
With
J.J. Jeshurun
Where is it to be found and what position shall one play in the final part of the game?
Dedicated to Everyone
Foreword
A thoughtful Irish writer once wrote,
“Worthwhile dreams need never die if the dreamer can find the secret that
allows conversion of wishes into realities.”
Unfortunately, that secret is often as coy and as illusively shy as the
brush of an angel’s wing. The truth of
the matter is that the secret, once found, lies openly available for the
taking; but few persons from ancient times to present times have been able to
see or to find the secret even after a lifetime of wishing, wondering, and
searching. Not too very long ago, two
Irish tinkers solved this age-old riddle and made the secret their own. The tinkers’ journey begins, as all
worthwhile journeys must—within the bosom of distress.
▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪
Table of
Contents
Chapter 2
Need and Greed………………………………………………………...16
Chapter 3
Land of Gone Forever…………………………………………………..33
Chapter 4
The Dreamer Begins…………………………………………………….42
Chapter 5
Peculiar Places………………………………………………………….58
Chapter 6
Mankind’s Pain…………………………………………………………80
Chapter 7
Black Eyes and Puppies…………………………………………………91
Chapter 8
Small Portions………………………………………………………….103
Chapter 9
Charity………………………………………………………………….139
Chapter 10
Lords and Earls………………………………………………………...143
Chapter 11
The Lions’ Den………………………………………………………...157
Chapter 12
Bribes in High Places………………………………………………….178
Chapter 13
The Wrath of Man……………………………………………………..192
Chapter 14
Rabbits on the Glen……………………………………………………221
Chapter 15
Light Breaks……………………………………………………………229
A
Dish of Vegetables
On nights when the Irish mist is particularly
deep and the moon’s fair light is quite smothered in the shadows of men’s
darkened dreams, the aging tinker cart sign’s beseeching cries, rising from
shadowed lanes and meadows, caused many a late lad and lassie to gather their coat’s
collars in gestures reflecting anxious acknowledgement of the slim hold mortals
have on life.
Could the late travelers have seen the sign before evening’s fall as it gently
swayed from the back of its dilapidated tinker’s cart, the rusty sound would
have melded rather nicely with meadowlark’s song, two easy tinkers’ voices
carrying over greenly gentle hills, and the patient, steady drumming of horses’
hooves as their cart pulled along winding, dirt roads. In Irish blue on Kelley green the sign’s complimentary
letters dutifully, conservatively, and genteelly proclaimed, “McGillvery and
McGillicuddy, Tinkers at Large.”
It was just at the end of such a day, before
the darkling hours begin laying around, that McGillvery said to McGillicuddy,
“Now, I’m that much wishing we’d have been havin’ a cabbage with our potato
this evenin’.”
“Aye, now,” agreed McGillicuddy a wee bit
wistfully. “The cabbages in that last
garden were exceedingly fine. ’Tis a
miserable thing indeed the gentle lady of the house was so ready for callin’
her dog or we might have had the time to ask for a head or two while
passin’.”
“’Tis an even sadder thing of late that we’ve
more potato on our plate than much else,” glumly observed Gilly. “Both our breeches will hardly stay in place
for our thinness this year, Cuddy.”
McGillicuddy did not reply at once for
another farmhouse had loomed on the horizon.
Ever the hopeful, he said, “Cheer up, lad. Day’s not done yet. Yonder looks like we’ve another chance at
sale or trade before evenin’ falls.
Perhaps we’ll have better than cabbage for our sup tonigh’. A lamb chop would much surpass the cabbage as
a compliment to our potato.”
As they neared the whitewashed and newly thatched
cottage, McGillvery sat eagerly forward on the wagon’s stoop, “Do ye catch a
whiff of soda bread and herring? Mmmm,”
he sighed. “I’ve not tasted a piece of
herring for ever so long. Perhaps the
fair lady will extend an invitation to dine.”
“I hope the teapot’s bubbling and she’s a way
with marmalade and jam,” agreed McGillicuddy longingly.
McGillvery gripped McGillicuddy’s sleeve in
excitement. “I smell apples baking sure. Look, they’ve a small orchard behind the
sheep’s shed. Ohhh,” he breathed while rolling
his eyes toward heaven, “I’m thinkin’ in this ’ere ’umble cottage tonight is
being set a supper fit for
McGillicuddy, too, hoped for an honest meal
from the generous heart of a fellow country person as their tinker horses,
Belle and Shade, automatically turned shaggy legs into the dusty lane leading
through the farm’s main gate and stopped the tinker’s wagon precisely at the front
of cottage door.
“Clean and neat, too, Cuddy,” whispered
Gilly. “Flowers at the door mean a dear
lady who takes a little extra care in her doings.”
As McGillicuddy began to clamber down from
the wagon seat, a burly, ruddy-faced man emerged from the low hung door.
“What’re ye doin’ comin’ up me lane without
invitation and at supper time, too?” he asked roughly.
“No offense, kind sir,” replied McGillicuddy,
hesitating in his dismount. “We’re
tinkers three generations down and are come to furnish the home with needles
and pins, pans and fabric. We’ve even a horse to trade if ye’re needin’ a mare
to pull or ride.”
A well-rounded woman wiping her hands against
cotton toweling appeared in the cottage shadows behind the man. The man’s suspicious eyes roamed to the back
of the wagon, looking at the gray mare in tow. “’An what’s wrong with ’er?” he
growled.
“I’ll not be foolin’ ye nor takin’ advantage
of ye in any way. The mare’s recovering
from injury to her right hind foot,” truthfully answered McGillicuddy. “But in another month’s passin’ she’ll be as
sound as ever.”
The heavily built man looked into
McGillicuddy’s unshaven face and frowned testily, “Two tinkers on a fellow’s
property looks a bit unseemly. What’s
the one doing while the other’s sellin’?
Perhaps ’e’s going ’round back and shooing me best ewe out to pasture to
pick up a little later in the evening, eh?
I’m not that foolish, gents. Ye
take yer mare and be off my property or I’ll be givin’ ye a taste of the lead,”
and the man produced an aged gun which was soon cocked and aimed straight
toward McGillicuddy’s square head.
“Nay, not so,” replied McGillicuddy in
remonstration. “We be honest lads,
raised at our mother’s knee with strong respect for the commandments. We stop at church every Sunday and read in
our mother’s Book every night. We’re not
what ye’re believin’,” protested McGillicuddy weakly.
The man stepped closer to McGillicuddy observing
his unshaven face and well-worn clothing.
“Don’t be hidin’ behind the Lord, laddie. I can see for myself what ye be. Ye best be havin’ that wagon down the road at
the count of three or ye’ll not be tinkerin’ anymore on this earth.”
McGillvery pulled urgently at McGillicuddy’s
sleeve, “Come now. Sit yourself back
into the wagon, Cuddy. The man’s set sure to fight and we’ve little to gain
buried in this isolated spot. Turn Belle
and Shade now and let’s be quick about it.”
Long practiced in the art of turning the
heavily built wagon in tight spaces, the two horses at Gilly’s urging, complacently
accomplished their task with gentle ease and soon carried the two brothers far
from the inhospitable cottage door.
McGillvery’s stomach growled deeply—an
encouragement to begin a gentle lament to accompany his hunger pains. “The
timing was so right at that house.
Smelled the bread coming hot from the oven I did. The herring was crisp in the pan and smelled
like the apples had been dipped in flour biscuit and coated in sweet syrup
before she set them to bake. Would have been
a fine evening beyond compare. After the
supper, we’d have set ’round the fire showing the lady our fabrics and
pans. Ye’re well knowin’ they always buy
more after a fine meal. We may have had
an invite for mornin’ sup and the master, so set at ease by our fellowship from
the night before, may have traded for the gray mare.”
Not much later, their cart passed the large
stone piers raised many a year past to hold the imposing gates leading to Earl
Donogough’s estate. McGillvery took
especial note and morosely said, “But for just a few different circumstances of
life we would have been inside those lovely gates eatin’ finer than all
McGillicuddy did not join in McGillvery’s
wishful suppositions. He let his brother
ramble on for a good piece of the road before finally stopping at the edge of a
lane where stood an abandoned cottage much in need of thatching and
repair. He clambered down from wagon
seat, began unhitching the horses, and set the hobbles on their feet so they
might more freely graze and get their drink from a stream nearby. McGillvery had hung the harnesses to dry and
was gathering a bit of fuel for night’s meal.
When the fire had died to its proper lowness, he returned to the wagon
reaching for their grub sack. In its
bottom was left remaining a single medium sized potato bypassed for many a
night in favor of its larger brothers.
Tonight it finally met the fate of the rest by being laid in a smallish
iron covered pot which was then carefully buried beneath the fire’s coals. That done, McGillvery looked for two flattish
rocks suitable for seating and dining at fire’s edge. Out of the two rocks found, he appropriated
one, situated himself near the fire, and sank immediately into a despondent
gazing toward embers’ orange glow.
When the
potato was quite done, McGillvery handed it to McGillicuddy for separating into
its two halves. When his half was
returned to him, he looked at the slim fare, and said a bit testily, “Hasn’t
our Lord promised that honesty in business has a fair sure result in
comfortable living and the respect of one’s fellows?”
“What are
ye tryin’ to say, Gilly?” mumbled McGillicuddy around a mouthful of his half of
hot potato.
McGillvery
set his potato back into the pot while carefully observing, “We’ve a sound
night’s sleep for our good consciences, but ’tis an aching affliction to be
treated in so rough a fashion by our countrymen, now isn’t it?”
McGillicuddy,
ever the patient, grunted and waited for McGillvery to continue.
“When the
wintry mist is particularly biting, it’s damaging to one’s good nature to be
refused the hospitality of a comforting cup of steaming, hot tea at cozy
fireside.”
“’Tis not
winter, Gilly,” replied Cuddy.
“It’s
damagin’ in fair weather or foul,” argued Gilly.
“We’d
best get used to the fact that the welcoming scent of soda bread wafting down
the tinker’s road is not a sure promise of an invitation for a wee bite of the warm
loaf,” remarked McGillicuddy philosophically.
A very
disappointed Gilly looked down at his half potato with eyes growing a bit moist
and said mournfully to himself, “Now I’m not complaining, mind ye, for we can’t
complain at the Lord’s Great Bounty. Still…”
and he paused for a moment before continuing sorrowfully, “I’m sure wishing we
had a bit of chop to go with this potato.”
McGillicuddy, the older of the two, consoled
his brother, as was his life-long custom, “Now, now. Times pass.
Maybe tomorrow we’ll have the better side of luck and be dining on fowl
and summer peas.”
McGillvery made no effort of reply.
McGillicuddy, understanding his brother’s
heart, quietly encouraged, “We’d best be always lookin’ for our eternal future,
Gilly. It’s what our dear mother taught
us. ’Tis a simple philosophy leading to
peace and to a certain graciousness not obtained by giving in to rapacious
appetite. We’re knowin’ the future of
God’s children is to be as bright and as pleasant as each and every one could ever
wish. But while we’re livin’ in the
present, it’s needful for us to be content.”
Ever mindful of the importance of being thankful and counting blessings,
Cuddy added, “We’ve food for the night and it’s hot sup, not cold.”
“An’ no food for the morrow I’ll be addin’,”
spoke Gilly. “T’was the last potato in
the sack, Cuddy.”
“I’m knowin’ things are a mite short,”
acknowledged McGillicuddy. “But even our
Lord urged us not to be worrying about our food and clothin’—that it would be
provided at the time most needful. An’
we’ve only ourselves, fine strong men, to worry about. There’s not a wee bairn that’s havin’ to be
doin’ without due to our bad fortunes.”
“Thank ’eavens for that stroke, Cuddy,” agreed
Gilly. “It would quite put my ’eart to bursting
if we’d a small babe and nothin’ to feed ’im.”
Cuddy nodded and rearranged himself on the
ground with his back resting comfortably on the rock. “Gilly,” he began, “I’m for figurin’ a
potato’s as good as the manna the good Lord furnished his people in the Wandering
Wilderness. If He saw in His great
bountifulness that manna was sufficient for his dearest chosen ones for forty
long years, then I’m supposin’ a potato on our plate is good enough for us,
their brethren in spirit.”
McGillvery looked at the potato on his plate.
“But the good wandering people had all they wanted of the manna and left from
the side of their tables quite full in belly.
Half a potato would hardly feed a wee mouse much less a fine man such as
me.”
McGillicuddy looked sadly at his brother,
“Well, I’ve finished mine long before now.
Be eating your share before it takes on the cold. Then we’d best be giving thanks and be about
turning out the bed and doing some reading out of the good Book.”
McGillicuddy thought about bringing their
mother’s harp from the wagon to float away some of his brother’s misery with
the cheery tinker’s songs they frequently employed to fill the long hours
between farmhouses. The songs encouraged
a tinker to forever look on the bright side of life and always leave behind the
gift of a smile. This evening was a good
time to be reminded of those truths, yet somehow, in this lonely spot, beside a
windowless cottage with little cheer and no warmth, Cuddy didn’t feel like
vocalizing the ideals that bolstered the tinkering way of life.
Instead he looked across the fire at
McGillvery’s despondent demeanor and said,
“We’d best keep in form, Gilly.
Try smilin’ just a bit over that potato.
If we lose our smile and give in to fret and worry, it will soon be showing
to the wives along the way. They’ll be
driven that quickly back into their doors for fear they’ll be catching
the glum looks we’ve caught. It will
only make our situation worse, Brother.
A smile is the face’s little prayer.
It’s saying, ‘Here’s hoping a myriad of blessings are awaitin’ just
around the corner to surprise you and me.’
Circumstances often change much for the better with just the right
attitude. We’ve proved that again and
again.”
Usually McGillicuddy’s common sense and pleasant
way of speaking provided quite the cure for any ill-favored circumstance which
may have befallen the brothers, but tonight McGillvery would not be consoled.
“The night falls, Cuddy, with nary moon nor star
to light the way,” he gloomily noted.
McGillicuddy worriedly said in great haste,
“’Tis not so.” He quickly looked toward
the night sky as if endeavoring to see any invisible saint who might be passing
by and overhearing their conversation. Just
as quickly he spit on two fingers of each hand which he immediately stuck to
his ears while saying, “We be two good brothers. Here’s stopping the accuser’s ears and mouth
until we can right this temporary despair.”
He turned to McGillvery and urged, “Be careful what ye’re saying. We’re belonging to a different sort than that. Hope never dies in bosoms that belong to the
Lord. How can it, Gilly? To think there’s no way out is to deny the
power of our Holy Helper. This little
lull in our business affairs is not a matter of that much consequence that it
be called impossible. If it were
impossible, we’ve every right to expect help from on high for our heavenly
Father works best in the most impossible of circumstances.”
Gilly did not respond to Cuddy’s rebuff nor
his encouragement. “’Tis no use, Cuddy. The talk won’t work this time. All the fair words in the world will not
cover the reality. An’ the reality is
we’re poor. It seems, since we pulled
into this campsite, that I’ve been besieged by all sorts of queer thoughts I’ve
never thought before. I’ve never thought
of ourselves as poor. And it’s not just
the empty potato sack or the last two houses we visited that’s set me to
thinking this way. I’m remembering years
back when our mum was ill. We couldn’t
buy the medicines before she passed away.”
His voice broke as he said, “What kind of a life is it, Cuddy, when
those you love do without the necessaries which can prolong their sweet
fellowship for a bit longer on this earth?”
His voice rose distressfully, “Nay.
The sweet words will not cover what we’ve become, Cuddy. We’re poor and I don’t see how we’ll ever be
anything else but poor.”
McGillicuddy understood his brother was in a
state of great consternation, but he did not understand how deeply his
brother’s feelings were running this night until Gilly suddenly stood, the heat
from the newly laid, crackling branches making him appear most unearthly and
quite ready to fight things visible and invisible. Unable to see the enemy which had so beaten
them, he bent to the ground, picked a rock, abruptly turned, hurled it at the
stone wall of the cabin, and said vehemently, “I’m bloody tired of being poor!”
McGillicuddy was quite taken aback at the
intensity of McGillvery’s feelings.
Although his brother was more highly tempered than himself, it was his usual
habit to take whatever situation they found themselves in with complacence,
accepting the ways of the world in which they lived. Cuddy watched as his brother agitatedly
turned his face toward the heavens. The
words poured in a rush from his heart as much as from his mouth, “We’re not bad
lads and we’re living like we were the worse refuse of
He turned pleading eyes toward McGillicuddy.
“Even a thief eats meat once in awhile, Cuddy.
I’ve not once left my mother’s upright ways nor passed the church on a
Sunday nor neglected my duty to my fellowman to seek his welfare and peace in
all things and yet I’ve not had a glass of milk for a fortnight, let alone the
bite of meat from the worst part of the sheep in nigh on six months.”
Although McGillicuddy had been quite taken
aback by his brother’s words, he at last found his tongue. “McGillvery!” he reprimanded. “Watch your language! How Mother would cry to hear you say such
things!” But, for all that, McGillicuddy
knew that all Gilly had said was true and Cuddy had no real answer for
him. He looked up at the moon and found
it covered, as dark and unyielding as Death when he comes to snatch away the
life of wee babe and old marm together.
As McGillvery had said, even the stars had fled from their sky with nary
light to show a way. McGillicuddy shivered
a bit as he thought of the last several years’ business. In truth, it was as if the sky had joined
arms with the earth in a binding mutual contract to turn upon two lads for the
purpose of vomiting them out of the land of good living. McGillicuddy searched his mind and knew
they’d been patient and never resorted to ill doings despite many privations and
hardships. Somewhere a grave error in
justice had been made—a mistaken identity—so that two good lads were receiving
a life that they wouldn’t wish upon the very bad. McGillicuddy held his head in his hands while
mightily searching for right words, but the soothing and healing words he
needed so badly had quite fled away.
Chapter 2
Need and Greed
McGillicuddy need not have worried about his
lack of words, for McGillvery soon supplied words quite uncommon to his usual
nature.
“The last farmer needed a thorough thrashing
for his uncharitable manner and his wife needed a good spanking on her ampleness
for not having acted the Christian to strangers. We might have been angels for all she knew
and she missing a blessing by the turning of us away. What kind of Christian thinking is that to
not offer the sustenance of
McGillicuddy looked at McGillvery’s rosy-hot
cheeks and flaming red hair, which was now standing in undisciplined peaks all
over a roundly shaped head. He couldn’t
help smiling a bit while thinking of the startle the farmer would have should
McGillvery appear at his bedside in just such a manner and demand his
justice. The smile turned into a chuckle
and the more he thought about eating the soda bread and apple treat in a warm kitchen
while the lady dished out the proper Christian charity, the deeper the humor
seemed until he was quite rolling in laughter.
McGillvery was not amused and frowned quite
sourly at McGillicuddy which sent Cuddy into deeper throes of merriment at
Gilly’s expense. When he finally calmed,
he turned more serious eyes to Gilly and asked, “An’ while your first plan to
end our poverty may not be the best plan, what do you sincerely reckon we do
about it, Gilly? If ye’re well tired of
something, then ’tis best to do something about it. What are ye preposing we do to change our
most serious circumstances?”
Gilly threw his arms outward in frustration
as if wishing to gather a whole world of ideas to himself, then stood hunching
his back in the manner of a hedgehog when he’s very wet and quite cold. He finally began a pacing to and fro in front
of the fire.
“I don’t know!” he said agonizingly. “I feel as if we were both wrong
somehow. Someway we’ve a great error
inside us that needs correcting so that the outside circumstances we suffer can
be corrected But I’m just short of
knowing what the error is for us to be suffering along so.”
McGillicuddy understood exactly. It was the very thing he had been thinking. “There’s a verse I’ve read in Mother’s Book that
says the Lord is the author of adverse and favorable circumstances, Gilly. If we were to set our mind to the possibility
that perhaps the good God above is allowing these less than fortuitous times,
then we would be asking our God what we were needin’ to do to walk into the
sunshine of good conditions again.
Perhaps there’s a large change we’re needin’ to make just like the
wandering people when they was slaves in Egypt and they had to go from bein’
slaves to bein’ a free people. Their
circumstances became just that poor before the good God sent an answer.”
“An’ they had to make tremendous big changes,
Cuddy,” acknowledged Gilly.
“A whole way of life taken away and a new one
learned,” agreed Cuddy. “Their lessons
weren’t easily learned and at quite some hardship to themselves and their
families.”
McGillvery turned to McGillicuddy with tears
near brimming along the rims of his eyes, “Is that what’s needin’ to be done
then, Cuddy? Are we needin’ to become
something other than tinkers? What do
people do when all they’ve known is a tinker’s life, an’ their fathers before
them, an’ their fathers before that?
Where do they go?”
“The wandering people went into the
wilderness,” returned Cuddy.
“We’re already in the wilderness—a wilderness
of lack,” protested Gilly.
McGillicuddy shook his head firmly,
“Nay. We’re not in the wilderness. I’m thinkin’ we’re in the slavery of
McGillvery looked shocked. “How can that be? Our father gave this business and told us we
were the luckiest sort for we were born free with the right to claim our time
and our way on this earth with no one to tell us how to manage but
ourselves. We’re not the slaves of
another where we must draw his wage and depend upon his success and goodwill
for our own, Cuddy.”
“An’ yet we’ve found ourselves in slavery to
the worse
Gilly turned surprised eyes to Cuddy, “An’
what may that be?”
“Poverty,” replied McGillicuddy simply. “We are in slavery to Mister Poverty.”
McGillvery did not know what to say, so taken
aback was he at this revelation.
McGillicuddy explained, “We’ve not the
ability to place tasty food on our plates at night nor the funds to pull into a
roadside inn from time to time to lessen the rudeness of constant travel in the
enjoyment of the fellowship of others.
Our items for merchandising have become just that meager and shopworn
that many wives turn their nose at it for trading the least of things. An’ even ourselves, Gilly, we’re in need of a
little repair. The funds are sorely lacking
for the littlest piece of leather for the resoling of our boots. Haven’t ye noticed on Sundays how we’re
always waitin’ until the last to go in to church and quietly sitting in the
shady corners and leaving before all the good people are up and out of their
seats? It’s not for politeness we do
that. We’ve humble clothin’ and rough
looks about us, Gilly. If we’d the
finery of the Lords and Ladies in the balcony seats, we’d be up front with the
best of them a’shakin’ the vicar’s hand when we’re in Protestant land and a’shakin’
the priest’s hand when we’re in Catholic land.
I’m thinkin’ we are in our
McGillvery had quite shut his mouth. It was all true.
McGillicuddy continued to hold the
floor. “Have ye noticed that tinkers are
rarely along the roads like when we was small and ridin’ with our father?”
McGillvery nodded his head, “Not ever do I
see one any day of the year.”
“It seems, dear Brother,” spoke Cuddy gently,
“that the place left a tinker is so small a man can’t be a man and the times
have grown past us. When we can’t feed
ourselves, we can’t plan for future.
We’re livin’ one day to another with barest of necessities. Do ye know,” he continued thoughtfully, “I’ve
not even the tar to patch the wagon’s roof should it begin a leak. There’s nary a colleen in
Gilly knew his brother quite well but was
surprised to find him linking ‘being’ with a bride and child. “Were ye that much a’wantin’ a family to be
speakin’ of?” he asked in amazement.
“Aye,” answered Cuddy, surprised at the
resurfacing of a deep-seated wish long buried.
“I suppose I was. When I was the youngest
of lads, I’d always planned to take Dearbháil to wife when I was of age. Every time we traded down her way with Father
and Mum I’d think I’d make the proper moves to tell her my choice in the
matter,” admitted McGillicuddy. He added
as an afterthought, “She did a masterful thing by keeping the affairs in order
after the passin’ of her parents and her so young, too. Her wee sister never missed the tiniest
comfort even though an orphan. A body
would never lack at any time of year with such a strong and reasonable mind as Dearbháil’s.” He sighed a bit and said, “She’s pretty even
now that she’s heading toward being a confirmed maid.”
“Aye,” remembered McGillvery. “She always liked our Mum. That’s to her good sense. But I’m recalling hair flaming like a Irish
goddess’ and a temper to suit.”
Cuddy grinned, “Temper puts the pepper into
life so it doesn’t go stale.”
Gilly’s face took on the surprise at his
brother’s response. Cuddy had always
been a man of placid manner and accepting ways.
Yet, it was fitting Cuddy be drawn to such a fiery one as that
lassie. In the tinkering business the
two brothers partnered, it was Gilly who added the pepper. McGillvery drew a slow breath, laboring in
his mind for an answer to the situation the two brothers found themselves
in.
“We’re not the poor, Cuddy,” he observed while groping for ideas. “We’ve got our potato and I do recall,” he
continued, “even the Lord, while doing his work, was hungry enough to desire a
fig from a tree he was passing. Did he not
be of ever so much hunger that he and his men once plucked heads of grain from
a field they were walking through?”
“Aye,” responded Cuddy. “I’m supposin’ two tinkers shouldn’t be
expectin’ any much more than the Lord himself while we walk this earth.”
“I should never,” stuttered McGillvery,
aghast at the thought of such presumption, “think of myself as more than
He! And, I’m well aware that if we get
too roused about the matter of our material sustenance, we’ll find ourselves
sinning against the Lord. ’Tis a small
step between discontent and stealing, or worse.”
“‘Contentment is a deathblow to the monster
greed’…,” smiled McGillicuddy remembering.
“ ‘An’ greed is the witch-mother of many a
bad child.’ T’was what our mother always
taught us,” finished McGillvery.
“Her very words,” agreed McGillicuddy. He shivered a bit and looked fearfully into
the darkness. “Perhaps ’tis best we kill
these depressing thoughts now before all sorts of evil spectres are born. Live our lives as they be and not give any
more energy to thinking about changing what was meant to be.”
Gilly looked at Cuddy with pleading eyes,
“Cuddy, if we should unleash evil by our desire to have more than we truly
need—t’would be a great evil indeed. But
I’m believin’ our desire is pure and clean.
We’d not use the extra to do bad with.
We’ve only a use for the extra to raise our standards a bit and to
provide for a future that could contain a growin’ family for each of us.”
“Aye,” returned Cuddy thoughtfully, “To be
truthful about the matter, Gilly, the Lord had a different callin’ than
me. His job while on earth was quite a
different one than that to which most men are called. It would not be so appropriate for my dearie
and her children to walk along through the grain fields of
Gilly nodded, “And besides does not the
scripture say ‘the will of God is to feed the dear widows and the orphans in
their need’? I’m just a little short of
knowin’ how to do that when we can’t even feed ourselves. I mean, ’tis different for us, Cuddy. If the Lord were here, he could feed all the
widows and orphans of the world out of this one potato forever and ever, but I
could sit on yon mountaintop till I starved to death and wouldn’t know how to do
it for myself and you, let alone all the starving widows and orphans of the world. All I know is trading, Cuddy,” continued
McGillvery earnestly. “I know you’ve got
to have something to trade before you can get something you want. ’Tis the reality of living in a real
world. I’m very, very sorry,” said
McGillvery burring his r’s thickly, “to speak it, Brother, but I…,” and
McGillvery hung his head ever so low, “…I am not spiritual enough a man to know
how to solve all these problems without real gold and real money.”
McGillicuddy was quiet for a very long time and
then said reflectively, “When I left on our dear homeland’s military campaigns
to lands far from here, I remember watching the foreign holy men a’beggin’
their daily food, wandering from one place to another, and wondered if what
they gave in words was worth the bread they got in return. Then I wondered what they gave the poor what
had naught to give in return for their words.
Our Lord gave words, but he also gave real food and real care to the
unfortunate, Gilly.”
“Aye, that’s right, Cuddy!” agreed McGillvery
enthusiastically. Then with a bit of
cunning added, “Not just in foreign lands do the holy men give words
alone. I sometimes notice our own
priests and vicars are more willing to give well-wishing words than part with
the tithes that have been received. I’ve
also seen they are always asking for the gold and tend to live in pretty fine
houses themselves for these parts of the world.”
“Shhh!
Shhhh!” McGillicuddy urged,
looking uneasily around. “The Saints
have large ears and we’ve no need of offending them. Who are we, Gilly, to say the vicars and
priests have not taken care of their funds well? Best we tend to our personal affairs and let
the Lord tend to theirs. After all there’s
a rightful order to things and we’d best be paying homage to that order.”
Gilly snorted disdainfully, “It’s that
precise order I’m talking about, Cuddy!
Why is it all right for everyone else, including the vicars and priests,
to be comfortable and well sustained while we suffer along so? Would it upset the whole order of the universe
if two tinkers lived as an Earl or a Baron or a Lord does for a day?”
McGillicuddy grinned, “I don’t know about the
universe, but it might upset any one
of those three men should one of them be traded down to our level while we
occupied theirs.”
McGillvery ignored the humorous picture
McGillicuddy had painted. Thoughts were
framing in his mind and he began vocalizing them in words, “Cuddy, I’ve read in
Mother’s Book of folks from unpretentious and unlikely beginnings being raised
from humble circumstances into places of surplus and plenty. If such ones had their circumstances changed
so drastically, why couldn’t the same happen for us also?”
“An’ who are ye thinkin’ of precisely,
Gilly?”
“I was remembering the Hebrew story of
David. He was only a caretaker of sheep,
but out of such small beginnings he became a leader and controlled great stores
of wealth for himself and the great nation he ruled.”
McGillicuddy sat rock still. “Are you thinking we could be a David,
Gilly?”
“Nay, I’m thinkin’ we could be ourselves and
receive at God’s hand the same as David received.”
“But, in the case of David that was the
Lord’s will for David, Gilly,”
protested McGillicuddy. “The Lord
intervened for David, you see.”
“Well, why couldn’t He intervene for us?”
logically inquired Gilly.
“I don’t know,” replied Cuddy. “But the
question makes me feel trembly and upset inside like maybe we shouldn’t be
asking it or hoping it for ourselves.”
“Well, maybe we should, Cuddy. I’m remembering another instance in Mother’s
Book when a fellow asked and it turned out quite well for him.”
“An’ who are ye thinkin’ of this time?”
“Solomon.”
“The wise man?”
“Aye.”
“I’m recalling he asked for wisdom, not gold,
Gilly,” recalled McGillicuddy. “Also, if I remember correctly Solomon was asked
by the Lord to ask what he would and it would be given him,” objected
McGillicuddy. “He was asked to ask. We’ve not been asked to ask.”
“I’m thinkin’ our sad circumstances are beggin’
us to ask,” stubbornly insisted McGillvery.
“And that’s the first clue. From
Solomon’s example we’ll ask for wisdom first and then we’ll ask for the gold.”
“Really, Gilly,” a shocked McGillicuddy
responded. “I think you are not quite right in all this. Even in David’s instance I think the Lord
chose him first. T’wasn’t David who did
the choosing for his prosperous life.”
“Well, how do ye know what David was thinking
and wishing for while herding his father’s sheep all those growing up years in
the hills of
“I believe the Book says he thought a
powerful lot about God, Gilly,” corrected McGillicuddy gently.
“Maybe he thought a powerful lot about his
heavenly Father helping him to get that gold,” persisted Gilly.
A small smile played at the corners of
McGillicuddy’s generous mouth until he finally laughed outright. “No wonder you outsell me, Gilly. You’ve got the gift of the Irish sons in your
tongue, sure enough.”
“Would that I had the gift at the end of
Irish rainbows, too,” glumly returned McGillvery.
“Aye,” agreed Cuddy and turned to the fire,
poking and stirring the dying embers, all the while wondering how does a man raise himself from day-to-day
subsistence to a place where there is a roomy surplus of valuable things.
Gilly hesitantly broke into Cuddy’s musing. “I’ve thought, Cuddy, that since it is a fact
one must have something to trade before getting something in return, then one
must wonder where one originally gets the item to be traded.”
McGillicuddy wrinkled his forehead in
perplexity and said, “I’m not understanding what ye’re tryin’ to say.”
“I’m not sure how to say it exactly,”
admitted McGillvery. “But…we’ve always
lived by having something in our hand and we trade that something for something
else we’re wantin’. But if we was to go
back in time ever so far, there had to be a time when one of our dear fathers
had nothing in hand to trade. Where did
he get something when he had nothing?”
Cuddy furrowed his brow in bewilderment. “We got our items from our father. It was our inheritance….”
“Precisely.
We had someone who helped us get a start, such as it was.” McGillvery
held his head in his hands. “I feel as
if my head were fair to breakin’ but it seems to me that if someone gave us a
start in this poor tinker’s business then someone would have to give us a start
on the road to prosperity.”
McGillicuddy was completely baffled. “I do not understand, Gilly. I know for a fact that if ye were to ask anyone
we know for a start on the road to prosperity, ye’d be laughed out of
McGillvery hung his head in silence knowing
what McGillicuddy said was the fact of living. Finally, he said wistfully, “Perhaps men in all their injustice may not
help poor lads such as we, but could it be our dear heavenly Father would help
us be more than we are at this present moment in time? For you see,” he continued, “’tis a most
perplexing problem and not one many men would be able to answer seeing how’s
most are in the same small craft at sea as we be.”
“What you’re saying is that we’ve no one on
earth could or would help us and you’re thinking our dear Lord might be able to
lead the way?” asked McGillicuddy.
McGillvery nodded a glum head. “I know not what else to do seeing the
situation is so grave.”
McGillicuddy said, “It is traditional that
lads such as we look to a hope of better things beyond this life, laddie.
’Tis what our betters have taught us.
To think such thoughts as ye’re thinkin’ could be spiritual ruination
for simple folk such as we. We’re most
likely the little birds and rabbits of this world, Gilly, not the roarin’
lions.”
“And yet,” spoke McGillvery softly, “even the
lions enjoy the little bird’s song, Cuddy.”
McGillicuddy was quiet and then handed their
mother’s Book to McGillvery. “We’ve
never a night we didn’t say our prayers and read in the Book, Gilly. Why don’t you do that now?” he suggested
gently.
McGillvery cleared his throat and said, “I
thank thee that our poor dear mum did not live long enough to see the pitiable
situation her sons have sunk into and I thank thee for the skill of McGillicuddy’s
hands in carving the last potato so fairly and I pray thee to remember how thee
prospered Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob and remember us, their Irish Brothers,
Amen.”
“Amen,” agreed McGillicuddy.
McGillvery opened the parlor sized, leather
bound Book and read, “The meek shall inherit the earth.” He paused and noted significantly, “I’m
knowin’ two brothers who haven’t been doing much inheriting lately.”
A few pages later he read a verse that said, ‘If I had not expected to see my reward in this life’ and he turned amazed eyes in
McGillicuddy’s direction. “Cuddy! Did ye hear that now? I’ll read the words
again.” He slowly read, “’If I had not
expected to see my reward in this life….’
Cuddy! This was someone who wrote
that he expected to see a reward in this life while here on earth.”
McGillicuddy reached over and took the large
Book from McGillvery’s weather roughened hands and said, “Where did ye read
that?”
McGillvery rose from his warm stone seat and
stood over Cuddy’s shoulder pointing to the exact verse.
McGillicuddy looked and said excitedly, “Why,
this is a portion that David himself wrote and we jus’ talkin’ about him this
evening, too.”
McGillvery nodded elatedly, “And you see, Cuddy,
David said he was looking for some o’ the good things in this life! I can’t see any
wrong in wishing for the same things for ourselves that David wanted. Why he was a man after the Lord’s own
heart! The Book says so itself!”
“You know Lord,” he whispered to himself, “I
would sure like to see some of that inheriting and taste a little of King
David’s reward before I die.” McGillvery
paused for a moment as if reflecting, then said aloud to McGillicuddy, “You
know Lord Danbury has fresh fowl every evening’s meal.”
“Aye.
Well I know it.”
“And even the high tempered lassie and her
sister has a garden of fresh greens and herbs, potatoes to dig the year round.”
“Aye.”
“Then, Brother, it seems we must be doin’
something peculiarly backwards to be fightin’ so every day for the potato on
our plate.”
“Aye,” finally agreed McGillicuddy
halfheartedly. “If it were a famine time, it would seem more fair. But this isn’t scarcity times in any county
of Ireland—nary in the mountains nor the valleys—only in this here cottage,” he
said, pointing to their tinker’s wagon.
“So what do you be supposing, Gilly?”
“I been thinking maybe we’ve been not humble
enough and that’s why we ain’t got our daily victuals.”
“An’ how do ye mean?”
“Did you notice that verse last Sunday by the
vicar? I marked it a’purpose.” McGillvery retrieved the Book from McGillicuddy,
quickly flipped over several pages to a place specially marked with a blue silk
ribbon, and read, “See here…it says, ‘first comes fear of the Lord, humility,
riches, honor, and life.’ After that was read, I realized this must be the
Ladder of Success.”
“A ladder?” puzzled Cuddy.
“Sure, a pattern, a road, a way to walk so a
fine chap could get from one place to another more easily. I read that verse and I thought it was
tellin’ about a ladder that a discerning type could climb to get from a state
of poverty to a state of plenty. I
figgered we both were standing on the first rung of the ladder because we do
fear our Lord and that means there must be only one rung between us and wealth
beyond our wildest imaginings.”
McGillicuddy reached over, took the Book, and
read the verse, “‘Fear of the Lord, humility, riches, honor, and life’…An’ what
are you trying to say, Gilly? Are you
saying that since we fear the Lord the next step is to be humble? Somehow I’ve never thought of ourselves as
too awful proud.”
“But if we was really humble then we should
have our gold, Cuddy. You see, it says
right here that first one must fear the Lord, then one must have humility, and
then comes riches.”
“Well,” hesitated McGillicuddy. “Ye’re not knowing how big the space is
between those rungs on your Success Ladder.
I’m thinkin’ there’s a big gap between being ’umble and bein’ rich. I know we’re God-fearing folks. Our mum saw to that. We always pull into the first worship place
we see every worship day. We’ve always
shown respect for priest and vicar alike.
We spend regular time in the good Book.
We’ve always tried to do onto others as we’d want to be done. But still to be quite fair, Gilly, there’s a
heap of folks that have done the same and they’re not the rich of the land so
far as I can see.”
Gilly shook his head stubbornly, “This is the
Ladder of Success. I know we’re standing on that first rung and now we’ve got
to step up to the second rung. I’m thinking we’ve got something wrong in the
humility part and we’re needin’ to fix the error. The only reason the rest of those God-fearing
folks ’aven’t got their gold is they just never understood the Ladder and even
if they did, they jus’ couldn’t bring themselves to be that ’umble. Being ’umble is a difficult thing for a man
to accomplish, Cuddy.”
“Well, if that be true, how do you dispose us
to recondition our dispositions?” queried McGillicuddy logically.
“I was thinking on that,” replied Gilly’s
ready tongue. “The good Book says, ‘Ask
and ye’ll receive.’ So I’m thinking maybe we need to be humble enough to ask.”
“I asked for our daily needs today,”
countered Cuddy.
“But maybe that’s not formal enough nor
specific enough. Maybe we ought to ask
on bended knee like a knight would ask a Lord—maybe with our heads kind o’
lowered and trembly like.”
Cuddy looked thoughtful and finally said, “If
that will put a potato on our plate every night, let’s do it right now, Gilly.”
“All right,” delightedly replied Gilly.
“You’d better say it,” urged Cuddy, “since
you’d been thinkin’ on it a powerful lot longer than I have.”
So McGillvery and McGillicuddy entered the
old stone cottage, got down on the worn flagstone floor with bowed heads, clasped
hands, trembly hearts, and asked most properly for all the gold they’d ever
wanted and more. They stayed there until
their fire burned to black and Cuddy complained of his aching, stone-cold
knees.
“Be humble,” cautioned Gilly.
“If I’m any more humble, I’ll never walk
again,” chided Cuddy.
McGillvery sighed, “It’s probably enough
anyway. Were you truly humble in your
heart, McGillicuddy?” he inquired anxiously.
“Humble as ’umble pie,” reassured
McGillicuddy.
McGillvery sighed a satisfied sigh of relief. “Well, it should be a powerful request with a
powerful answer, Cuddy. For it says in
the Book that ‘two agreed together on earth is agreed in heaven.’”
So the brothers went to sleep with hopeful
hearts and slept deeply as does everyone with happy expectations.
Chapter 3
Land of Gone Forever
McGillvery was not sure what had awakened
him. He lay still and listened. There was something missing, but he wasn’t
sure what it was. He nudged McGillicuddy
who quietly groaned his protest about being awakened after such a short
sleep.
“Shhh!!!
Listen fair,” whispered Gilly.
Cuddy obliged with both ears carefully tuned
for a very long time and then whispered back, “What did you hear?”
“I didn’t hear any a thing.”
“Then for all the heavens above, why did you
awaken me? You awaken people when there’s
danger or when you hear something,” complained McGillicuddy in a low voice.
“It’s what I don’t hear that’s bothering me,”
whispered McGillvery.
McGillicuddy listened again and then laughed
quietly, “You don’t hear the sign squeaking on the back of the cart. It means the summer breeze has quite died
away.”
McGillvery listened again and agreed. “Ye’re right.
The Irish wind is resting in its bed and the sign is dead silent.” He looked at the stars in the sky and said,
“It must be around midnight, wouldn’t you say?” but McGillicuddy had already
gone back to sleep and did not reply.
Cuddy was the first to rise in the
morning. His stomach was growling quite
fiercely and he went to the back of the wagon to give their potato sack a short
shake just to reaffirm there was nothing in its bottom. After verifying there was nothing for
breaking the night fast, he called to Gilly, “If we head down the road, we
might be finding an apple tree. Wouldn’t
be bad sup on a summer morning.”
McGillvery, who had the slighter build of the
two brothers, was always looking for the next meal. He immediately retired from his bed sack and
began rolling both boys’ bedding into tight rolls for storage in the cart while
McGillicuddy hitched Belle and Shade to the wagon. The gray mare was tied to the back. Soon their sign was squeaking in time with
the music of the horses’ patient hooves as they pulled their load along
pleasant roads lined with greenery.
While Gilly minded the reins, Cuddy pulled
their mother’s Book from within the wagon letting it open where it may, placed
a roughened finger on the page, and began reading this verse:
“For
there is a mine for silver and a place for gold that they wash out, iron is
taken out of earth, and one melts stone to copper. Man has set an end to darkness, and to every
extremity he ransacks stone of blackness and gloom. An intruding people breaks into ravines that
were forgotten by feet; they suffer privations, they rove from men to a country
from which bread has gone out and whose underpart turns to be like fire. A place whose stones are malachite and which
has clods of gold. A path no bird of
prey knows nor has a kite’s eye glimpsed it.
Which boldest beasts have not trodden nor lion passed along it…He
explores the sources of rivers and brings to light an undiscovered
thing….”
McGillicuddy began to shiver so violently
that McGillvery took notice.
“What’s troubling you, Cuddy?” asked Gilly
anxiously. “Are ye getting’ a chill?”
McGillicuddy shook his head negatively and
firmly shut their mother’s Book. “Nay,”
he said in a voice that quivered in quite an unmanly manner.
Gilly pulled the horses short and examined
his brother’s face. “I’m sure knowin’
there’s somethin’ wrong with you. Are ye
that hungry then? If it comes to that,
we’ll eat that gray mare before ye get ill from the starvation. You know you won’t starve. We’ve still resources, Brother.”
Cuddy shook his head and with shaking voice
said, “Not the hunger, Gilly.”
“Then what, man?” urged Gilly. “Ye’re lookin’ right pale and frightenin’ me
some as if ye saw the Banshee for yerself or hearing her for the both of us.”
McGillicuddy looked queerly at
McGillvery. “Nay. Not the Banshee. It’s the verse I just read.”
“What could ever be bothering you about a
verse in Mother’s Book? It’s a Book for
giving peace not upset to men.” Gilly
examined Cuddy’s face more closely and exclaimed, “Ye are
frightened.” Gilly had great admiration
for Cuddy’s courage. Cuddy had gone away
when he was young on the foreign wars and come back again. He was a well-trained military man and a
fighting man as well. It would take a
great deal to frighten his brother.
McGillicuddy nodded his head affirmatively and
said palely, “I know a place exactly like the place that was described in the
Book, Gilly.”
McGillvery was quiet and said, “I was half
paying attention to the words when you were reading, Cuddy. Could you read it again? I’ll be paying closer attention.”
McGillicuddy opened the Book flipping many,
many pages for nearly a thirty- minute span and finally said, “I can’t find
it.”
“Can you paraphrase what you read?” asked
Gilly. “It was something about gold,
wasn’t it?” he prodded.
“Aye,” agreed Cuddy, “It was about where gold
can be found.”
“An’ what’s a verse in the good Book makin’
ye shudder like ye were receiving the Devil’s own sentence at Judgment Day when
it’s a verse about where to find what we most have need of?” asked Gilly.
“Didn’t ye hear what it said at all,
Gilly? It’s a place where no bird
flies. A place where the boldest of beasts
refuse to go. A place forgotten by men’s
feet. It’s the land of the Gone Forever,
Gilly.”
“Ye mean the
“Nay.
The Land of the Gone Forever.”
McGillvery scratched his head ponderingly. “The only place where one can go and not come
back on his own is the land where all the dead are, Cuddy. What kind of a land are you thinkin’ of?”
“There’s a place in
McGillvery was quite dumbfounded. “I’ve been back and forth everywhere a man
can walk and ride in
“No,” said Cuddy. “It’s a place with a narrow path into and no
path out.”
Gilly snorted in disgust, “You’re getting’
addled in your brain, Cuddy. If there’s
a path in, it serves a double purpose as a path out.”
“Not this path, Gilly.” Cuddy explained, “This path goes into a place
where you can see the footprints of men who’ve long ago gone, but there are no
prints showing they ever came out.”
Gilly thought about this for a moment and
then said, “Well, it’s a simple riddle then.
It’s like the mud flats when they’re fresh wet and a person walks on
them and leaves a print that dries in the mud.
Later in the afternoon when coming back all the flat is dry and a body can
walk right along the prints set in the ground without leaving nary a
trace. If the mud flats were a path, it
would look like travelers had gone in on the path and never come out. But of course, the travelers did come out. It just doesn’t show because when they
returned, the mud had dried and carried none of their prints.”
Cuddy shook his head, “This is not the same,
Gilly.”
“Explain yourself, then.”
“The prints are set in stone.”
When Gilly had no answer, Cuddy continued,
“An’ it’s a place you can never get to the bottom of.”
Gilly was beginning to feel the tickle of
hairs raising on the back of his neck.
“What do you mean?”
“When a person begins to walk down the path,
he begins to get fearful and trembly inside.
The feeling grows and grows until even a grown man will feel as if he’s
walkin’ into the face of Death himself.
Finally, the fear becomes so unbearable that a man has no other option
than to turn and run as fast as a good man from the dev’l himself past the spot
where he was first settin’ his foot. The
man will ever afterward never desire under any circumstance to go back into
that place.”
Gilly said, “If we were destined to go there,
Cuddy, we wouldn’t act the fools. We’re
not just any two men, Cuddy. Maybe
many men would behave in that manner, but never you and me.”
Cuddy looked at Gilly a bit wild eyed and said,
“The man running and leaping out of that place was me, Gilly.”
Gilly looked startled and said, “How came it
you found such a devil’s place?”
“The year I was shepherding for Lord Danby
above the
“Did the old one give you a reason for the
circumstances on that path?”
“He told me he thought it was the path into
the devil’s own den.”
“I’m not seein’ how
“Who knows?” said Cuddy, “There’s been many a
tale about supernatural doings at the source of the
“An’ ye’re saying the description in that verse
you were reading this morning exactly describes the place you tried to enter?”
“Aye, even down to the malachite stones.”
“Isn’t it an odd thing, Cuddy, that just last
night we were asking for gold and just this morning Mum’s Book opened to a
place about where to find the gold? It’s
even an odder coincidence that ye’re knowing exactly where such a place be.” Gilly looked at Cuddy and continued, “Mum
always said there was no such thing as chance in the lives of those belonging
to the Lord and that everything makes a complete picture in its own time. If you’re thinking closely about the matter,
it could be He showed you the place long ago seeing in advance we would be
needing material sustenance in these years.
When we relied upon Him by asking His assistance, He already had
everything in place for us to solve our financial woes.”
Cuddy shook his head vigorously side to side,
“You’re thinking we’re supposed to be going to that place to pick up the gold
we prayed for. I’m not wanting to ever
go back to that place, Gilly. Nothing is
worth returning to that place.”
Gilly laid his hand upon his brother’s arm. “Wait a minute now. When a fellow prays for a thing, the Lord
provides a way. But then a fellow’s got
to have the gumption to go forward. What
a fellow has to provide in every transaction with the Lord is the faith to act
upon His direction. Don’t you see? We asked like ’umble pie and received an
answer this very morning. We need to be
’umble enough to walk to that place and rescue our gold. Humility, Cuddy, humility!”
“I’m thinking of courage, Gilly.”
“We’ll be the ’umble lads and let the good Lord
have the courage,” boldly charged McGillvery.
McGillicuddy turned quite pale and looked far
down the road beyond Belle and Shade’s ears.
“Ye’re not understanding what it’s like,” he said. “We’re men of flesh and blood and we’ll not
be dealing with the matters of flesh and blood.
How can a man fight something unnatural?”
“All through Mum’s Book there’s stories of
folks battling the unnatural, Cuddy. Jacob wrestled with an angel and look at the
reward he received for his efforts.”
“I’m not Jacob, Gilly,” returned Cuddy. “I’m just a poor Irish tinker.”
“A hungry Irish tinker,” said Gilly
pointedly.
“We could eat the gray mare and not be hungry
for many a day,” suggested Cuddy.
“An’ when we’d quite finished ’er we’d be
jus’ that much poorer and still lookin’ for our next meal,” said Gilly. He stubbornly added, “The Lord never intended
for his own to be doing without.”
Cuddy sighed and conceded, “The Book is
overflowing with the promises he makes for His own. He raises lowly men from impossible circumstances
to places of roomy surplus. I’ve read it
in the Book and know it must be so. But,
it’s one thing to read a fair story of others’ good fortunes at the Lord’s hands
and quite another to see it for oneself, Gilly.” He sat for a moment as if ruminating on their
future and then reached across Gilly’s lap, took the wagon’s reins from his
hands, gave the signal to Belle and Shade, and said, “We’ve no other place to go,
have we, Gilly?”
“That’s the way I’m seein’ it, Brother. We’ve been backed as far into a corner as we
can go and have no way out now except to fight it out.”
“Then, mark the date in Mother’s Book,
Gilly,” said Cuddy resignedly. “’Tis a Friday
morning in
Chapter 4
The Dreamer Begins
Many a dreamer fails to begin his
journey. He fails because he forgets
that the role he plays on the human stage of life is not the planner, the
adviser, or the reasoner. The dreamer
has one job—to hope, to believe, to speak the dream into being. Let the practical planner plan. Let the advisor count the cost. Let the reasoner dictate the journey is
ill-advised for financial reasons, for health reasons, for unforeseen
circumstances, for fear of failure. The
dream, a fragile thing giving to playfully teasing for the opportunity to
become reality, easily fades away into nothingness if the dreamer does not
stand firm for its right to live. The
dreamer hangs his future on the coat rack of hope and with his dream as company
proceeds along his way.
And, that is the peg upon which McGillvery
and McGillicuddy hung the success of their journey. They had no material resources and no education
upon which to make more sure decisions—no deep, lasting circles of friends from
which to draw excellent advice. The only thing they had was a dream of changing
their circumstances in life, hope that it could be done, and the beginning of a
path to walk. Somewhere along the way
hope must undergo a transformation into a quality with substance. ‘Faith is the assured expectation of the
things hoped for,’ says the Book. But,
directions on how to transmute hope into faith are not so very clear. Sometimes it can take a lifetime to develop
and sometimes it can come in a hurry.
The brother’s journey took them to the edge
of a long lane winding past a pied cottage that McGillicuddy had not forgotten
nor had he visited since his mother’s death. Belle and Shade turned the wagon into the lane
as if they were finally going home.
McGillvery made no move to correct the horses’ decision and justified
the delay with their need for supplies for their journey.
“We’ve need of sustenance, Cuddy. She had respect for our mother. At least she’ll not turn us away.”
A large, red-haired woman emerged from the
cottage doorway while three shepherd dogs came loping down the lane to greet
the tinker’s wagon. Soon a young girl of
about fourteen years of age appeared from the apple orchard with an apron full
of summer fruit. Both women broke into
smiles and waved the wagon into the yard.
“McGillvery and McGillicuddy! No one hereabouts has heard of neither of you
for such a long time. I’d thought you
had grown so rich from tinkering in other counties that ye’d emigrated to
McGillicuddy blushed and said, “Not when we
could be keeping company with
“An’ ye haven’t lost the Irish tongue, I
see,” she retorted archly and quickly added,
“Then if it’s company you’re caring to keep you’d best be turning the horses
to pasture and showing us your wares.
We’ve apple pastries to bake and may trade you some potatoes for some
fabrics before many days have passed.”
McGillicuddy had grown as deeply crimson as
red morning. McGillvery waved their thanks
while urging Belle and Shade toward pasture.
They pulled the wagon into the orchard before releasing the horses and
pulled a pail of water from the spring to wash and shave.
After sincere efforts to smooth the rough
edges of their appearance, Gilly noted, “Ye’re lookin’ right fine, Cuddy.”
Cuddy felt his smooth cheeks while looking
around at the trimness of Dearbháil’s home and pastures. “A fellow could smell almost decent every day
with such handiness about him—running water all the year. She’s got herself a paradise of luxuries,
that’s for sure.”
Gilly reached into a small wooden box kept in
a chest. “Here,” he said, handing
McGillicuddy a bottle of Bay Rum. “It’s
the gentleman’s way of announcing his arrival.
A bit of the scent on your face and ye’ll be as presentable as Lord
Darroughby.”
A small giggle escaped from behind the wagon
and Tamara appeared with an impish gleam in her green eyes. “What’s that awful smell?” she asked
mirthfully.
McGillicuddy looked at McGillvery, “Is it
smelling?”
“Nay.
Can’t ye see the child’s teasing you?”
“Don’ be listening to him, McGillicuddy. It smells fiercesome bad,” she retorted
firmly.
McGillicuddy reopened the bottle and passed
it to her. “You wouldn’t want to be
trying any then, would you?”
Tamara’s eyes lighted with joy and she
quickly put two fingers to the neck of the glass jar touching a bit of the Bay
Rum behind her ears. “I’ll be borrowing
it for a bit, Cuddy,” she said and just that quickly ran toward the cottage
with the gentleman’s scent in her hand.
“Must not have smelled too badly,” observed
McGillvery. “The child was quick to try
it and quicker still to share it.”
McGillicuddy laughed and asked, “Do we still
have a bit of the Lavender packed away?
Would be a fine thing if the lassies were smellin’ a bit different from
the laddies.”
McGillvery got into the wagon and soon
presented two small bottles on which he tied two green silk ribbons. “They will make a superior thank you for the
apple tarts we’ll be havin’ this evening.”
McGillicuddy smiled his thanks and the two
brothers headed toward Dearbháil and Tamara’s cottage. “How different it is to be among friends than
strangers, Gilly. I’m smelling the tarts
and some cabbage, too.”
They knocked politely on the cottage door and
Tamara flung it open. The smell of Bay
Rum hung heavily in the room nearly overpowering the lovely smell of the
tarts. McGillicuddy’s eyes roved longingly
over the plaid checked tablecloth and the deep glasses filled to brim with
creamy fresh milk. Small pats of new butter
lay near each plate and man-sized napkins conveniently lay to the side of the
forks. Dearbháil noted his satisfaction
and nodded her head knowingly.
“Best be sitting yourselves. The cabbage is hot and the soda bread just
coming from the oven. Tamara’s already
laid by a most enticing apple jelly this year that she’s sure to be trying on you
this evening.”
The boys immediately sat themselves at table
and then McGillicuddy rose apologizing.
“It’s been a long time since Mother passed away and we’ve near forgot
our Christian manners, Dearbháil.” He
walked toward her while reaching into his pocket for the small bottles of
lavender. “One for you and one for
Tamara. A thank you in advance for the
fine evening and kindness of your hospitality.”
Dearbháil smiled while taking the two bottles
from him. “An’ Irish colored ribbons, too.
They’ll look lovely in her hair, Cuddy.”
After setting the bottles on a shelf, she handed two large skillets to
him and said, “Put them on table and I’ll be bringing the bread.”
Tamara was setting the new summer’s jelly on
the table and took the covers from the two skillets. One was filled with cabbage and the other
with shepherd potatoes.
McGillvery’s eyes fairly watered with
anticipation as Dearbháil sat three loaves of soda bread at table and began
breaking them into thick, soft, hot pieces.
Without conversation the meal began while many a hungry night was
forgotten at the small table covered in green plaid. The evening passed merrily with music
provided from the harp, tinker’s stories swapped about places small and grand,
tea and apple tarts served at midnight, and rolls of fabric spread for the women’s
viewing at candle’s glow in the wee hours of the morning.
Three days passed in such a fashion before
McGillvery finally tugged at McGillicuddy’s elbow. “’Tis time we were going, Cuddy. We’ve a prayer to seek the answer to and an
adventure to undertake.”
McGillicuddy was greasing the cart’s rear
wheel while sitting under an apple tree and did not immediately answer.
McGillvery continued pleasantly, “If the
place ye’ve been telling me of is not far from here, we need not be gone for
many days.”
McGillicuddy remained silent.
McGillvery noted his brother’s reticence and
quietly added, “I’ve been thinking on it a bit.
We could leave the wagon with Dearbháil and Tamara. Would give us a reason to stop at the cottage
again when we’ve become the successful gentlemen.”
McGillicuddy finished the rear wheel and
rolled it toward the wagon for remounting.
“We
can take Belle and Shade as riding horses and leave the gray mare for Dearbháil. She’s a way with animals and could use the
mare once it’s had time to heal,” continued McGillvery.
McGillicuddy looked down at the ground while
wiping the sweat from his brow. He
continued with the mounting of the wheel while McGillvery planned.
“Do ye want me to tell Dearbháil we’re on our
way, then?”
“Nay.
There’s no need. I’ll be tellin’ her,” reluctantly agreed Cuddy.
The next morning the two brothers rode away
from the pied cottage with Dearbháil and Tamara left standing in the door. The tinker’s wagon sat forlornly in the apple
orchard, its sign strangely quiet. They
turned to wave until the hospitable property faded away into green pastures and
rolling hills. Belle and Shade patiently
plodded forward while flicking ears against the occasional straying insect.
All that day they traveled along the
McGillicuddy said, “We’re not far now from
the Sinks. An’ it’s there, Gilly, you’ll find the place described in Mother’s
Book.”
“We’re that close by then?” queried Gilly.
“That close an’ already a dread coming over
me.”
“Don’t be speaking so fearfully, Cuddy. The Lord’s men walk confident and sure, with
no fear, for they’ve His promises to hold and protect them.”
“I’d fight a thousand enemies of flesh and
blood, Gilly, with both arms resting on my Lord for strength. But, what lives in the Sinks is not something
that assails the body, but the spirit.”
Gilly quietly ignored Cuddy’s presentiment
and asked, “Is the trail into the Sinks easily found?”
“Nay, not easily found. But it’s a trail an Irish mum could walk,
it’s that broad. Only there’s not an
Irish mum in
“Two are better than one for accomplishing
all things,” replied Gilly in rebuttal.
“’Tis what our dear mother always told us. It’s the wisdom for us staying together all these
years. When one of us is down, the
other’s up. We’ve made a better showing
that way. King Solomon’s proverb says,
‘A threefold cord might never be broken.’
So faith man! There’s you and me
and the good Lord—a fine threefold cord.
We two can fight the flesh and He can fight the spirit. So what more do we need than that? He’s leading the way and we’re just
a’following. That’s as innocent as can
be. Harm should pass us by. ‘Tho’ ye walk through the valley of deep
shadow.’ Remember the words, Cuddy? Do ye think they have no real meaning? No real power? Come now,
Cuddy was quiet and had hung his head, half
ashamed. “You’re right, Gilly. I’m glad our own darlin’ mother isn’t here to
see my fearful set. But faith is a gift,
Gilly. I always felt you were more
deeply imbued with it than I.”
Gilly blushed with pleasurable pride. “I did always take a heap of store by the
Book, didn’t I?”
“Aye, you did.”
The boys continued their hike long until
evening shadows were slinking darkened cat’s paws over and around the rocks and
knarled stumps that passed for trees in this
land of ancient lore.
“Looking Glass
“McGillicuddy,” consoled McGillvery, “perhaps
we’ll have one of those trout on the way back from our journey.”
Cuddy grimaced. “If we make it back, Gilly.”
“Now, Cuddy, faith,” warned McGillvery.
“Ahem, faith,” repeated Cuddy.
Gilly sat on a stump along the highland trail
they’d been following and looked around.
“This seems as good a place as any to be making our camp seein’s how the
moon’s past full already. We’re needin’
to catch the evening light early.”
Cuddy agreed and set his pack on the ground while
Gilly pulled out one of Dearbháil’s baked potatoes. He grimaced as he accepted the half cold
potato from Gilly. But after several
diligent movements of his jaw, remarked, “Did you ever notice how much finer
the potatoes from the middle of
“Aye.
It’s that black soil and the mineral springs they waters their gardens
with. Gives ’em body and taste.”
“Ye know, Gilly,” said Cuddy stretching
himself comfortably alongside their sleeping rolls, “It was a fine piece of hospitality
Dearbháil set before us the last three days.”
“Mmmm,” sighed Gilly. “I’m wishing we could be going to sack with a
piece of her soda bread fresh and hot from oven and Tamara’s apple jelly in our
middle sections. The young lassie’s got
a way with the jellies.”
“It’s a more comfortable life they lead
that’s for sure. T’would be a good thing
for us to stay rather than leave them.”
“Dearbháil’s a self-sufficient lassie. I’m not sure she’s needin’ a tinker or two
staying.”
Cuddy lowered his head and said, “There’s
such a thing as a man so foolish that ’e’s no sense to know when good comes to
him. Seems like the most good we’ve had
in many a day came to us this week when we decided to turn in at Dearbháil’s. Would be an imprudent thing not to recognize
the good and find a way to make ourselves a part of it.”
Gilly pictured Dearbháil’s hair—red flamin’
like an Atlantic sunset. “I’m not one to
speak ill, especially when I’m lovin’ to see Dearbháil any time of the
year. But I’ll be reminding you there’s
many a good to be found besides a good meal in the evening, Brother. Forgive my lack of charity and I’m
apologizing for the outspoken thought before I’m saying it, but I’m thinking
her tongue could be a mite spiteful without half trying. Somehow whenever I’m around her I think of
Mother saying, ‘If a man’s wantin’ praise, he’d best die; if he’s wantin’
blame, he’d best marry.’”
McGillicuddy grinned. “Aye.
I see it, sure. I’m not foolin’
myself. In the spark of her eye and the
way she sets her mouth firm-like when a turnip won’t come out of the ground on
the first pull is a definite sign of strong will. But a fine, self-sufficient woman like that
is somewhat of a comfort to a man.”
“You sure don’t want to be the turnip Dearbháil’s
pullin’,” observed McGillvery dryly.
“Nor pushing either,” grinned
McGillicuddy. “Only a successful man
could keep those firm lines melted into softness on Dearbháil’s sweet lips.”
“Maybe she might want a successful man to be
a mite more successful and then a
mite more successful, Cuddy. Then you would be right back where you
started from with her.”
“Maybe.
But money can cushion things, Gilly. If anything, a man can be away on
business from time to time.”
“You can do that in your tinker’s wagon.”
“Aye, but Dearbháil isn’t a woman to have her
man gone all the time and there’s Tamara to think of, too. Dearbháil’s got larger plans for her sister
than inheriting a tinker’s trade.”
McGillvery was silent. Dearbháil was pretty in the morning and when
laughing had the trill of a lark in her voice, but when those green eyes
flashed—no—not for him. He’d take a
brown-eyed lassie like his own mother any day.
A contented, amiable female was a jewel which maybe didn’t flash with
the fire of Dearbháil, but was still a worthy treasure. Satisfied with that easy thought, Gilly soon
drowsed into a deep slumber followed shortly by his brother’s peaceful and
regular breathing.
Long before daybreak, Cuddy was rousing McGillvery. “I don’t want to be walking into the Sinks in
the evening, Gilly. So, up with you
now. It’s bad enough we didn’t travel as
far as the Looking Glass on the yesterday.”
They ate their potatoes along the way and
long before noon passed the lake and stood at last on the edge of
“It’s a picture,” breathed McGillvery.
“Aye.
Only here is the Emerald Isle truly blue, Gilly.”
“Who’d of thought it? Blue as the willow on Mum’s teapot.”
“That’s why they call it the
“’Tis an odd name—the Sinks. Why’d they call them the Sinks?” asked Gilly
while tightening and securing his pack.
“Some things are best left in misty dreams of
long ago,” hesitantly answered Cuddy.
“Nay.
We both need be prepared for what comes, Cuddy. Tell me the story,” urged Gilly.
Cuddy replied, “Maybe as far back a time as
when the large stones were laid along the sea is the age of the tale. In those far away days, a ship of raiders
landed on western shores. It was an
unexpected thing and many a village lost.
But good men rallied and sent their most courageous warriors to help
their brothers along the sea. Fierce
fighters they were and successfully saved many a village from the
marauders. But on the way home the
heroes were that anxious to be home for seeing their wives and families that
they took a shorter way.”
“The Sinks?” queried McGillvery.
“The Sinks,” acknowledged McGillicuddy. “You can still see the path they took into
the Sinks, but no path coming out.”
This was the second time McGillicuddy had
spoken of the path they were to travel in such a manner. “How can there be a path in and no path out,
Cuddy?” asked Gilly with a bit of irritation.
“That’s cat-e-cornered talk if I ever heard and a fine beginning of a
fanciful leprechaun tale for smallish children!”
“No, no,” hastily assured Cuddy. “The footprints are still there. You’ll see them soon.”
Gilly pondered this piece of information for
a moment and then asked, “An’ the warriors never came home?”
“They never came home.”
For the first time in this adventure, McGillvery’s
heart quavered a bit. For, after all,
the desire for gold must be intense to cause any man to go forward when it would
be easier and more comfortable to stay in familiar territory.
In truth, the brothers’ lot in life was not
much different from the majority of men the world over. A good wife can make strong beginnings toward
mending much of the comforts a man sorely lacks with her sewing, milking, and
gardening ways. Both boys, however,
could not bear the thought of coming home some years down the road to a reproachful
look from an ageing wife as he delivered no coin for many days labor at
tinkering. This vision of an imaginary
feminine face full of utmost sadness had made them thrust aside all thoughts of
marriage for many a year and now this same face made McGillvery throw aside his
momentary hesitation and fear. His chin
came up with an air of determination.
“Well, then, they must have been fairly silly
to have wandered round and round in a smallish place like that and couldn’t
even find the path they originally walked on when even today it is as plain for
any to see.”
“Or maybe ’tis only a path in and no path
out,” repeated McGillicuddy again quietly.
Gilly hesitated in his step,
“It was the old sheepherder who told you the tale, Cuddy? You never heard the tale from another?”
“Never heard the story anywhere
else. He had me lead the way down the
path and told me afterward he wanted to see if I felt the same about the path
into the Sinks as he.”
“’An you did?” asked Gilly, wanting to hear the story once again.
“I turned and ran clear over the top of the ole’ man without a ‘Please,
get out of my way’ before we were twenty meters down the trail.”
“Did you go that far down onto the path, then?”
“Aye, but in truth it’s jus’ a little way. The trail seems long as if it extends into
forever.”
Gilly strode forward albeit more slowly and
less willingly than before.
It was Cuddy who finally turned and urged
him, “Come now,
Gilly looked ahead and saw a wide patch of
clouds just skimming along the ground.
“It looks like I could near walk on top o’ them,” he wonderingly mused.
Cuddy was scanning the ground carefully while
walking around the edge of the lovely white expanse floating inconsequentially
alongside the edge of mountain grasses.
Finally, Cuddy motioned with his hand. “Here.
It’s not changed. This is the
place, Gilly. See, the stone path
leading down into the clouds.”
“I can see why ye were afraid, Cuddy. It would be hard seeing where to put one’s
foot in all that cloud. A body would be
fearful of falling off the path into a deep valley or miry place where ’e
couldn’t ever be found again.”
“Nay.
’Tis not so. As soon as ye step
into the cloud, it vanishes.”
“That’s not likely, Cuddy.”
“Follow me and I’ll show you the reality of
the matter. But,” and he held his hand out
to Gilly, “you must know, Gilly, you will be overpowered with the desire to
return from whence you came.”
Gilly noted Cuddy’s serious blue eyes and
nodded. “Let’s make a pledge we’ll not
turn back, Cuddy. We’ve got to claim our
fortune. The Word promised it would be
found in a place such as this.”
Cuddy lowered his eyes and clasped his hands. “I’ve no words to tell you how it will
be. These many years later I still feel
it. Ye’ll just have to experience it for
yourself. But, I’ll go ahead as long as
you will follow. Our dear Lord protect
us and bless us, his simple men.”
Gilly’s eyes moistened a bit. Unlike Cuddy, this was the most adventure he had
ever undertaken. It was requiring more
courage than he had ever needed in his entire life. “Thank you for going first, Cuddy. You being a military man and more bold
than I. If you lead, I’ll do my best to
follow and may God bless the head and the tail of this most earnest party.”
Cuddy nodded, turned toward the path, and instantly
disappeared. Gilly quickly followed and
true to Cuddy’s word, above them was a ceiling of brightly lit cloud and in
front of them was a broad, stone path with the record of myriads of feet
permanently set in stone. The footprints
descended. No footprints came back.
As the boys progressed down the path an increasing
tightness gripped their chests while every hair on their bodies raised as does
the hair on a dog when it is alerted of extreme danger.
Finally, Gilly gasped, “Cuddy!”
“I can’t turn ‘round, Gilly, for if I do I’ll
jump right over you and run all the way to the top of the Blue Mountains.”
Gilly breathed heavily. A profuse sweating broke on his body. He felt like a man sitting in the fiercely
hot radium pots of the Southern Irish shores.
“I don’t seem to get my breath, Cuddy.”
“It’s the Dread on you, Gilly. You need to think of the words, Gilly, or
we’ll never make it beyond this point.”
“Be…of…good...courage…little flock…,”
whispered Gilly. “Fear…not…I have
approved of…giving you…the kingdom.”
“Every perfect…present…comes…from above,”
struggled Cuddy.
“Ask…of the Father…for wisdom…for He
gives…generously…to all.”
And so the brothers marched deeper and deeper,
past where no animals dared wander, following the petrified footprints of a
band of long ago warriors into the black stillness of the Sinks—a place where
no breeze played, no bird sang, no vulture or eagle drifted. The trees and flowers melted away and the
earth became nothing but hardened, glassy-like rock—slippery, sharp, and
treacherous.
As suddenly as the brothers stood on the
floor of the smooth rock, the Dread lifted.
Gilly breathed deeply and wiped his perspiring brow. “We made it, Cuddy. We must say a thank you prayer for our dear
Lord’s provision for our lives.”
After a short prayer, the boys looked around
the unearthly landscape, and Cuddy asked, “What now?”
Chapter 5
Peculiar Places
Everywhere the boys looked, glassy, volcanic
lava lay in smooth shaven shards. Gilly
shivered a bit while wondering aloud at the time of day. “It seems midday with the bright cloud for
sky. Not knowing how the light sets in
this peculiar place, perhaps we’d best be making our way to a safe place for
night’s camp, Cuddy.”
Cuddy nodded. It had occurred to
him that the bright light on the path had dimmed to quite a degree at the
bottom of the Sinks. “I’ve not been
seeing where the band of good men went, Gilly.
Their footprints have quite disappeared.”
Gilly looked everywhere in astonishment. “It’s almost as if they walked into thinnish
air, Cuddy.”
“Aye.
Perhaps it would be best if we could make a nest high like a bird for
this evening’s rest. Are ye seeing a
ledge anywhere we might climb to for safety?”
Gilly looked carefully along the sheer face
of the black cliff in front of them.
“Nay. We’d best navigate the base
of this dark mountain for a bit. Perhaps
we’ll find such a place as ye’re lookin’ for.”
Cuddy’s military training cautioned him to
mark the trail out of the Sinks with a large pile of rock. While Gilly had made fun of the silliness of
the band of warriors losing their way in the Sinks, neither he nor Cuddy
thought they would be any luckier than those legendary heroes when they wished
to leave.
“After all,” reasoned Cuddy, “if two heads
are better’n one, hundreds of minds working on a puzzle should have been that
much more effective in unraveling difficult problems. At first glance it seems their many minds
were ineffectual in resolving their dilemma.”
As an added precaution, he pulled his
mother’s locket from his side pocket and hung its silver strand atop their
stone pile. “She always loved us, Gilly,
and she’ll lead us back should we have any trouble.”
“The Good Lord will do the leading,” corrected
Gilly and then smiled. “But it’s a good
idea. See how it gleams against the
black rock. We’ll sure not miss it when
passing this way again.”
No sooner had the boys set out along the
bottom’s edge of the cliff then that quick Cuddy hollered, “There. See. A
smallish cave midway up the cliff’s face.
An’ a few handholds for us to make it with ease. If we can reach that, Gilly, we’ve a safe
night’s sleep and can viewpoint this bottomland. There may be water near the center of the
Sinks or some other useful item for our adventure.”
The cave was smallish with enough room for a
tall man to stand in. Ten men might
comfortably sleep on the floor which was made of the same material as the
Sink’s base—smooth, glassy-black rock. Surprisingly,
a pool of clear water bubbled in the extreme back of the cave. The boys stood marveling at that small
wonder.
“It bubbles, but puts forth no stream,
Cuddy,” observed Gilly.
“A phenomenon I’ve never seen quite the like
of in any of my travels, Gilly,” agreed Cuddy.
“Is it a slight popping noise the bubbles are
making?” asked Gilly.
“Aye.
I’ve heard of such waters in Normandy.
Sparkling waters. They are sought for strong ability to restore
health. Some call them life-giving
waters.”
Gilly turned to walk toward the cave’s
entrance for the purpose of surveying the Sinks, but a soft Irish mist had
risen from the nape of the cliff to envelop all they might have seen.
“It’s odd how with fresh water and an Irish
mist there’s no greenery or bluery here,” commented Gilly. “I’ve half a notion not to drink the
water. Maybe it boils up from some
poisonous recess deep within the earth.”
“An’ maybe it’s as pure as can be. For what could grow on this black glass,
Gilly?” inquired Cuddy.
“Our Irish moss could grow anywhere there’s a
mist, Cuddy, and you don’ see it growin’ now, do ye?”
“No, I don’t.
But we may discover reason enough by the morrow. For now, let’s eat our potatoes and sleep off
the Dread of the Sinks.”
While they ate, the mist raised to the level
of the cave’s entrance. It looked thick
enough to walk on.
“’Tis a beautiful thing, Gilly,” said Cuddy.
“An’ sure ’tis. Makes a fellow properly sleepy. I’ll be saying my evening prayers and wishing
you a good night, Cuddy.”
“Good night, Gilly.”
Both boys rolled into their blankets—the mist
at their feet, the bubbling spring at their heads.
It must have been along toward morning when
Gilly had the oddest dream of the earth shaking, groaning, and cracking. The cave’s floor split open to reveal stair
steps just neatly carved with the bubbling spring cascading down them like a
regularly paced waterfall. He seemed to
feel Cuddy shaking him, telling him to get up, and look.
Their voices echoed oddly as they engaged in
a hurried conference over the open stair steps.
“Where did they come from?”
“I’m sure not knowing. It seems an otherworldly invitation.”
“If we accept the invitation, we may not have
the power to retreat should we decide the party wasn’t one to our liking,” said
Gilly fearfully. “You spoke of the Land
of the Gone Forever. This may be it.”
“We’ve come this far,” reasoned Cuddy. “An invitation requests either a yes or a no
for an answer. There is not a between response.”
“What will happen should we say no?”
questioned Gilly. “We are not in the
safe keeping of our own county to know the rules and ways of saying no.”
“’Tis a good point, Gilly. In our own land, ‘Yes’ is usually the best
answer when invited. It bespeaks of
graciousness,” thoughtfully spoke Cuddy.
“Then, let’s hope graciousness is a valuable
quality in this land,” said Gilly as he reached a hand toward Cuddy for the
beginning of a walk into depths unknown.
They joined hands and began the treacherous
walk down the steps to see what was at the bottom. The water made the steps uncommonly slippery. The brothers soon released their grip in
order to grope slowly and carefully along the walls toward an ever increasing
brightness until at last they were in a room so bright it seemed nothing could
be distinguished except light. With
time’s passing the brothers became aware of shimmering yellow colors within the
white light. They strained their eyes to
focus and found they were trying to see mountains of golden nuggets as
abundantly present as the acres of harvested grapes in Normandy.
Gilly dropped to his knees and scooped
handful after handful of the golden clusters into his cupped hands, letting
them fall easily into glistening, rounded mounds.
Cuddy whispered, “By the Saints, Gilly, we’ve
become the successful men.”
“It’s an answer to prayer given from true
men’s hearts to a good Lord with ears to hear and a loving disposition to show
where to be finding a future. It’d be a
fittin’ time to give thanks, Cuddy.”
“Nay,” objected Cuddy suddenly. “That’s like saying your thanks before your
meal instead of after, Gilly. How can
you give thanks for something ye haven’t yet received? Better to eat it and then give thanks. That’s the proper way. We’re not home with this gold yet. Have you thought, a man can only pack so much
gold because of its heaviness? We didn’t
bring a little one wheeled cart nor anything stronger than our knapsacks in
which to haul our treasure, Gilly.”
Gilly stopped running his fingers through the
golden nuggets for a moment. “It seems
we didn’t plan well, Cuddy. If we had
truly believed our Lord, we would have brought the tools necessary to take up
what He promised. I’m that much sorry
for my lack of faithful planning.” He
stood upright and surveyed the room.
“Ah! Here’s what we’re needin’—two rucksacks of uncommon durability.”
Cuddy admitted these bags were well made for
the job and, appropriating one to himself, began to fill it brimful. It was barely all a stout man could carry,
but it would do.
Gilly did the same. “’Tis a very great shame to leave so much
behind, Cuddy.”
“Aye, ’tis.
But now this will do and there’s no saying we won’t be able to come
again. What’s this now? Seems a bit quieter in the room.” Cuddy turned to look and said, “I’m wondering
where the water went that was cascading down the steps?”
True enough the water was no longer
there. In its place a white cat of
tremendous stature was slinking down the stairs as evenly and smoothly as the
water had flowed before.
There were no cats to match the like of this
cat in all Ireland, of that Gilly and Cuddy were certain. But, this was the Blue Mountains beyond the
“Scat, puss.
Scat. Begone with ye. We’re two Irish lads a leavin’ this county
for our own.”
The Cat stood erect on his hindmost feet and
struck through the air with extended claws as sharp as the talons of
eagles. Cuddy had once seen a rabbit
clutched in such claws. He shivered at
the thought—for he and Gilly were in proportionate size to the Cat as prey to
the hunter. Gilly was so very close to
the Cat that he was looking under it’s chin and there saw a necklace of gold
round its neck with a queer kind of writing engraved on the nameplate. The room suddenly shook with a roaring sound
louder than a multitude of waterfalls. Gilly found himself gazing into the
pinkish depths of that white carnivore.
Past the rows of pearly sharp teeth, he saw a tongue so rough it seemed
as the scales of a salmon roughed all backwards.
“Perhaps scat was not the appropriate term,
Gilly,” whispered Cuddy.
The shock of looking so close and so far down
the throat of the creature quite addled Gilly’s brain for thinking what else to
say.
Cuddy looked steadily at the Cat and began
humming a consoling tune, “Here now, pussy.
Be a nice pussy. Purr a little
song, pussy,” to no effect. The Cat
merely swished its tail, roared again, and leapt over the boys’ heads to the
far side of the room. It began pacing
back and forth, watching both boys with yellow, glittering eyes—eyes not unlike
the gold it seemed to guard.
The situation the boys found themselves in,
tightened its severity when the water
resumed its quiet flow over the steps assuring an ascent out of the
cavern would be treacherous business loaded as they were with golden clusters
of their future.
“What’ll we do, Cuddy?” whispered Gilly.
“We could start backing toward the steps and
retreat slowly and carefully one by one until we’ve reached the cave’s mouth
and continue a retreat to the path out of the Sinks. Never show fear you know. The proper sort of attitude can quite save the
day in the face of danger.”
Because Gilly greatly admired Cuddy’s
tactical expertise he naturally and promptly agreed it was quite the
proper thing to do.
They began a backward two-step to the
stairway never taking their gaze from the eyes of the Cat. Suddenly, with the rush of a stiff breeze,
the room filled with one word.
“Thieves.”
Gilly stopped. “Who said that? Who said ‘Thieves’?” For even in the face of such uncertainty it
was inconceivable that anyone should accuse the two brothers of such a base
condition as thief.
“Tinkering thieves,” the voice repeated.
“Nay, not thieves and never thieves,”
disagreed Gilly.
“And what’s your definition of thieves,
McGillvery?” a husky voice whispered.
“’E knows me name, Cuddy,” whispered Gilly in
astonishment. Peculiar as that would seem in the natural order of their Irish
world, in a dream it could be quite proper for a cat to know such things.
“’Tis not the primary issue here,” whispered
Cuddy.
Gilly nodded in agreement. This cat had leveled a bitter charge against
McGillvery’s character and, worse yet, on the spotless reputation of
McGillicuddy. Of course, that was
uncalled for in the real world or in the Sinks.
One’s name before others is more valuable than any earthly
treasure. Once sullied, a name is often
in a state of dishonor for one’s entire life and therefore must be guarded and
defended assiduously.
So, Gilly drew himself to his full meter and
a half height, straightened his hat, and looked the Cat straight in the eye as
only a man of good conscience can.
“A man can only be charged with thievery if
he’s taken something not rightfully his.
And ye can see we’ve only the clothes on our backs and these rucksacks.”
“But what’s IN those rucksacks?” spat the Cat.
“Nary a thing but the gold from this room,” truthfully
spoke McGillvery.
The Cat leapt across half the room toward the
brothers. He stood on his hindermost
legs as bears sometimes do when ready to fight and began speaking as if
standing in a court of law delivering the final charges before the judge gives
sentence.
“You don’t belong here. You’ve no right to the gold. I’ve no Passport of Entrance for you. You passed the Dread without legal
permission. I’ve no Certificate of Duty
Free Export for two rucksacks of gold for a McGillvery or a McGillicuddy. Without the appropriate documentation, it is
obvious to me you are both thieves and not only thieves but liars as well. The Supreme Punishment is in order.”
Such a long charge of infractions of the
Rules of the Sinks quite silenced Gilly.
But Cuddy, having been in the military and knowin’ all about infractions
of rules, countered with, “Ye know as well as I that paperwork sometimes gets
lost in the jungly maze of paper handlers.
The Passport of Entrance may have delayed in processing. We gave the proper words to the Dread for we
entered, didn’t we? And as for Certificate
of Duty Free Export, who is to say whether you yourself properly recognized
it? It may have been misfiled, mislaid,
misjudged, or misread.”
The Cat narrowed its yellowish eyes and began
a swishy twitching of its tail. Gilly
had seen his mother’s own tabby do quite the same before pouncing on
unfortunate quarry.
“Even if you had all the proper
documentation,” the Cat accused slowly, “you’ll both be found guilty for you’ve
broken the Ultimate Law.”
At this, Gilly more than found his tongue,
spluttering at the indignity of the accusation,
“Broken the Ultimate Law? And
name me this law, dear Cat.”
“You’ve broken the Ultimate Law of Plenteous
Possession,” solemnly announced the Cat.
“We’re great admirers of all law,” protested
Gilly. “We’re understanding the
importance of law in society. We read
our mother’s Book regularly to keep from breaking the laws peculiar to our
Lord. What are the specifics of this law
you are accusing us of breaking?”
“The Law says those who do not work, shall
not eat. It also says, ‘Go to the ant,
you lazy idler and observe his ways.’”
“We’ve always worked for our food and idle
bread we’ve never eaten,” remonstrated Cuddy hastily.
“But you’ve not earned this gold,” purred the
Cat, creamy and velvety soft words spoken with a sucking twist of satisfaction. “Gold shall not go with the man who has not
worked for it.”
Gilly looked at Cuddy and Cuddy looked at
Gilly. No more words came to them. For
an Irishman whose very tongue is linked to celestial inspiration this meant only
one thing—a departure of words meant the Cat could pronounce sentence and
execute judgment.
“Pray, Cuddy, pray,” whispered Gilly. “If a loosening of our tongue doesn’t come,
we’re to perish amidst all these riches without ever tasting the Earl’s sweet
wine and with no one ever to miss us.”
Cuddy thought of Dearbháil and Tamara. Nay, not even Dearbháil would often wonder
what had happened to the two tinkers, McGillvery and McGillicuddy. Suddenly, help from a place far and yet near
came, and Cuddy had masterful resolution grip his heart and mind. He must have the gold to be sure, but more
importantly, he had to leave this land whole and alive for he intended to
obtain a place in the world where at least one person would cry over his
passing. And with that determined
resolve, his tongue was loosened.
“Wait, Cat.
You charge us with not earning the gold, but now we’ve done something a
bit better. We’ve asked. ’Tis that same thing
if you’ve a rich Uncle and you ask and he gives you some of the gold, you
see. We asked the Owner of all the gold.”
Gilly looked in amazement at Cuddy. How well he spoke! It was true.
They’d asked the Owner of all the gold in the material universe for some
of His gold. Gilly sighed a deep
sigh. How true it was—two heads were
better than one.
But the Cat advanced toward them extending
one talon and then another reminding Cuddy all for the world like a first
sergeant he once knew who flexed his fingers before announcing a particularly
punishing march.
“Asked, did you?” sneered the Cat, seeming to
smile. “And what did the Owner of the
gold say? I’ll warrant He didn’t answer
you, yea or nay. For I know all matters
must go through proper channels. The
paperwork must be done correctly and little unimportant tinkers like yourselves
do not have access to The Owner of the Gold.”
The Cat licked his lips, “I think you’re
presumptuous. That’s what you’ll be—two
Irish crocks full of presumption a’walking on two legs and if that weren’t
enough, you’re greedy, voracious, and audacious. You know what those evil passions cause old
men, young men, kings, and peasants—a peck of troubles and an untimely
death. That’s what it’ll lead to boys—a premature
and unholy demise. Now leave the
rucksacks and back up the steps. I’ll
turn and let this all be a misunderstanding.
Forgive and forget I will if you’ll set for home.”
Gilly hitched his rucksack a little higher on
his back and whispered to Cuddy, “If we set the gold down now, we’d be
admitting the Cat was right in all its accusations. But we’re honest lads who came all this way
on faith, belief, and hope in our hearts.
We took leave of our business to do this business and we’re duty bound
to finish this business. Besides, Cuddy,
we made it past the Dread.”
Cuddy was half listening to Gilly, all the
while watching the Cat, but he seemed to come alive at Gilly’s last words,
“That’s right! We made it past the
Dread. The fact we made it is a kind of
passport and we’re a’standing in this room, Gilly, and that’s a kind of passport
and I’m thinking maybe some of the things happening to us right now are a kind
of test, Gilly.”
Cuddy stood as still as stone, then leapt at
the Cat and shouted, “Boo!”
The Cat screeched like a tabby with its tail
run over by a cart and vanished into thin air.
“Why, Cuddy!” Gilly marveled. “However did you know what to do?”
Cuddy grinned. “I remembered a little sergeant who was all
the time huffing and puffing while accusing folks of this and accusing folks of
that. One day a young woman, half his
size, shook her finger in his face and told him he ought to be ashamed of the
way he was carrying on. Somehow I seemed
to see that sergeant’s face on that cat and I remembered how that sergeant
melted right into the floor as easily as ice on summer day when that tiny woman
took him to task. That cat was all meow,
Gilly. I guess our way has been cleared
of all obstacles.” He looked around him
wistfully. “My, how I hate to leave all o’ this.”
“Seems to me we’re not leaving it, Cuddy,” observed
Gilly. “We’re the only lads in the whole
world who know where the Lord’s gold is.
We’re just leavin’ it in His keepin’ until we’re needin’ more of it.”
Cuddy surveyed the room. “Aye,” he said thoughtfully. “If we could take it all, we would get the
indigestion just trying to keep it from thieves and predators outside the
Sinks.”
Gilly smiled.
“Perhaps the Dread won’t be so fearsome the next time we endeavor to
pass.”
“An’ maybe the Dread won’t even be showing
himself since we vanquished him so squarely.”
“Maybe so.
At all points of view, this here’s a secure place in which to leave our
inheritance.”
“Then, we’ve need to be going home, Gilly,”
said Cuddy and then corrected himself. “Or
to a place we’d like to call home for the rest of our days.”
The brothers climbed the stairs to the cave’s
floor, gathered their bedrolls, and quickly clambered down the face of the
cliff with the Irish mist lowering its table in perfect harmony with their
descent. They followed round the base of
the cliff until they arrived at the place where they were sure they had marked
the trail out of the Sinks. After a
diligent search, they stopped with great consternation showing on their faces.
“Sure ’twas here,” spoke Gilly.
“Nay, the silver locket would be shining atop
the pile of rocks we made. I’m seeing no
trail,” contradicted Cuddy.
“Perhaps was a bit further on,” said a voice.
Startled, the boys turned to see a Father
most properly dressed in black robes with a hint of rosary beads hanging from
his pocket.
“Why, Father!” exclaimed Cuddy aghast. “An’ I
was thinking we were alone and here we are with a materialization of profound
spiritual guidance in front of our innocent eyes. Now, did ye come down the same path we came
in on, then?”
The Father ignored Cuddy’s question. “Ye seem to have a heavy load to carry,
boys. Are ye needing some help with it?”
Cuddy and Gilly sat their packs on the
volcanic glass and said, “No,” in unison.
The Father stepped forward quickly and lightly
kicked the rucksacks. “An’ what would ye
be wanting to be taking from this land to the land above the clouds? Are ye involved in an undertakin’ not to our
Lord’s liking? Perhaps taking something
not rightfully yours?”
“We’ve always been lads of the church and do
truly love our Lord in common,” protested Cuddy. “We’ve paid for what’s in those bags with
faith, dear Father, and not a smallish bit of it neither.”
“Aye,” joined Gilly. “This whole undertaking should be most to our
Lord’s liking for it was a prayed for thing and a worked for thing. It cost us our tinker’s inheritance to make
this journey. McGillicuddy,” he
encouraged, “let’s be showing hospitality to our guest—share a potato with the
dear Father.”
McGillicuddy reached into his pocket and
carefully cut a potato into three pieces being sure to noticeably offer the
Father the larger share. The Father
moved forward and sat down on the two bags biting into the cold potato with a
grimace. “I’ve come to give ye good
advice which I hope you’ll take, Brothers.
Gold was never made for man. Many
more a curse has gone with a pot of gold than a blessing.”
“An’ why would ye be saying such a thing,
Father?” incredulously asked Gilly.
“We’re well knowing what a blessing a pot of gold could be for fellows
such as we.”
“An’ are ye asking the question from your
heart due to not really knowing, Gilly?”
Gilly was quite surprised to find the Father
knew his name, but answered truthfully, “Aye, from a pure heart. We’re not able to see how gold could ever be
anything but a blessing.”
“Then I’ll answer so’s you’re understanding
well. You see, not many a man’s so
careful and disciplined of his actions that he’ll procure blessings for his
soul while in the presence of opulent abundance. In fact, boys, did ye know now that many a
wealthy man has said, ‘great wealth is a curse rather than a blessing’?”
McGillvery answered, “In the company we walk
in, dear Father, no one’s ever had the opportunity to find out for themselves
whether that be true or not.”
“Believe me, lads, it’s true, it’s true,”
said the old one shaking his head sadly.
“Ahhh! But how little prepared be a man for the handling of so
much fiscal responsibility as ye both are carting away here. Much evil has occurred when wealth was gotten
and this,” he indicated the bags, “ill-gotten—all at once. Fellows, money’s a thing you need to be
growing into, little by little. ’Tis
always the best way.”
McGillvery had on his forehead a wrinkle or
two of deep concern. “Father, never
would McGillicuddy nor I wish to compromise our standards of trueness and fair
dealin’ with other folks just because we was more prosperous. It would be an unthinkable thing on our part
to return evil to anyone when ’tis in our power to do good. With the gold, seems like we’d be better set
up to do good than other folks would be.
And as far as coming into prosperity all of a sudden-like, well, we’ve
been un-prosperous for many a year now.
In fact by most standards I suppose even when we were wee little ones,
prosperity walked around the corner from us and never bothered casting a glance
behind. So we’ve had many a year to
prepare for this day.”
The Father listened quietly and said, “Don’t
be overmuch righteous, lads. What ye
think ye plan to do before ye’re sprinkled with gold dust and what ye actually
do after being sprinkled with the
dust…well…let me tell you about Gingus McQuee.”
And the Father began a story which would jerk the tear out of the
hardest eye.
“Gingus McQuee had a digging up on the high
side of a mountain. He’d dug and he’d
scraped for many a year with no such luck as
The ancient Father looked intently at
McGillvery. “Now what do you think
happened?”
McGillvery beamed. “Providence provided good fortune twice so
must have been an honest mistake on the part of Gingus McQuee—not being wise to
the wiles of the world, he naturally could have fallen the first time, but the
second time—not ever Father.”
The Father looked at McGillvery for a long
moment. McGillicuddy, who had also been listening
to this great moral lesson, gave a start of surprise. What was it he saw on the old man’s
face? There was something there that
reminded him of someone. He felt a touch
of uneasiness—that indescribable feeling that begins in your middle as a churning
and spreads to your outer parts causing goose bumps to rise. McGillvery, however, totally lost in the spiritual
oneness he felt with the Father was urging, “Go on. What really did happen?”
“It’s so sad I don’t know quite if I can
finish the story.”
“Oh,” replied a saddened Gilly. “Gingus did not resist the temptations of evil?”
“He did not,” spoke the Father.
“And what about poor Ellen alone on the
hillside waiting for her red dress?”
“She waited for one month, two months
quietly, but long into the third month the roses began to leave her cheeks and
the brightness of her eyes became as the dullness of the earth she worked in.”
“And?” queried Gilly.
“The poor lass in weakness of a deeply hurt
spirit took to her bed not eating or drinking and at last died…alone…of a
pitiably broken heart. For she realized
you see, she had loved her all for someone who loved not her.” The Father paused for a long moment and then
quietly added, “Dear Ellen’s goodness was so pure that even to her last breath
she did not call upon the Saints to curse Gingus McQuee. Not a sigh of reproach passed those sweet
lips.” The Father clasped his hands and
slightly bowed his head at the finish of his tale.
McGillvery spoke out in a rage,“This Gingus
McQuee should have been stripped and hung by his thumbs for to let
The Father waited just a bit allowing Gilly
to calm so he would be sure and hear the lesson of the story. “But Gilly, the real point of the story is:
It could be you.”
“Not ever, Father!” exclaimed Gilly in
horror. “Be ye cursing me now? Not ever would I do such a thing.” Gilly turned to Cuddy, “Speak up,
Cuddy raised a hand, “Hush, Gilly. We’ve no wife or children. We’ve only ourselves. The story’s no application to our
situation. Quit your sad stories now,
Father.”
“I know.
I know,” placated the Father.
“But it is something to wonder about now isn’t it? How would Gingus McQuee ever explain to the
Most High Judge above when he’s standing before the Great Judgment seat and the
High Judge shows sweet Ellen’s tears, the darkest circles under her pale
eyes—eyes of famine, Gilly.”
Now Cuddy, who had been watching the Father,
said, “Father, I see a lovely silver strand ’round your neck. Would you bring it out now and we’ll be saying
a prayer for God’s good graces to be extended unto our souls and for a special
saint to be sent as a watch-guard against an unholy heart. Then with your blessing, and a point in the
right direction, we’ll be taking our leave.”
The Father ignored McGillicuddy and spoke
directly to McGillvery, “Sons, leave it be.
I plead with you. Only evil can
possibly come of it—even the good teacher said to be content with each day’s
sustenance.”
McGillvery, eyes moistened with tears, turned
to McGillicuddy, “It’s true. Often I’ve
read it in the Book, Cuddy. Perhaps it’s
best to leave the bags now—for why should we bring evil down on our heads?”
“Why, now McGillvery,” countered McGillicuddy,
“the Book says the Lord owns all the silver and the gold. Isn’t He a fair friend of ours? Then He wouldn’t be a’mindin’ if we took our
fair share.”
The Father moved a bit to catch McGillvery’s
eye, “The Book says money is the root of all evil.”
McGillicuddy spoke quickly, “It also says,
McGillvery, that wealth is a stronghold in a day of distress and in those bags
is our stronghold. The good Lord has
seen us this far and we’d better not be disappointing Him by leaving our gold
behind—t’would mean all His help thus far went to a couple of spineless fellows
who don’t know how to carry through on a plan.
Now we’ve never been that sort, Gilly.
Let’s have the dear Father take the silver strand from around his neck
and pronounce a blessing, Gilly. After
all, one can look for the doom, gloom, and evil in every situation. But we’re at the bottom of the stairs and
this Father’s doing a fair job of telling us there’s no use trying to climb
them because we’ll fail and fall to the bottom in a heap again. It’s a true story that we may fail at certain
points and not be all we should be in every situation. For a time we may even be too proud with all
our gold. But Gilly, we’ve got to at
least try. Wasn’t that one of the reasons
we loved the Book’s story of old King David?
He sinned a mighty, mighty sin when he was wealthy; but when he realized
what he’d done, he begged forgiveness, got forgiveness, and didn’t repeat the
action again. Why couldn’t we be like
King David, Gilly? An error is an error
whether one’s rich or poor.”
“Tsk, tsk, Gilly,” spoke the Father. “What your Cuddy doesn’t realize is that
wealth gives you much more latitude to error.
You can affect many more people and do ever so much more harm. Now if you’d been born to it, you’d have had
the training, my son, and would handle the responsibility in a much more worthy
manner.”
Cuddy was growing red round his neck. “What
you’re saying, Father, is that all rich men were rich forever back to the
beginning of time. But I’m a’telling you the lines of those ‘born and trained
to it’ all began with someone who
wasn’t born and trained to it. Someone
had to start out just like Gilly and me—poor and of no account, no education,
no potato on their plate—and they had to go asking the good Lord for a favor
and the Lord had to put his ear down and listen and show them a way. That’s how those lines got started. This very day Gilly and I are getting ready
to start our line of future prosperous progeny ‘born to it’ with these two bags. So, Father,” and Cuddy stepped up to the old
man, “I’ll be taking this and taking your blessing, too.”
McGillicuddy tore the silver strand from
around the old man’s neck as McGillvery began to protest. “No! Cuddy! Mind your…,” and stopped. In McGillicuddy’s hands was their own
mother’s silver locket.
“He’s a fraud, Gilly—just like the Cat. He was sent here to persuade us we were not
worthy of the gold, but we ARE,
Gilly—as much as anyone else and we have to believe we’ll do the right thing,
Gilly, ’cause just as belief in the good Lord is important, belief in oneself
is important, too. And,” he said turning
to the Father, “if ye’ll be stepping away from our gold, Father, I’m betting
the path with our stones marking the way leaving the Sinks will appear behind
you. I think, Father, you cast a maze
upon us and we would be walking right past the exit and wasting our energies on
foolish meanderings if your purposes were to succeed.”
The Father scowled. “Ye’ll not be free yet to enjoy the gold. You know not what you bit into lads. In those two bags are ulcers, jealousy, and murder. You’re liable to meet with all three and be
glad to cast those bags away and go back to being the tinkers ye are and ever
shall be. Whoever heard of a tinker
raising himself in the world?” he sneered.
“It can’t be done.”
McGillicuddy hoisted McGillvery’s pack onto
Gilly’s back and helped himself into his.
“Nothin’s impossible with the Lord and He’s a loyal one to help His
friends. We’ll be bidding you good day,
Father.”
The piles of rocks were behind the ancient priest. McGillicuddy and McGillvery began the long ascent out of the Sinks not noticing the permanent prints they were leaving behind. But the old Father noticed and frantically began scuffing at the prints, trying to obliterate the fact that two persons had not only come into the Sinks but were successfully leaving the Sinks.
Chapter 6
McGillicuddy and McGillvery weren’t long out
of hearing range when the Father cried, “Cat!
Come quickly. Look what’s
happening. Their footprints leaving have become as permanent as the
ancient band of warriors’ footprints coming. Oh, Cat,” he moaned, “others will find this
place and when they see someone, and two someones at that, went down and came back,
they’ll gather the courage to follow and soon Cat, all our gold will be
gone. There’ll be none left, Cat. We’ll no longer be Keepers of the Treasure
for the treasure will be nonexistent. O’
Cat, DO something!”
The Cat looked at the old Father. “There’s not much I can do. Didn’t you see what bags they carried the
gold in?”
“No.”
“The Ever Filling Bags from the treasury
room.”
“What does it mean?”
“It means whenever McGillvery and
McGillicuddy come to the bottom of their sacks, they will magically refill to the
top again. They’ll never be out of gold,
old one.”
“And the gold comes from…?”
“From our treasury rooms,” spoke the Cat
grimly.
The Cat was facing a twofold dilemma. First, it is natural for man, once in possession
of gold, to increase consumption to match income. Over time, the Cat could foresee exceedingly
large piles of treasure transferring into circulation in the land above the
Sinks via McGillvery and McGillicuddy’s efforts to live comfortably and do well. The Ever Filling Bags made steady depletion
of the treasury rooms that much easier for the two brothers.
The second dilemma was McGillvery and
McGillicuddy’s successful entrance and exit into the Sinks could be duplicated
by other humans. It was conceivable that
the ancient treasury rooms would be completely depleted to the point of
emptiness as others found the means to enter and leave the Sinks.
The Cat padded softly back and forth
analyzing its problem before deciding upon action. It seemed the second problem was not the immediate
threat. He knew the ways of men. It is true that an obstacle—such as the
Sinks—becomes much easier for humans to surmount and to conquer once one of the
species has accomplished the difficult task.
Humans are, after all, great imitators.
But the Cat understood at a primal level a great deal about the queer chemistry
of heaven’s potion for success. All
successful action depends on the exercise of faith, hope, courage, and
love. Like tinctures of medicine in
small bottles lined in tidy rows in heaven’s pharmaceutical shop, these four
elements combine infinitely to form prescriptions unique for each seeking
individual. The precise recipe necessary
for the situation at hand can be difficult to find indeed. It is usually revealed in stages—quietly and
obtusely appearing and disappearing through many years of diligent searching.
The Cat knew future adventurers must journey
into arenas at the edge of material realities.
The journey requires groping into the unknown while maintaining firm
ties to dogged endurance, courage, and hope.
The hope must never fail even in the face of impossible circumstances
and the courage is often difficult to accumulate in the necessary large
doses. The adventurer must steadily step
forward into the unknown even when seeming to be in possession of courage less
than the measure needed for the situation at hand. Within the unknown are large enemies needing
to be vanquished. These enemies are not
those of flesh and blood; but of the mind—flooding streams of doubt and of unanswerable
questions. The traveler must meet the
enemy with humility. It is the only way
to conquer.
Such struggling souls are few. The Cat understood the human masses, even
with a wealthy McGillvery and McGillicuddy in their midst, would wish, want,
and dream their lives away without actually doing something to reproduce the
actions that turn desire into reality.
Some would envy the boys while imagining themselves in the brothers’
shoes. Only a few would decide yes—“It
will be me”—and do it.
After such thoughts the Cat gently lay aside
the second problem of those who would follow to concentrate on the first
problem. It was very real and at hand. McGillvery and McGillicuddy had its personal
refilling bags with unlimited access to the treasury rooms. The Cat knew the farther up the trail Gilly
and Cuddy went—the nearer the goal they got—the more assured and confident the
boys would become. That confidence alone
would be more difficult to deal with.
The Cat needed to make another attempt to dissuade them.
The Cat paced back and forth switching its
tail. “Fear did not work. The Power of the Word did not work. What else can one use on mortal man?”
“If I may suggest, Cat, punishment works
quite well.”
The Cat paused, turning golden-glitter eyes toward
the Father. “Punishment? It’s against
the rules to kill or to physically harm them.
We can do neither.”
“True, but a sort of pain can be inflicted on
man. If you think a bit, you’ll realize
how little man likes sustained effort.
He’s not very good at it and some are so poor at it that their mortality
rate is greatly increased when under the strain of consistent, persistent
effort.”
“What are you plotting, Ancient Man?”
“It crossed my mind that we’ve little and few
ways to stop McGillvery and McGillicuddy from reaching the top of the
“Speak on, wise one,” urged the Cat.
The old priest laid out a devious scheme
which caused the white Cat to roll over and over on the black glass chortling
his extreme pleasure. “How wise old one!
We’ve sure a hand at success!” And to himself he promised, “And I’ve a little something
extra to add to the old one’s plan.”
All this while, McGillicuddy and McGillvery
labored up the hill. When they finally
crested the top, McGillvery panted, “Let’s take a bit of rest here, Cuddy. I’m wondering so at your wisdom. How was it ye knew the Father was after our
gold? He spoke right fair words, Cuddy.”
“I watched him while you listened,
Gilly. I got a feeling there was a
conniving cat behind those eyes. I knew
he’d outcat us if we’d not be most careful.
And…,” McGillicuddy started. “What’s
this now—speaking of cats, Gilly.”
Before the two brothers had appeared the
white Cat. It wasn’t threatening as
before and seemed to hum, but somehow the vibrations didn’t seem pleasurable,
soothing, or comforting as a sweet tabby’s purr should.
McGillvery stood and McGillicuddy also, each
placing a foot firmly on their golden packs.
“None of your sassy ways, Cat.
We’ll buy none of the foolishness about returning the gold.”
“Oh?” asked the Cat in surprise. “I’d no intention of asking you to return it. Once you’ve gone this far, there’s really no
turning back. I’ve come only to give you
a final word or two, then ye both shall be on your way.”
“Careful, Cat, about that word or two. It may not be a word or two we’d be wanting,”
said Cuddy.
“But a word you’ll be needin’.”
“Usually when folks say you need something
its them that needs it,” observed Cuddy.
“You’ve made a grave error in coming to my
country,” purred the Cat.
“We’ll let the Lord be the judge o’ that,”
countered Gilly. “He’s brought us out of
a terrible drama with nary a scratch.”
The Cat’s talons extended a mite as if
willing to share a scratch with Gilly, but remembering anger is best kept
simmering when one speaks one’s mind, the Cat merely said, “That may or may not
be, McGillvery, but I do have the right as Keeper of the Treasure to speak a
word over it. I’ll speak it now. The gold is going with you, to be sure; but
it will only stay with you if you spend all that is in the bags by evening’s
fall each day. In the morning the bags
will be full again, completely replenished; but again, you must spend it in one
day by evening’s fall. If there’s just
one round nugget left in the bottom of one of the bags, then bags and gold
shall return to their rightful keeper.”
McGillvery and McGillicuddy quickly inhaled
their breath at this fantastic revelation of unbelievably good fortune. It was like being given a lifetime of rooms
full of golden nuggets. They were about
to speak, when the Cat warned, “But, mark my words, ye’ll never have it long
for no mortal is wise enough to have gold and the happiness meant to go with
it. For ’tis a great secret none can
find,” and the Cat began rumbling a little purring tune. “While in their eyes the golden glint gleams
and in their hands the lustrous metal sheens, a slave they’ll be to a ruler
cold, for few shall govern as well as Gold.”
The Cat narrowed his eyes and sneered, “And,
I’ll be reminding ye both this ruler is a sovereign who changes its slaves as
easily as ye change your clothing.”
McGillvery had heard nothing past the fact
that their bags would be forever replenished.
Enthralled to the core of his soul and with face aglow he was about to
say “Thank You!” when McGillicuddy put a finger to his lips.
Without another word, the Cat disappeared.
“Be careful to whom ye say thank you. I think the Cat meant those words as a curse
not a blessing.”
“A curse?
However can that be?” sputtered Gilly.
“Why Cuddy! The Saints have smiled on us today. The bags are to refill whenever they are
empty. Our only obligation is to spend
the gold! After a lifetime of lack and
ill-fortune! What a glorious end to our
sad story! How good our Lord is!”
“Ye may think so, Gilly. But it seemed an ominous speech rather than a
blessing speech to me. Did ye not hear
all the words? We’re a long way from
anywhere to spend our gold this day and have ye looked at the sun’s positioning
in the sky?”
Gilly looked overhead and his heart sank like
a ship with all its masts broken at stormy seas. “Cuddy,” he whispered, “however can we spend
the gold in time? It took a whole day
and part of another to come here and we’ve not hardly a day to go home and
spend the gold.” He held his head
despairingly in his hands. “What a cruel
joke, Cuddy. After all we’ve been
through.”
Cuddy looked thoughtfully at Gilly for a
moment. “Ye remember the story in the
Book about a man who cursed good people whom God had decided to bless? Every time the curses turned to
blessings. It may be this situation
could spin the same. We’ve God’s blessings
on our efforts. He evidently has chosen
to see us as worthy men for He has allowed us to be successful up to this
point. Despite the Cat’s words, I
believe we should stay by our Lord’s words.
He raises lowly men to high positions.
We’ll have to sit and think awhile before taking action, Gilly.”
Gilly didn’t believe they had time to think
with the sun’s position being so far gone into the day. But he was a loyal brother and dutifully sat
and thought. Suddenly, he sat upright, “Here
we’re thinking about spending the gold because the Cat told us we must. What if it lied to us, Cuddy? What if the spending of the gold will not
replenish the gold at all? Wouldn’t it
be like the Cat to have us spend our hard-earned gold and the bags never refill
at all?”
Cuddy nodded.
“This could be. It is a very
devious cat.” He rested his head in his
hands for a moment and then said, “One takes action in life by believing words
one chooses to believe. We must decide
what we shall believe—either the Cat told the truth about the everlasting
refilling of the bags or it spoke a trick and once spent, the bags shall never
refill.”
“This is a most perplexing problem,” worried
Gilly.
“Maybe not,” asserted Cuddy. “If we do not believe it, we do not spend the
gold. If it spoke the truth, we will
lose all the gold at sunset including the gold in the present sacks and we will
have nothing for our efforts. If we chose
to believe it, we will have spent the gold and at sunset will at least have
something in hand even if the bags refuse to refill. So you see, a simple solution has presented
itself. We shall spend the gold.”
“Well,” marveled Gilly, “however did you reason that out so cleverly?”
Cuddy, just as surprised, answered, “I don’t
know myself. It was quite a masterful
piece of thinking now wasn’t it?”
Gilly agreed and said, “If we should fail in
spending the gold this day, not from lack of trying mind you, and the Cat’s
words prove true, t’will be all right anyway, won’t it, Brother? For we can return to the treasury rooms and
fight for our chance at success again, can’t we?”
Cuddy shuddered queerly. “When we were at the bottom of the Sinks it
was easy to imagine going back. But now
we’re at the top o’ the mountain…well…even though we’ve done it once, somehow
I’m thinking it will be harder next time or…,” Cuddy groped for the words
before continuing. “Everything the Lord
does proceeds in precisely defined orders and rhythms. We’ve often marveled at the regularity of His
seasons and the timing of the lands’ and the seas’ cycles. When we were in the Sinks we may have been
standing in Fortuitous Time—a special time that does not often occur for lads
such as we be. The stairs in the Sinks
may open only once for a singular instant—a sole opportunity presented to the seeking
man to become more than he is. If one
doesn’t slip through the opened door with faith and sure action, the door may
never present itself again.”
Gilly shivered unexpectedly, “Then we may not
have a second opportunity should this one be lost.”
Cuddy wrinkled his forehead in deep thought,
“Or, it may be some time before we’re given another opportunity…maybe when we
are old men near to die.”
“O! Cuddy!” Gilly cried, “If we lose these bags,
we’ll have lost the whole world and our lives will be sadder than ever before.”
“Careful, lad. This is a situation where we need place our
feet carefully now. Even our Lord
rejected the whole world. That’s a tempting dangle from the other side and we’re
too smart to be nibbling in those fishing waters, aren’t we?”
Gilly nodded in humble acquiescence and began
thinking seriously about the Cat’s last words.
“I think ye’re correct that the Cat was cursing rather than blessing our
dear efforts. It t’would be near
impossible to spend all the gold every day.
It’s a frantic pace that’s been set.
’Tis apparent a goodly, stout man could die trying to spend this much
gold every single day for the rest of his life.”
“That may have been the Cat’s plan all along,”
agreed Cuddy. “We’ll just have to trust the Lord is more powerful than any
scheming that may be done against his true friends. The Book says good ideas are stored up for
those who fear Him. I’ll reckon the Cat
doesn’t understand how our Father, and I’m not meaning the one in the black
robe, can give us an overflowing of good ideas so that spending the gold will
be no trickier than eating our daily potato.”
Gilly nodded quietly. “Two men praying are a powerful tonic,
Cuddy. An’ ye’re right, of course. It would be best to take a deepish breath and
do a bit more thinkin’.”
“Yes,” solemnly noted Cuddy. “The facts are: We know we’ve no chance to be making it back
to an Irish village on our side of the mountain by evening. Even if we did—we’ve not been gone three days
and had bare enough to trade bonny Dearbháil for potatoes when we left. A woman like Dearbháil is too quick with the
questions, being of a highly suspicious mind as she is. She’d be wantin’ to know how we come by
properties and valuables so sudden that we are buying a whole village and of
course that could lead to all kinds of troubles from her more jealous and
covetous neighbors like the Earl, for instance.
However, if we was gone for a whole half year, say, and then come home
as wealthy gentlemen, we could excuse it as a bit of Irish luck in trading, now
couldn’t we? An’ only a few questions
asked and we could be about our business without all the hubbub. Gold rushes are started from men who wish
riches in three days, but rarely are they started from riches resulting from
many months and years of labor.”
Cuddy paused and added thoughtfully, “I’m
remembering a village on the western side of this mountain from many years
back. I’m thinking we could easily walk
into its fair lanes before evening falls.”
McGillvery, half listening to Cuddy’s soliloquy,
perked up immediately. “There’s a plan
then. Is there enough in the village to
spend two whole bags of gold?”
“It’s a hard town to sell, Gilly. Those hard to sell are usually most happy to
sell to you. They like the jingle of
gold in their own pockets, you see.”
“Not willing to part with it, but more than
willin’ to get it. Mother always said
two heads are better than one and well you’ve proved her right this day,
Cuddy. It sounds a good strategy to me.”
Once agreed, the brothers immediately hoisted
their packs to their backs and set a brisk pace for
“More’n likely it will spend easy enough,”
agreed Cuddy. “I’ve never had a piece of
gold that ever liked to stick around the likes o’ me for very long. Seems any I got developed run-away feet and
fled every which way here ’n there.”
“Aye, it’s been a sad story to tell, Cuddy,”
sighed Gilly.
Before Cuddy could agree, the two brothers
heard a flute playing a lively, tuneful melody that is accompanied by the
bleating of a thousand sheep. Around the
corner of their trail came a young lad of ruddy cheek and honest eye.
Chapter 7
Black Eyes and Puppies
Fortuitous circumstances have a way of
finding those possessing sweet hearts. McGillvery
and McGillicuddy were presented with an opportunity to overcome the Cat’s curse
in a most handy and ready manner.
“Ho! Lad!” hailed Gilly.
“Ho! To you,” cheerfully responded the boy.
“Where do ye be coming from and where do ye
be headed?”
“I’m coming from my father’s pastures and I’m
heading for the grazing at the top of this mountain.”
Cuddy looked at the sun’s distance from the
horizon, squinted his eye and whispered to Gilly, “Do ye think this might be
our opportunity, Gilly?”
“P’rhaps so.
But you’ll not be able to dicker with the lad.”
“And is your father bringing up the rear,
lad?”
“Aye, he is.”
The brothers grinned their thanks and hurried
up the high side of the path. Presently
they spied a short, bow-legged, middle-aged man hollering and pointing his
crook for the dogs to edge the flock forward.
“May we follow along with you a bit?”
The man looked at them from under bushy
brows. “Just so you be up to good and
not harm.”
“Harmless men. We be interested in doing a bit of business.”
“Speak.”
“Would ye be interested in selling your flock
now?”
“Selling? It’s me bread and butter. I’d be ashamed to sell—why, what would I do
with me days? What would I have to pass
on to my son? What would I tell my poor
wife when I got home—that I’d sold our living out from under us?”
McGillvery quite taken aback at the man’s
quick and odd reply, followed along quietly by his side for several
minutes. He, as every good salesman
should, gave some thought to the fellow’s objections and after some moments received
delivery of a bit of celestial inspiration.
“Nay. We’re
not here to buy your living out from underneath you. Now listen a bit. We’ve a proposition for you and your
bounteous family, may God bless them all.
We would like to buy your flock at the best prices. You’ll have your
price in advance, you see. You can
continue to herd it, care for it, and do as you’ve always done. At the end of the year we’ll take half the
profits and you can have the other half.”
The man stopped and looked at them. “Are ye daft or are ye highway robbers? Now why would I want half the profits for the
rest of me life when I get all of the profits now?”
“But ye’ll be getting two bags of gold, man.”
“Two bags of gold that’ll be gone in a twelve
month and then I’ll be left with one half the profits on my sheep to carry me
through me old age. Ye scamps, begone
with ye. Ye’re thieves an’ robbers
trying to take what my father and my father’s father before him toiled and
built for those to follow.”
The man shook his crook at Gilly and
Cuddy. “Hey, dogs,” he called.
McGillvery looked alarmed. “No need for that, Sir. We’re on our way. May our Lord prosper and bless you.”
But the dogs were already on the way. By the glint of the man’s eye, both boys knew
he wouldn’t call the dogs back before he’d seen blood.
There was no tinker’s wagon seat to hop to
and the bags of gold were a cumbersome burden, but McGillvery and McGillicuddy
had had much experience in games of this sort and ran like runners for the
ancient kings of a long ago Ireland.
When they’d rounded the bend, they heard the man call for the dogs’
retreat and they allowed themselves to regain a brisk walk.
“Now then, that took some time now. I say, we didn’t handle that very well,
Gilly,” panted Cuddy.
“Cuddy, that man’s one who’ll never see
opportunity when it’s hit him smack in the face,” gasped Gilly. “Why, a man would be addled in the mind to
refuse such an opportunity. He could
have bought another thousand sheep with the bags of gold and managed our
thousand for fifty per cent of the profit.
He’d have had one hundred fifty per cent profit for the rest of his life
and his son’s life. It was an
opportunity to grow his wealth that will not soon come again. A small mind, Cuddy. A verrry small mind not able to see the
blessings coming his way.”
“I wish you had rehearsed those facts to our
man,” observed Cuddy. “Sometimes its only one small bit of information that may
sell the reluctant customer. Salesmen
that we are, you know it’s important to point all the angles to a prospective
buyer of the goods.”
McGillvery shook his head in disbelief. “Who would have thought you’d have to be selling to get rid of two bags of
gold? Seems everyone would be as
interested in receiving it as we were to get it.”
“Mmmm…maybe we’ve a bit more of the
privileged world to learn about, Gilly.
Wouldn’t it be funny now if a wealthy man’s plight was more severe than
a poor man’s blight?”
“We’ll know the answer to that question soon
because we’re wealthy lads with money to spend,” observed Gilly dryly. “Perhaps the village will reinstate our faith
in golden sheen’s ability to expend.”
Cuddy looked at the sun’s positioning in the
sky. “We’d best be setting a marching
pace to the village. We’ll walk fifty
paces and run fifty paces, Gilly.”
“’Tis a good idea. In the event we’ve no easy takers of our
gold, t’will give us a bit more time to look over our best opportunities.”
At last the brothers reached the final
winding road into the seashore town of
“In time, Cuddy,” said a puffing Gilly.
“In time,” gasped a profusely sweating Cuddy. “We’d best head for the pub and see if we’ve
any takers for our gold.”
The boys quickly surveyed the smallish, quiet
village sitting on the curve of a wide bay.
One building alone displayed the activity one should expect of an
inviting pub. It lay closest to the ships in harbor and it
was toward its door the brothers quickly hurried. The wooden signature declared the pub’s name—The
Bay of MacKenay. Such a hubbub of Irish
laughter was coming out of the inn that even McGillvery’s heart was uplifted. “The best time of day, too,” he whispered to
Cuddy. “They’ll be in a mood to bargain
for what we’ve got. Say your prayers for
a blessing.”
The boys stopped for a moment, spit on their
hands, clasped them, wished for all the luck in the world, and solemnly marched
into the pub of MacKenay on the Shore.
These were fishing men mostly—bronzed,
muscularly built, and loving a good brawl or a rowdy laugh equally well. They were not the farming folk McGillvery and
McGillicuddy were most used to selling; but business is business, so shoulders
were squared, and they marched up to the bar.
Cuddy pounded on the waxed surface. “We’ve need of your attention. We’ve some gold to spend and lookin’ for land
to buy.”
There was a sudden hush in the room as all
eyes turned toward McGillvery and McGillicuddy.
“That’s right, men. We’ve gold to
spend and looking for land to buy.”
A few sniggers were heard in the back of the
room and suddenly a man was pushed to the center of the floor. “McDougal’s got
property. Now haven’t ye, McDougal?”
“Now, boys, leave me alone,” the man
protested. “Ye know I’ve got property
all right.”
“Then, be talkin’ to the strange gents about
cutting a sweet trade,” suggested a mirthful voice at the front of the room.
An ‘Aye’ all around caused the young man’s
face to redden considerably.
“I’ve got property all right,” stubbornly
insisted the young man with a lowering of his neck into his shoulders as does a
bull before getting ready to fight.
“Ye mean ye’re wife’s got property,” merrily shouted
a red-haired, middle-aged man in the back.
The whole roomful of men roared gleefully.
McDougal’s face reddened to the color of a
coastal, red sky at morning tide.
Another voice hollered, “McDougal’ll assist
you, boys, soon as he can wean his dearie from her father’s sage advice.”
McDougal was not one to hang his head in
shame as McGillvery and McGillicuddy could see by his swelling neck and bulging
eyes. Gilly thought this McDougal looked
like Dearbháil’s youngest bull before the ring was placed in his nose.
“There’s sure to be a fight,” whispered
Gilly.
“Not to our advantage,” agreed Cuddy looking
worriedly toward the window’s framing of a setting sun.
Gilly stepped forward, “Now, now,
Gentlemen. It’s forever
McDougal’s fighting posture did not change,
but he was pushed and shoved by the good-natured shoulders of his friends as
they surged forward to claim Gilly’s offer of a free drink.
McDougal’s eyes sought Gilly’s. In a loud voice reminding one of the roar of
a enraged bull, he said, “Ye’re a stranger here. It seems in front of all me friends ye’ve
accused me of being less than a man.”
Gilly quickly shook his head, “Nay, nay. No such thing. Remember it was only a piece of land I was
asking to buy.” He opened his mouth to
reason peaceably with the young fellow but found himself at the end of
McDougal’s arm, feet dangling several centimeters from the floor.
McDougal was shaking his head slowly back and
forth. “Nay, but you did make me little
in front of me countrymen.”
McGillvery’s eyes, a pale blue of innocence,
swept to the ceiling in an earnest unspoken prayer for heavenly
assistance. A man jostled the elbow of
McDougal and McDougal grabbed the man by the kerchief around his neck. “Don’t jostle me when I’ve an important
matter to be discussing with my friend here.”
The man on his third pint of McGillvery and
McGillicuddy’s generosity answered with a tongue not inclined toward
peace. McGillvery found himself thrown
across the crowd as McDougal released him and took a masculine swing at the
jostler’s face. McGillvery landed square
on the pub’s bar splashing ale and spirits on all persons pressed there for refreshment. A free-for-all ensued with mugs and short
glasses hurling through the air as freely as fists and kicks.
McGillicuddy had ducked behind the bar and
was sitting on his bag of gold, hands covering his head in a protective manner
while waiting for the brawl to subside.
And, fierce fighters that these men were, it took no time for the scrap
to have simmered to a few groans and moans.
As suddenly as the fight stopped, someone
cried, “It’s those two strangers what has done this to friends all together. Throw them out!”
The boys barely managed to gather their bags
before finding themselves seat first on the dusty road which passed before the
pub.
The pub’s keeper, a man with portly belly,
came out wiping hands on an apron much in need of washing, and said, “In Ireland, there are three things about
the nip—to tipple it well, to hold it better, and to pay for it before the day
is done.” He reached down and emptied
one of the bags of gold into his own satchel and tossed the empty bag to McGillicuddy.
McGillicuddy, shocked at the quick disposal
of his fortune, was only able to gasp, “May God maintain the bounty of your
heart always.”
The pub keeper checked Cuddy closely, “Are ye
being cheeky with me lad? Let me give
you a piece of advice fine, Sirs. ‘Distant
hills are green, but the home fireplace is the best fireplace.’ I’d suggest you be looking for your own
fireplace. MacKenay on the Shore doesn’t
need folks like you.”
Gilly opened his mouth and shut it promptly
at Cuddy’s quick nudge to his bruised ribs.
“Sure ’tis a fine piece of wisdom you’ve
given and one we’re sure to heed,” agreed Cuddy in careful mildness.
The innkeeper hesitated, looking for a note
of scorn in Cuddy’s voice or face. Cuddy
looked as innocent as the Christ child despite his rapidly swelling eye. Satisfied, the portly innkeeper returned to
his customers and neighbors.
Gilly picked himself up, groaning. “Life doesn’t get easier, Cuddy.”
Cuddy agreed.
“I’m feeling older than the Hag of Beare right now, Gilly.” He looked down at the empty sack in his hand
and grinned wryly. “However, one bag is
neatly spent.”
“That much gold could rebuild the entire
town, Cuddy. Not that I’d be questioning
the man’s judgment about the cost of the damage to his pub,” hastily assured
Gilly as he ruefully felt his chin. “It
seems McDougal got off a most masculine shot despite property and wife being
controlled by a father-in-law.”
Cuddy gingerly felt his eye while agreeing.
“Not saying it was the most noble way to spend it either, Gilly.”
“Aye, an’ I’m that much glad we’ve not a Mum
to go home for explaining ourselves this night.
Would be a hard effort that. And,”
he pointed to the ocean before them, “There’s that ball of flame setting to
hurl itself over the edge in under ten minutes. The Lord better be seeing the predicament
we’re in, Cuddy. Our fortune’s just been
halved. We’ve not one thing to show for
it. If the Cat lied, we’ll not be seeing
that bag again.”
“Hush now and keep your eyes open. We’ll stick to our plan and spend the
gold. Look for a business transaction we
can initiate and finish on the spot.”
About that time a lad with freckled face and
engaging smile came into the street with arms wrapped tightly around a sack
filled to the brim with a fat brown puppy of dubious lineage.
Gilly leapt at the single show of opportunity
in this most quiet and eventless town.
“Say laddie, would you like to sell your puppy?”
The smallish boy looked at Gilly with solemn,
earth-brown eyes. “I was taking him to
the pub to do just that, Sir.”
“Well, then, ye’ll not need travel any
further. We will buy your puppy on the
spot.”
The lad had evidently rehearsed the sales
talk he felt he would need to sell the dog and immediately launched into all
the reasons why this particular puppy was a bargain at any price. “This pup is out of my father’s dog,
Aishling—she’s famous hereabouts—my father’s finest dog. This pup’s special because it is the largest
and friendliest of the litter. We don’t
know who the father is but it should be no account anyways ’cause Aishling’s so
fine. My father’s figgering to drown ’em
all. But I figure one half Aishling is one half famous. So the puppies, and especially this one,” he
assured the brothers while holding it high for them to see, “should be worth
something now.”
McGillvery looked at Cuddy and McGillicuddy
looked at Gilly.
“Son, you are entirely correct. We will buy Aishling’s fine puppy,” said
McGillvery. He reached down and took the puppy out of the boy’s sack and
quickly poured their last rucksack of gold into the boy’s bag. The lad drew a sharp breath at sight of the
gold. “Sure thing, Mister. Aishling’s got ten more. For all this, I’ll bring the rest in under
’alf an hour.”
Gilly waved his hand, “No, laddie. This one’s all we’ve a use for. Just enjoy your good fortune.”
“Yes, Sir.”
A freckly face burst into a toothless grin. “Yes, Sir.”
He turned, dragging the load—much too heavy for a small boy—slowly, an
inch at a time, up the street.
Frequently stopping to rest, he finally succeeded in struggling around
the last bend in the village road with his bag of fortune. Cuddy looked at the sun. The last tip was just setting itself into the
ocean for its evening bath.
He shook his head sadly and slung his empty
sack over his shoulder. “Well, we did it
and in time, too.”
“Surely not the best trading we’ve ever
done,” said Gilly wryly.
“And not the worst either,” noted Cuddy.
“I’m not seeing how ye’ve reached that conclusion,”
replied Gilly.
“’Tis not like we’ve no gain at all. I’m countin’ one very outstanding black eye,
a puppy one half famous hereabouts, and a story to tell around every fireside
in
“An’ a cat a’laughing itself silly at the joke
it’s played if these bags do not refill,” noted Gilly sourly, refusing to be
beguiled into humor so easily. “Don’t
forget that part of this whole affair.”
“When things go wrong whether in the use of
time or money one can always think of it as tithe to the Lord. Who’s knowin’? Perhaps the pub keeper has a child who’s been
kissed by an angel and the Lord’s intending its keep with our gold. The smallish lad may have a mother or sister
needin’ medicines and our gift ensured her life. We’ll keep our peace by
sending our blessings on both bags and ask that the best be done in both
instances with the gold. It’s the only
way to be free of the matter. After all,
the circumstances were not of our choosing, Gilly.”
“A tithe as large as that should buy a lifetime
of Irish luck of the best sort,” observed Gilly dourly.
“Aye.
’An who’s not needin’ all the luck ’e can get?” asked Cuddy peacefully. “’Tis the only way we can think and be done
so there’s no regrets. At the least
we’ll get a whole night’s rest tonight and many nights after. And now I find
I’m hungry enough to eat an entire flank of sheep.”
“Let’s find a sheep and eat then,” agreed a
resigned Gilly.
The boys had no sooner turned their steps in
the direction of the inn than they stopped.
“Cuddy….”
“Don’t say it, Brother,” woefully returned
Cuddy. He pulled out his empty bag. “Mine is empty down to the cording. Did you not save one gold piece?”
“Nay, not one.”
“Hunger is a good sauce,” philosophically spoke
Cuddy.
Gilly sighed, “Best be casting our eyes
toward humble lodgings for this night, Cuddy.”
Chapter 8
Small Portions
They soon found the stable and the grain bags
kept for the horses. Gilly dipped his
hand into the sack and apportioned a small handful to Cuddy. “Small portions are tasty,” he encouraged.
A disappointed Cuddy replied, “T’was good
enough for our Lord.”
On slightly empty stomachs they began to
settle in for the night, read their mother’s Book, and dutifully say their prayers. Sleep came quickly, gently.
When the moon passed between clouds and the
night birds took wing, an angry man came stomping down the mountain to the door
of the stable, the door was thrust open, and McGillvery and McGillicuddy
roughly torn from their beds.
“Corrupters
of children and instigators of malice between neighbors! I’ve heard all about ye and have come to
punish ye for your ungodliness.”
McGillvery still mostly asleep and partly in
dream cried, “Sir, we’ve surely slept in heaven tonight and are ye telling us we
should have been in hell?”
From an enormous height the man reached giant
sized fists to shake the boys. “Are you or are you not the men who purchased a
worthless puppy of no good breeding for an unholy sum of money from my son?”
The puppy whimpered from the manger where
Gilly had placed him earlier in the evening.
McGillvery looked nervously in the direction of the dog. “We did indeed buy a puppy from a small boy
heading for the pub earlier in the evening.
But sure we meant no harm by the payment of gold to the child.”
“No harm?!
That much money the MacKenay’s themselves do not pay for the wages of a
hundred men for an entire year. No
harm? I swear by St. Patrick I will beat
you both into a St. Paddy’s mash unfit for walking thru
McGillvery fought bravely but half-heartedly,
having always believed in turning the other cheek, while McGillicuddy, a stalwart
champion of fairness in all things, politely waited his turn feeling slightly
embarrassed that the man would be fighting him while not fresh. Neither brother offered much resistance and
therefore received a sound beating for the second time in MacKenay on the
Shore.
The last thing the man did was fling down the
bag of gold, “There’s your filthy lucre.
May it stick to you as the cockleburs in MacKenay’s Meadows!”
McGillvery looked unbelievingly at the pile
of glistening gold. “Nay, Mister, we can
not keep it. You must take it back. We are honorable men, you see. We have your puppy and we must pay for it.”
“The puppy goes for the beating,” the man
snarled and left as quickly as he’d come.
A glumness settled over McGillvery far deeper
than his bruises and cuts. “Cuddy,” said he, “what is it about this gold? Is that why rich men stay rich? They can’t get rid of their gold? Could it be now that gold acts differently
when there is plenty compared to when one is scrapping for it every day of
one’s life? Perhaps with poor men it
develops feet and runs away but with rich men it clings like sticky paper to a
cottage wall.” He raised despairing eyes
to McGillicuddy.
McGillicuddy, one eye swollen completely
shut, his garments strewn with hay, a bleeding cut at his hair line dribbling
life’s own blood and drying about the region of his nose, shook a perplexed
head. “I’ve never seen anything like it,
Gilly. We seem to be visiting a knot
headed land if ever there was.”
“If the bags refill, we’ve three bags to
carry around,” noted McGillvery. “If
this keeps happening, we’ll be drowning in our own treasury rooms.”
“It won’t happen,” purred a voice behind
them.
McGillvery and McGillicuddy jumped in
fright. It was the Cat.
“It won’t happen because you’ve not followed
the rules. You were to dispose of two
bags of gold every day before sunset and I see,” it said, smacking its lips as
if over a succulent oiled cod, “I see…,” it continued, “a pile of glistening
gold at your feet.”
McGillvery stuttered, “See here, Cat, we did
spend the gold. We spent it fairly and
squarely. It just came back to us,
that’s all.”
“Nevertheless there should be no bags of gold
in this stable tonight with two lads named McGillvery and McGillicuddy.”
McGillicuddy, praying fervently, took a step
forward in the Cat’s direction. “Cat,”
said he. “We cannot help the Lord’s
generosity. He gives his loved ones the
same in sleep as others receive in great toil.
It’s a fact that some can toil and labor all the day and receive a tenth
of their dues while others can trod lightly the grapes and receive barrels of
financial rewards. You need to
understand lads such as we have had our fortunes greatly changed and we belong
in that category of lightly treading the grapes. We did abide by the rules. I cannot help it if the good Lord decided to
pour back into our laps the gold and more for our efforts. You would not try to put rules upon the
Lord’s bounty now would you?”
The Cat spat a loud, “Phhht!” He reared onto his hind paws. “I will not cross the lines of the Supreme
Owner of the gold if that be the case. I
will check the proper channels to see if that was the Owner’s intention.”
“Oh, no need to do that,” spoke a reawakened
Gilly’s tongue. “The proof is right here. Why else would we have the gold if it had not
been authorized? Even you can be as wise
as that. The fact of it lies in front of
your whiskers, Cat.”
The Cat screeched a howl of midnight fury as
it vanished into the darkness.
“Sometimes I wonder at its white color,
Cuddy,” spoke Gilly. “Seems its devious
nature would leak through its very fur to give it quite another color. Seems not fittin’ that it appropriated the
pure color of the Lord’s own angels.”
“The
white outside surely covers a heart as black as the coals which fuel hell,”
agreed Cuddy.
In the morning McGillvery and McGillicuddy
were overjoyed to find, in addition to the returned gold, two additional sacks
of gold replenished to over-brimming.
“Ah, ’tis a fine life we lead, Cuddy,” smiled
Gilly. “We’d best be appropriating a one
wheeled cart for all our abundance.”
“Hungry chaps for supper, but a full belly
for breakfast,” grinned Cuddy.
The boys purchased a small barrow for the
three bags of wealth they now possessed and headed for the Molly B’s with Gilly
towing the puppy along on a long string.
“Mmmm. I can taste it now, Cuddy. A bit of Irish brown bread with honey jam, a pint
o’ buttermilk, a herring to the side, and a steaming pot of tea.”
“Two pots, Gilly,” murmured Cuddy.
Gilly tied the pup to a short bush. The boys pushed open the door to the eatery
and sat themselves quietly at tables near the window. They had a fine view of morning over the
A smallish woman, dressed in gray dress and
permanently pursed lips, came to wait on them.
Hair tightly pulled back from a forehead too high, an apron starched too
carefully, little wrinkle lines making long-lasting settlements around a mouth
puckered in a rather judgmental way—somehow she reminded Cuddy of an old
farmer’s wife who would at a moment’s provocation grab a scythe and cut a
fellow’s breeches off at the knee. His
eye wandered to the beckoning promise of plenty that the swelling ocean seemed
to proclaim and waited for Gilly to complete his order.
“And the same for me except a bit o’ peas with
my herring and if ye’d be havin’ a little cabbage, too.”
The woman looked sharp at Cuddy and returned
abruptly to the kitchen.
Cuddy spent the next half hour admiring the
dishes hung on the walls, tracing the pattern on the linen cloths at the table,
and noting the cobwebs in the ceiling corners.
When at last their meal was set, Cuddy looked
up in surprise. “Seems a sparse table
you set, Ma’m.”
The pursed lips parted just a bit and the
gray dressed woman said, “Small portions are tasty,” and departed for the
kitchen.
Gilly looked in astonishment at his half
piece of brown bread thinly sliced, the half pint of buttermilk. “Cuddy, she’s served us our herring with the
head end. Why, the tail end’s gone!”
“And as bold as a pig she served that!” gasped
Cuddy.
The woman did not reappear, so Gilly looked
at Cuddy and said, “’Tis better than we had last night.”
“Our portions have been rather small as of
late. Small bellies relish small portions,” agreed Cuddy.
“’Tis quite true heavy eating dulls the brain
and we’ve important work to be about today for disposing of the gold by evening.”
“Righto, Gilly,” agreed Cuddy, holding a fork
with a goodly portion of cod attached to its tines. “Here’s to a brain with plenteous ideas due
to the wisdom of lads not overfilling the stomach. Eat up then and thank the good Lord for our
bounteous blessings.”
The boys ate quickly and heartily as if the
meal were plenteous, paid the woman, and walked into the sunshine, easier able
to wheel their cart. Gilly tossed a
piece of herring to the pup while Cuddy looked toward the harbor for ships that
may have just docked with wares for sale.
Three ships lay anchored with their sails furled to the spars and
yardarms. Cuddy motioned to Gilly, he
nodded, handed the pup to Cuddy, and bent to the barrow. Looking east and then west, they took a step
in the direction of the harbor while wondering at the quietness of the village
on this early morning. At this moment a
small, raggedy child came mincing down the street. She was oddly shaped, thin, almond-eyed, and
seemed quite uncomfortable walking. Both
Gilly and Cuddy were immediately absorbed in this misshapen figure’s approach.
“Such a furtive look, Gilly.”
Cuddy whispered, “Aye, but not mean, Cuddy.”
He looked a bit closer at her narrowly
fashioned face, “No. Definitely not mean.”
“Be ye the lads with gold to spend, now?”
“Aye, that we be.”
“I’ve a place where ye can spend all ye have
an’ more.”
Gilly looked at Cuddy and Cuddy looked at
Gilly in astonishment. “Perhaps that would be a fine thing—but what are ye
selling child?”
“Oh, ’tis not me that’s selling,” she hastily
assured them. “’Tis not me!” Then she giggled at the seeming absurdity
that she would have any possession whatsoever to sell. “Mairin’s got nothing, Mister. But I knows someone what has plenty, Mister,
and is plenteously looking for more.”
She looked at Gilly and Cuddy a bit queerly,
“There’s folks who has you see and whoever has, gets. That’s the way of it. But poor Mairin, no, now never has and never
gets.”
Gilly raised his eyebrows in wonderment while
Mairin motioned for them to follow.
Cuddy shrugged. They’d no better
idea for the day’s business. This might be just the lead they’d looked
for. They turned to follow the
child. She pointed a small, thin finger
and said, “Not with that.”
Cuddy looked to where the finger was
pointing. It was directed at the small
pup. “We’ve not a place to leave ’im,” he protested.
“The Madam doesn’t like ’em,” the child
stated flatly.
Cuddy shrugged and raised questioning eyes to
Gilly.
“Perhaps we could leave him at the Molly
B’s.”
“’E would starve to death before noon at that
woman’s place,” protested Gilly.
“Then, perhaps the pub,” suggested Cuddy.
“’An ye didn’t get enough of the beatings
last evening so ye’re wanting to go back for more?”
“Nay, not much,” remarked Cuddy wryly.
Gilly looked at the small child before them and
said, “We’ve truly not a place to leave
the pup.” He added, “We’re new to this
locality, you see.”
The child stood firm. “Madam does not like ’em.”
The brothers looked toward the ships in the
bay.
“Sometimes a captain is in need of a good pup
for the ship,” suggested Gilly.
“If ye’ll wait here with the child, I’ll take
the pup down and ask around,” said Cuddy.
Within a few moments, Cuddy came back with a
look of wonderment on his face. “T’was
the easiest thing done ever,” he said.
“The young lad came out from one of the alleys and asked if we still
wanted the pup. I told him we didn’t
feel right about keeping it since we hadn’t paid for it. The laddie said he didn’t want us to have the
bad conscience and took the pup just that easily.”
“Well, was a stroke of luck for us, Cuddy,”
Gilly said.
Cuddy shouldered one bag, Gilly barrowed the
other two, and they slowly began following Mairin. She led them down the road and along a broad
path which followed the tops of the sea cliffs.
Soon a black, foreboding castle came into view. Mairin pointed to the castle and said,
“MacKenay. It’s MacKenay.”
Mairin ran straight through the main gates,
up the castle steps, motioned for them to hurry, opened the massive entrance
doors, and waved them triumphantly into the rooms beyond.
McGillvery and McGillicuddy cautiously peered
around the last door into the interior chambers and were astonished to see a
very old woman sitting upright in a chair fashioned as the old
“Come in, come in,” she said
imperiously. She turned to Mairin. “Be gone now.
Ye’ve done your business. Be at
your work.”
Mairin curtsied and vanished from the room.
The old woman was stroking the silk coverings
lining her regal chair and motioned Gilly and Cuddy to sit.
“I hear you’ve gold to spend.”
“Aye,” admitted Cuddy.
“And what are you looking to buy?”
“Land.”
“Land?” she asked.
“To be sure.
’Tis a good way to spend one’s money.”
“There’s only so much land, Sir,” she
objected. “What good is land to you if
it is all stone and won’t grow anything else?
Where is the investment sense in land?”
McGillvery quickly divining the conversation
may reveal knowledge of great value to themselves, pretended to think for just
a second before saying, “Cuddy, she’s right.
If we bought all of the world’s land, what would we have now?” He looked at the woman, “You live in a fine
castle, Ma’m. Perhaps you can tell us
how ye’ve managed so well and could give two poor lads such as we be some keen
advice.”
She smiled a tiny smile and said,
“Investments, Sir.”
“Investments?” queried Gilly.
“Yes,” she murmured, “investments.”
Gilly drew his chair a bit closer to the
throne of wisdom and urged the old one to continue.
“Could ye go on about the investments, now?”
“There’s many investments, young man. The Molly B’s an investment for Molly. The
“By Jove, Cuddy. The old woman’s right. Our little tinker business—an investment—but
we were a slave to it as sure as can be.”
A large cat jumped into the old woman’s
lap. Cuddy noted its sapphire collar and
the lovely rings on the wrinkled, thin fingers which gently stroked it. Somehow, he got a queer shaky feeling inside
as if he were a very large mouse and the old woman was an even larger cat.
“Yes, investments. They can free you of worry, of menial living,
and can give you power and stature in the world.”
Gilly was quite transported. It was exactly what he’d always hoped
for—a freedom from the daily struggle
for bread. Why, that was the reason he
and Cuddy had dared brave the Sinks—the hopes they’d find freedom—freedom from
want, freedom from care and—Gilly looked around the luxurious room. Freedom to be the kind of man you knew you
could be if you weren’t always fighting so for the daily bread. There was a word for it: a Gentleman.
Yes, time to be a gentle
man. A man of finesse and even
temper. For whatever could cause a temper
to go awry in such a place as this? In
such surroundings it would be ever so much easier to be a man of quality
fibers, quality thinking, and quality actions.
He could see a fine, large library beyond this room. Seems he was so busy running from guns, dogs,
and angry farmers he’d been able to read very little of the great thoughts
others had entertained before him. Investments. Was that how it was done then?
McGillicuddy asked, “What kind of investments
would ye be thinking of Ma’m?”
“Investments come in a variety of sized
packages. There are small investments
and large investments.”
“That size is dependent upon the cost?”
“Quite so,” she agreed. “Of course, the larger the investment, the
larger the returns. The MacKenays have
always gone for the larger investments and as you can see it has paid off
handsomely.” She waved her bejeweled hand
around the room to illustrate her wise use of investments.
Gilly impetuously poured his bag of gold onto
the rug. “An’ would this buy a large
investment, Ma’m?”
The old woman put the hand that was stroking
the cat to her neck with a short intake of breath, “Why, that would do nicely.”
McGillvery impulsively grabbed Cuddy’s bag and the bag which had
purchased the puppy. “Then we’ll triple
what will do nicely,” he grandly proclaimed.
The woman fingered the diamonds at her throat. “Yes, that will do very nicely. Very nicely,” she repeated. Then with a clearing of her throat, she
called, “Sean!”
An elderly man in black appeared. “Sean, it seems we have investors. Could you please draw the legal documents for
me?”
Sean disappeared for a moment and returned
with a leatherbound case. He carefully
arranged the contents on a table near the window, setting a quill pen and ink
in a strategic location to paper.
“Proceed, Madam.”
Quickly the old woman dictated the terms of
the investment and then turned to McGillvery and McGillicuddy. “Gentlemen, all that is necessary to secure
your future is your signature affirmation.
Please sign where Sean indicates.”
McGillvery and McGillicuddy quickly did as
requested lest their golden opportunity fly away quickly.
The old woman clapped hands. Out of nowhere appeared several small waifs. “Gather the gold, children. You know where to put it.”
McGillvery cleared his throat. “Ma’m, if we should happen to have more gold
to invest, would you be able to place it for us?”
The old woman’s eyes seemed to widen in
surprise and then narrowed calculatingly.
“Of course. The MacKenay’s offer
a wide variety of investments. There is
no end to the number of investments one can make at MacKenays. We have several enterprises which are begging
for backers of the well-heeled sort.
Gentlemen, perhaps you would like to spend an evening at MacKenay’s? In the morning, we could discuss the
potential profits of investments?”
McGillvery beamed at McGillicuddy. “T’would be the best night’s peace we’ve had
in several days, Ma’m. Yes, we
graciously accept the hospitality of MacKenay’s Castle.”
After a sup of beef richly marbled with fat
accompanied with all the tidbits and delicacies an Irish mind could raise in
delicious contemplation, the boys retired to the library, a roaring fire, and
deeply padded, leather cushioned lounges.
Cuddy stretched his feet to the fire.
“Ah, Gilly. To think what we’ve
been missing all these years. This is
how it should be. A full stomach,
warmth, comfort.” He waved to the books
around the room. “A whole evening which
may be spent in the company of history’s finest minds.”
McGillvery casually walked along the shelved,
red leatherbound volumes while running a callused, weather beaten finger along
the gilt labelings. “What a marvel, Cuddy. Do ye realize this must be what heaven is? Would you like to be with Marcus Aurelius this
evening or Plato or Aristotle?” His
finger stopped at a particularly large volume, “How about Josephus?”
McGillicuddy chuckled. “You know, McGillvery, we’ve spent many an
evening in the company of the wisest man, Solomon, the holiest of men, Moses,
the military strategist, King David, and the best man, Jesus. If ye think of it—for poor men with only one
Book, we didn’t go too badly.”
McGillvery grinned, too. “No, not too badly, Cuddy. Thanks to our dear mother, we weren’t really
poor, were we?”
“No. I
reckon this fireplace doesn’t burn any hotter than our campfires did, but the
cushions certainly feel better to the bones than our wooden stumps.”
“And the walls keep the wind from howling and
whistling down our neck like an unwanted friend.”
McGillicuddy slapped his leg and laughed, “I’d
like to see that old farm dog down on
Gilly walked to the window overlooking the
ocean. “Looks to be a storm coming,
Cuddy.”
Cuddy smiled and sank deeply into the
cushions of his lounge. “Life is good,”
was his last thought as he fell into a deep slumber.
Long about midnight, Cuddy was awakened by an
extremely excited Gilly. “Wake and be
up. Wake and be up. Come here quickly. Quickly, Cuddy,” he implored as Cuddy
struggled through layered mounds of slumber to the land of awakeness.
The urgency in Gilly’s voice encouraged the
stumbling of Cuddy’s steps to become steadier.
McGillvery grabbed his arm, pulling him to the ocean’s window. Some time elapsed before he could accurately
focus on the ground below. When his eyes
became awake, it took effort to find the long line of small moving shapes which
seemed to move away from the castle and to the castle in two continuous lines.
“What are they, Gilly?” asked Cuddy
wonderingly.
“I know not, Cuddy. I had found a book on investments and thought
since we were now involved in investments that I’d best be finding out about
such things. Truth to tell, Cuddy, the
reading was so dull I couldna’ get through the book. When I came to put it away, I saw this long
line of…well, what do they remind you of, Cuddy?”
McGillicuddy shuddered. “I don’t know, McGillvery.” He looked a little closer. “You know,” he said slowly, “In faith, they
remind me of children rather like the waif that brought us to this great castle
at the first. But what would children
b’doing at such an hour as this? What
parent would allow children to be out and about among the Irish mists at
midnight? May our Lord and His sweet
messengers protect them and their souls,” he softly whispered.
The last of the children had disappeared
along the rocky beach. McGillvery turned
to McGillicuddy, “This black castle has a few secrets to tell, Cuddy.”
“Aye,” agreed a troubled Cuddy. He continued standing at the window watching
the storm gathering clouds over a now roiling ocean. “Talking about secrets, how are we to explain
the constant supply of gold we have for ‘investments’ to the Madam?”
“I was thinking on that very problem this
evening,” admitted Gilly. “I’m for
suggesting we make a trip into town every day and appear to return with the gold.”
“’Tis a small village,” objected Cuddy. “Small, discrete questions will uncover our
secret in less’n two days.”
“Then we’ll walk away into the mountains
every day and come back with our gold.”
“Are ye so foxy ye’ll be able to outwit her
hounds? She will surely send scenters
after us to discover our source of supply,” noted Cuddy. Then seeing the growing worry on Gilly’s
face, he added with a philosophical grin, “But will not be the first time we’ve
been wily as foxes and succeeded, too.”
Early the next morning the boys emptied the
refilled gold from their sacks and hid it under their beds. They walked to town on an ‘errand’ with empty
bags over their shoulders and returned midmorning with heavy bags in their
barrow—bags filled with sand. When in
their room, they poured the sand through their window over the castle
wall. They refilled their bags with the
gold hidden under their beds and proceeded to Madam’s apartments.
The Madam sat ready with investments. Sean sat with his quill pen ready to write
her instructions and limitations for these investments. McGillvery and McGillicuddy dutifully signed
the agreement and exchanged two bags of gold for the paper Sean had drawn. After all processes had been properly
followed, McGillvery in boldness stated, “You must keep a great many servants
for all the children I see here.”
Madam was quiet. “Yes,” she finally stated.
“A castle of this size requires a great many workers.”
“It must be very expensive to keep,” observed
McGillvery.
“One must be frugal. Wealth is not for generations to come if one
does not watch what is at hand.”
McGillvery cleared his throat and said, “I
believe, Madam, that we shall take our leave today. We’ve opened account in the village to
receive dividends from our investments.”
Madam began stroking her cat. “No more investing, McGillvery?”
“One only has so much to invest, Madam. Ye’ve fair seen four bags plus one of our
gold. One mustn’t put all one’s pretties
in one place.”
Madam fairly purred. “But if you have more, Gentlemen, this is a most convenient medium to dispose of your
burden. Besides you need to stay at
least another day for I’ve someone for you to meet.”
McGillvery looked uneasily at McGillicuddy. They had need of this day to plan for the
disposal of new bags of gold which would be appearing sometime after sundown.
“In fact,” noted the Madam, rising, “I think
I hear a carriage now.” She swept from
the room, leaving McGillvery and McGillicuddy time for an urgently whispered
conference.
“We must leave today, McGillvery,” urged
McGillicuddy. “She’ll believe we had
four bags of gold plus one. The one we
lost in town is surely of no news to her.
Why else did Mairin come so quickly to bring us to this castle? If we stay another day longer, she’ll think
it quite queer we always have two new bags of gold to invest. We must leave or we’re lost.”
At the moment their whisperings had nearly
reached the level of excitedly spoken discourse, a cold breeze swept the
room. The boys both looked up to see the
loveliest creature they had ever laid eyes upon. A maid, if she could be called such, which symbolized
the very breath of Ireland—highly colored cheeks; red golden hair piled in
curled mounds; eyes emerald green as the ocean on a summer’s day; skin as white
and appealing as soft, cotton lace; figure as willowy as the saplings growing
along river’s edge. She, without care
for the life of a man, in one moment took the breath of McGillvery and McGillicuddy
and their hearts along with it. Sean was
unfastening her velvet green cloak while she awaited Madam’s introduction.
“This is Catlin,” was all the Madam said.
Catlin swept forward, bejeweled fingers soft as
curdled milk reaching for their own weather roughened hands. “I’m pleased.”
She spoke in a voice of golden sweet wild
bee’s honey. “My aunt tells me you are in investments.”
McGillicuddy quickly spoke. “Yes.
Investments.”
Madam was ushering them toward the dining
room where the rest of the afternoon was spent in pleasant conversations about
trifles of the day. McGillvery watched
quietly as Catlin became increasingly focused on McGillicuddy. Like moths that flap round and round a camp
lantern, McGillicuddy became entranced by the green orbs which were Catlin’s eyes. McGillvery moved uneasily as he watched
Madam. The bejeweled cat was sitting on
her lap with unblinking eyes turned on McGillicuddy.
McGillvery lowered his eyes from the scene
before him and thought, why did he feel like he and Cuddy were on a stage? It was odd they could not get rid of the gold
profitably. The first bag lost for a pub
brawl. A pub brawl! What a ludicrous circumstance! Two boys who
were never involved in such doings! The
rest of the bags had been exchanged for pieces of paper with their own
signatures on them. But after all, what
was there in hand for the spending of the gold?
Would they ever see the principle returned or any profits on that
principle? He felt as if they were on a
never-ending treadmill—walking and walking, but never arriving.
McGillvery looked again at Catlin. McGillicuddy might as well have had his head
in her lap for the look in his eyes. A
web had been woven and Cuddy was caught.
Madam was smiling ever so slightly all the while stroking her cat. Suddenly, McGillvery knew that Madam knew
there was more gold. She knew and Catlin
had been introduced because she knew. She, through Catlin, would ensnare at least
one of the boys and one of the bags of gold.
McGillvery observed her narrowed slit of eye, her calculating face. If McGillicuddy was so easily disposed of in
the space of an afternoon, what plan did she entertain for himself? How foolish he was. Suddenly, the words of the waif, Mairin,
floated to him, ‘I know someone what has plenty and is plenteously looking for
more.’ How foolish he had been to think
that investments with Madam would ever pay dividends. Why, hadn’t she herself said, ‘Wealth is not
for generations to come if one does not watch what is at hand?’ Whose wealth was Madam interested in
building? Gilly looked around the
immense dining room, the roaring fire, the silver laden tables. He sickened.
The Madam, like generations before her, was interested in building her own
wealth. And the generations after Madam? Gilly looked at Catlin’s green eyes and
smiling lips. The lips smiled with
disciplined carefulness. Suddenly, Dearbháil
and Tam’s faces flashed before McGillvery.
He thought of the impetuous freedom of Dearbháil’s laughter and
anger. When Dearbháil laughed it was
with no pre-calculating thoughts of gain.
She laughed out of sureness and simple-ness of heart. Even in her anger she was…real. Catlin on the other hand was not…real. Catlin was not simple. And he had deep premonitions she was far from
pure. Gilly instinctively knew her
carefully manicured exterior of beauty and grace hid a black, cunning heart and
a mind of hurtful intrigue. Abruptly,
Gilly knew they must leave this place.
“McGillicuddy.” He cleared his throat before proceeding, “McGillicuddy,
we’d best be thinking of retiring. We’ll
be a day late on our journey now. We’ve
need of an early start if we’re to do all we need to do.”
Cuddy seemed barely to hear him and Catlin
swerved green eyes toward McGillvery. “I
was telling McGillicuddy about a splendid ride along the ocean. He might enjoy an early morning run. We’ve a magnificent stable.” Turning to McGillicuddy she lured, “Wouldn’t
you like to ride with me in the morning?”
McGillvery wasn’t surprised to see a foolish
nod of affirmation from McGillicuddy.
McGillvery took the opportunity. “That’s settled then. An early morning ride means an early retirement. Come, Cuddy, let’s allow the ladies to
prepare for their evening’s rest.”
Madam stopped stroking the cat and smiled at
McGillvery, “The evening’s young.
Perhaps McGillicuddy would like to explain to Catlin about his investments?”
McGillvery reached for McGillicuddy’s arm and
pulled him to his feet, “Cuddy has promised me to do some work this evening on our investments. I do not want to disappoint you ladies, but surely
you understand the necessity of watching one’s wealth.” McGillvery congratulated himself on his wise
choice of words for they parroted Madam’s own words and she could not very well
disagree.
McGillvery pulled McGillicuddy into the hall
and up the stairs to their assigned room.
Cuddy seemed half hypnotized—a man in a dream.
When in their room, McGillvery snapped his
fingers in front of McGillicuddy’s face.
“Wake up, man. Wake up!” He clapped his hands. Cuddy still had a silly smile and far off look
in his eyes.
Finally, Gilly said, “Forgive me, old chap,”
and hauled off a resounding slap to Cuddy’s right cheek followed by an equally
forceful slap to Cuddy’s left cheek.
“Wake up man! Reality’s hitting
you in the face. See if you feel it.”
Cuddy reached to his cheeks, feeling the
blistering skin. He turned wonderingly
to Gilly, “Now, Brother of mine, why did
you see fit to slap me as if I were a brawler in a pub house?”
McGillvery breathed a deep sigh, “I thought
you were lost.”
“Lost to what?”
“Lost to Catlin.”
“Catlin?”
“The girl, the girl who’s been bewitching you
these past four hours.”
“Fie, man.
She’s not bewitching me. I’ve charmed
her as only a man can a maid. She’s
lovely now, isn’t she?”
“Cuddy, we must get away. We must get away tonight. The Madam knows, Cuddy.”
“The Madam knows what, Gilly?”
“She knows we have new bags of gold everyday
and she’s planned that she’ll get them all everyday.”
Cuddy shook his head, “You are surely imagining
that, Gilly.”
“No. Not imagined, Cuddy. It is the truth. Catlin is here to capture you so you’ll
stay.”
Cuddy thrust a rather weak Irish chin
forward. “If ever an Irish lad were to
be conquested, I can think of no better land to surrender to than that
green-eyed lass.”
McGillvery was silent and looked down at his
feet. He shuffled them a bit and looked
up at Cuddy. “You used to think Dearbháil
and Tamara would be a fine land to own. I
recall you thought of conquesting Dearbháil.
Have you so fickle a heart, McGillicuddy?”
McGillicuddy grew red to the roots of his
hair. “Not fickle. But p’rhaps far-seeing. Men with investments must have certain finer
things than the common man, Gilly. Dearbháil
is…well…earthy. Catlin is…regal…a proper
escort to a man of means.”
“You mean,” snorted Gilly hotly, “she’s
decided at advice from Madam to be an escort to your bag of gold!”
Cuddy flushed red, “Watch your tongue,
Brother.”
Gilly interrupted, “Catlin’s used to the
cream from the cow, Brother. As for you
all the world cannot make a racehorse from an ass.”
Cuddy uttered an imprecation and bellowed
like an enraged bull while taking a wide swinging blow at Gilly’s head. Gilly stepped back and in doing so tumbled
over their tinker’s packs spilling their mother’s Book onto the floor.
Cuddy began a step forward to pursue Gilly
when he saw the Book lying open. Slowly
he reached down to retrieve it. Gilly
picked himself up while simultaneously dusting his tinker’s breeches. “Read it, Cuddy. You know how Mother always said to read where
it falls open in times of trouble.”
Cuddy slowly read, “For they bind heavy burdens
grievous to be borne and lay them on men’s shoulders, but they themselves will
not move them with one of their little fingers.”
McGillvery looked at McGillicuddy. “We’ve always been free men, Cuddy. The Lord’s law is for liberty to all
men. Are those who live in these walls
free?”
A gong sounded downstairs. “Midnight, Cuddy. Come look.”
Walking to the window the brothers peered
down to see the huddled black shapes weaving a slow line away from the Castle
MacKenay. “Do ye think in the end we’ll
be any more than they, Cuddy? Look,
we’re still in our tinker’s clothes.
Would a woman such as Catlin have stopped a carriage for us just one week
ago? Why is she smiling at us now? Ask yerself and be true, Cuddy.” He paused, letting the words go deep into
Cuddy’s heart.
Cuddy nodded his head in intense shame and
without another word began quietly gathering their bags. The boys crept down the darkened stairs
through the side entrance of the castle and mingled with the small ones. When outside the castle walls, McGillvery
touched one of the creatures. “Do you
know a place where we can spend the night?”
A pinched face looked at him. “Not where ye’ll be warm and well fed.”
“Do you not go home to Fathers and Mothers?”
“Nay.
We be the orphans of MacKenay’s Castle.”
McGillvery and McGillicuddy looked at the
long procession of children. “Do you all
work in the castle?”
The child answered not for he had rejoined
his place in line winding its way to the sea.
As the last child came from the castle
McGillvery and McGillicuddy got into line and followed along the foaming surf
and cold, wet sand about a mile to the north of the castle and up steep, rocky
cliffs along a narrow trail which led to caves elevated above the ocean’s
highest tides.
There, in large, darkened caverns, hundreds
of children quietly wrapped themselves in their raggedy black cloaks and
huddled for warmth beside one another—the youngest in the middle, the oldest on
the cooler outer ends. McGillvery looked
wonderingly at the rows and rows of children.
“Cuddy, have you ever seen so many children?”
“Nay.
Never in all my days.”
“Did you see them eat anything?”
“Nay and no fire neither. But p’rhaps they had the scraps from our meal
at the castle, Gilly.”
“The scraps could not have gone far with so
many small mouths asking for food, Cuddy.”
A child coughed. Another whimpered in its sleep. “Not an eye in
“This is an evil place, Cuddy,” whispered
Gilly.
“Our sacks will be filled in the morning,”
suggested Cuddy.
Picking up the cue, Gilly agreed, “We could
buy the cargoes of the ships in the harbor to feed the wee children.”
“Aye, an’ p’rhaps hire a tailor to fashion
clothes.”
“A shoemaker to fashion shoes.”
“We’ll go now so we can barter at first
light.”
McGillvery and McGillicuddy quietly crept out
of the cave’s entrance following the sea back to the village called MacKenay on
the Shore.
Five ships now lay quietly at anchor in the
harbor. Bales of wool lay on the docks
ready for loading. As the eastern light
dawned red, sailors began loading and unloading cargo—crates of oranges from the
islands, leather, silks and satins.
McGillicuddy and McGillvery, long used to barter and trade as tinkering
merchants, well knew how to bargain with these men. It was not long before they had purchased
supplies and food to feed hundreds more children than those in the caves.
“Well, Gilly, our bags are half-empty and
’tis not noon yet.”
“There’s no money returned on what we’ve
spent,” said Gilly.
“Nay, no return at all!” chuckled Cuddy
cheerfully, “excepting a full heart and a good night’s sleep.”
Gilly looked out of the corner of his eye at
Cuddy. “When you put it that way, ’tis
most likely far more than we’ll get on the investments with the Madam.”
Cuddy looked at Gilly, “The money’s been
rather a bother so far, hasn’t it? It’s
not spent very well.”
“No, not well until today. Today it’s spending quite well I’d say.”
Much cheered by his brother’s mutual feeling
about their endeavor, Cuddy suggested going to the pub a second time. “Let’s see if we can hire wagons and men from
the village to take our merchandise to the caves. ’Tis time for the noon meal. There should be
quite a crew for hiring gathered at this time of day.”
Gilly felt his chin. “Only if we can hire McDougal—not fight with
him.”
Cuddy laughed. “We’re not asking to buy his
land this time, just to hire his brawn.
Hopefully his father-in-law doesn’t control that, too. Let’s go.”
The pub was filled to overflowing. McGillvery and McGillicuddy walked to the bar
and slapped it for attention. The hubbub
quieted.
McGillvery cleared his throat importantly,
“My brother and I are in need of wagons for hire with men for drivers. We’ll pay a day’s wage for half a day’s
work. We’ll hire all that will labor
today. Any men’s wives who like to sew
and weave, we’ve jobs for them. If any
fancy yourselves cooks and want occupation, come to the bar.” Gilly pulled out several gold pieces and held
them to the light. “We pay in gold at
the start of the task.”
A man laughed from the back of the room. “I’ll work for someone that foolish. How do you know we’ll not drive the wagons
halfway and leave with your gold?”
Gilly spoke assertively, “Because I know good
Irish blood when I see it and there’s not a man in this room who would do such
a thing to his fellow countrymen.”
The man hung his head. Another man raised a mug, “Name’s
Seamus. I’ll work for you—cook.”
“Ronan—wagon and driver,” spoke another.
“Pa’draing,” came an
The men formed a line and came forward to receive
their gold. Cuddy gave directions while
Gilly returned to the docks. Soon a long
line of wagons stood ready for loading, a handful of peasant women waited for
leather and fabric goods. “Children’s
clothing, all sizes, Madams. Woolen
blankets. Don’t have to be pretty…must
be serviceable. Is there a shoemaker in
the village?”
An old man stood forward and received leather
goods. Pa’draing loaded shoe nails to
his shoulder and followed the shoemaker back to the village.
The little boy who had sold McGillvery and
McGillicuddy the puppy stood by the side of his father.
Cuddy pointed to him, “Lad, would ye like
some honest work now?”
“By the saints, yes,” affirmed the boy.
“Then run to the bakers and buy all his
bread. Load it into one of the last
wagons.”
Cuddy threw the boy several gold pieces. The boy turned a questioning smile to his
father. The smile was returned with his
father’s blessing.
“We’re buying old clothes, shoes, and old
blankets today,” shouted Gilly. “We’ll
take all ye’ve got. Spread the word.” By two o’clock the last bag of gold was
empty. The wagons started out along the
shoreline toward MacKenay’s Castle. As
they passed under the shadow of the castle, Gilly prayed for safe passage and
keeping. By six o’clock in the evening
the wagons were empty and on their way back to the village. The goods they had carried were safely stored
in the empty caves. Huge pots of lamb stew
were bubbling over roaring fires which defied the cold of the ocean’s spray. McGillvery and McGillicuddy looked at their
empty sacks and smiled. “’Twas fair simple
to spend it with no burden attached,” said Cuddy.
“Aye,” agreed Gilly. “And now it must be midnight for I see the
small ones coming along the beach.”
Cuddy looked out, “The rich and the poor meet
together. The Lord is the Maker of them all.”
“Proverbs, Cuddy?”
“Proverbs, Gilly.”
The children straggled in one by one looking
dully at the fire, the bedrolls, the food.
Gilly and Cuddy began ladling the hot stew into bowls of all shapes and
sizes. The children took their bowls,
ate, and wrapped themselves in the woolen blankets with nary a word. Gilly and Cuddy kept the fires roaring all
through the night and gave each child a piece of bread as they left for the
castle before break of day. None looked
up. No word was spoken. McGillvery and McGillicuddy watched the
strange little procession as it wound its way back to the castle.
“It will take a very long time for them to
feel the effects of the nourishment.”
“They need not be working these long hours,
Cuddy. Why the littlest lassie—what
could she possibly do of any worth at the castle?”
Gilly and Cuddy looked at their bags of gold.
“Back to the village we go. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
Cuddy returned the question with a nod. “T’won’t be hard to spend this day’s gold
either.”
“Carpenters?”
“Yes, I think it is time to speak to
McDougal’s father-in-law about some land.”
As the boys walked along shoreline’s edge
past the shadow of the castle, it seemed they could see small figures looking
briefly over the parapets. Smallish,
catlike faces that disappeared as quickly as they appeared. “If we give all of them a home, Gilly, we’ll
have the wrath of the Madam. It’ll not
go well for her pockets to hire workers to keep the castle.”
“Safety is of the Lord,” blithely replied
Gilly. “We’ll do the right thing and let
her worry about doing the wrong thing.”
Cuddy felt pleased. “You know, Gilly, before
we ever stepped out upon this venture I felt sad to think of our mother’s poor
eyes seeing us as two failures—no more in life than two starving tinkers. But now I’d feel proud if she could see us.”
Gilly was quiet for some time and then slowly
asked, “Was it the bags of gold that made the difference, Cuddy?”
Cuddy thought for the space of several meters
walking and replied, “Nay. ’Tis not the
gold, but the doing of good with it that I would like Mother’s eyes to see. That would make her happy, you see. The goodness of it.”
“The Madam has not been a very good shepherd
to all her little lambs, has she?”
“No. They’ve been skinned and knocked about. She’s fed herself and prepared for her future
generations on the backs of starving children.
’Tis not a very firm foundation upon which to build, Gilly.”
“Then the Castle MacKenay will not last,
Cuddy.”
“Nay.
T’will not last, Gilly.”
Somberly the boys passed beyond the shadow of
the castle’s wall into the village whose quiet character had been greatly
disturbed by the brothers’ lavish outlay of gold. A bustling and scurrying was occurring on
every street corner. So hastily did
persons move they barely had the time to nod quick hellos to McGillvery and
McGillicuddy.
The brothers made their way to the pub where
customers who formerly spent the greater part of their days in the pub’s corner
shadows were animatedly talking and speculating at the bar.
“Innkeeper,” called Cuddy.
“Aye, Mister McGillicuddy. An’ what would be your favor this day?”
“I’m needing to speak to McDougal’s
father-in-law.”
A red-faced bull of a man turned toward the
brothers. “I’m McDougal’s father-in-law. An’ what would ye be wanting with me?”
“We’ve heard tell ye have land and we’re in
need of a wee piece of land. Not a great
deal big and not a goodly piece. Just a
corner you’ve not much interest in. We’ve
gold and we’ll pay this day for it.”
The man’s eyes narrowed speculatively. “You’re the boys who’ve disrupted so the
economy. MacKenay on the Shore is beginning
to remind me of the gold field towns in the southeast. No good’s ever come from free spending of
gold. It has a way of corrupting
God-fearing towns and attracting evils and vices of the worst kinds. By asking to buy me land, ye are asking to
disturb the hopes and dreams of all my ancestors before me who’d hoped to keep
that for which they’d labored. Is that
the tricks you’re up to boys?”
“May God ever increase your store,” gasped a
surprised Gilly at the man’s rebuff.
“Never such a curse would we wish on any Irish village. For the blessings of St. Patrick must surely
rain on us all as plenteously as the dew on the heather glens.”
Cuddy nodded his head in agreement. “The Saints preserve us not before we would
bring a curse upon any Irish soul.”
The red-faced man relaxed a bit. “Then ye be God-fearing lads?” he inquired.
Cuddy reached into his pack and drew out his
mother’s Book. “By our dear departed
mother’s Book, we’ve traversed
“I’ll be supposing that is no transgression,”
smiled the man quite mollified by the boys’ words. “Come, we’ll talk to my daughter. She’s the title to all I have.”
A short walk up the hill behind MacKenay on
the Shore found a comfortable home at the edge of huge meadows of grassland. Small wrens flitted along an oak grove. Sheep
grazed alongside hills of emerald green color.
At the stone cottage door, a young woman
stood briskly sweeping pied colored flagstones which had been so long used they
were gently shallowed in the middle where many a generation’s foot had
passed. The thatch on the cottage was
fresh this year and a cowbell’s tinkle could be heard not far off. Three dogs came, wagging tails to the man,
and walking the three of them to the cottage.
“Eibhlin, we’ve visitors now.”
Eibhlin swept dark hair back into pins and
said, “I’ll make tea. Take them into the
parlor, Father.”
The tea was good. The cups dainty. Gilly surveyed the room. Neat and tidy. It easily could be the gatehouse of MacKenay’s
Castle and its inhabitants, the castle’s Keepers of the Woods, he thought. But of course, keepers did not own land. Gilly cleared his throat, “My brother and I
came for the purpose of purchasing land, Mistress Eibhlin.”
Eibhlin looked quickly at her father, eyebrows
raised in question. He nodded approving
her voice in this matter. Eibhlin said,
“So now, what have ye got to trade that would be of more value than me own
land?”
Gilly, having learned several hard lessons
about the inhabitants of this country valuing their possessions above all else,
hung his head as if in shame, before replying meekly, “I’m that sorry to say Mistress that we’ve
naught of more value than two bags of gold.”
He hoisted the bags to the table and carefully
spilled the contents into one heaping pile of glittering wealth.
Eibhlin looked incredulously at the pile of
gold. “An’ where would men get ever so
much gold?” she gasped.
“We choose to think it a gift from our Lord,”
said McGillicuddy.
“Gold’s never a gift from the Lord,” snapped
Eibhlin. “More’n likely you made a bargain
wi’ the dev’l.” She turned to her
father, “Father, ye’ve taught me well—gold is easily spent and land’s well
kept.”
Her father nodded his head sagely without
adding to her words.
She cocked her head to look well at the
beckoning sheen of the gold. It seemed
Gilly could hear the thoughts of her head as they ran pell-mell one into the other. He saw the corners of her mouth downturn and
knew their affairs had been suddenly concluded.
“Did ye notice, Father, how these boys poured
these sacks upon me table? ’Tis luring
me with my eyes they’re after and wishing I would follow suit with me eyes by
touching it with me hands. I’d be that
much caught. These lads are here in an
effort to lure me into greedy and covetous action.” She looked intently at her father. “Would ye have me part with my grandparents
and their grandparents’ holdings before them for this mere trifle?” She waved toward the mound of gold while
raising eyebrows in her father’s direction.
Her father wrinkled his forehead as if deeply
contemplating what his daughter had said.
Then he slowly shook his graying curls and said, “It’s all belonging to
you now, girl. Ye must make the decision
based upon all your teaching.”
Eibhlin set her jaw firm and said curtly,
“Father, I demand ye do your duty. These
men are betrayers of the faith and have drunk my tea!”
The red-faced bull of a man wrinkled his brow
and thought for a bit more. He began
nodding his head as if coming to a conclusion. It took some few minutes, but he
finally seemed to reach a decision because the nodding stopped as he unfolded
his massive arms from across his chest.
Without looking at McGillvery or McGillicuddy, he leaned back in his
chair and cried, “Glory! Eanna!”
It took a moment for the boys to gather the
meaning of the old man’s actions.
“He’s summoning his dogs,” warned Gilly to
Cuddy, starting from his chair.
“The gold, Gilly,” Cuddy gasped. They hurriedly swept the gold back into their
bags not stopping to get the few coin that rolled into the corners of the room.
“For the tea and your hospitality, Ma’am,”
gasped Gilly as he pointed to the coin on the floor. “The window, Cuddy,” he yelled.
Cuddy had already seen the window, was
jumping through it, and seeing himself more than many miles distant from this
place. Gilly soon followed, hearing the
scraping of the dog’s claws behind him as the nimble animals endeavored to
clear the window’s ledge after him. A
half hour later both boys stopped at edge of town, gasping for precious breath.
“She and her father are surely mad, Cuddy,”
panted Gilly.
“Perhaps we’d feel the same if we were them,
Gilly. Let’s not judge harshly. Different lands have different ways.” He looked at the afternoon sun. “Two bags of gold still needs to be disposed. If no lands are to be had, we’d best do what
we can at the caves.”
Gilly and Cuddy spent the rest of the day
purchasing at high prices beds, rockers, tables, benches, washtubs. Wagons again made their heavy trek to the
caves, fires were started, food cooked.
By midnight the cooks, drivers, and haulers
from the village were gone. The boys
again watched the black procession of waifs wind themselves from the castle along
the side of the cliffs to the caverns.
Gilly and Cuddy ladled each child large bowls
of lamb rich stew. No words were spoken
as the children ate, crept to woolen blankets now laid neatly on beds, and
wrapped themselves for sleep with heads on downy pillows for comfort’s sake.
Gilly looked tiredly at the rows and rows of
children. “Cuddy, we’ve had no sleep
ourselves. A man with no sleep soon
becomes dull-minded. We’ll need our wits
about us for tomorrow’s work. New bags
of gold will need spending soon enough.”
Cuddy agreed and built the fire high while
Gilly laid out the children’s morning bread along with the few pairs of new
shoes which the shoemaker had fashioned that day. Soon both boys were fast asleep on empty gold
bags for pillows.
In the morning, the fires were out. The bread, shoes, and children were already
gone. McGillvery and McGillicuddy arose
and sat at the cavern’s entrance.
“In all of
“Nay.”
“If there’s no land to be had here, Cuddy,
little can be done for the children’s improvement. Conditions are some better, but not proper until
we can place them in a suitable home with a fittin’ roof over their wee heads. We can’t very well spend the rest of our days
minding fires and ladling soup in these caves under the shadow of MacKenay’s Castle.”
Cuddy sighed, “I know. It seems we’ve been ensnared in a trap. Perhaps there’s homes in town which we may
refurbish and rent for a fair price.”
“Aye,” agreed Gilly.
“And then, there’s another idea,” began
Cuddy.
Gilly looked expectantly at Cuddy, “Speak if
ye’re having an idea. I’ve none better
than the one ye just uttered.”
“If we can’t buy land for the children somewhere
in MacKenay on the Shore, is it possible we could take the children to a place
where there is land for the buying?”
Gilly thought seriously before answering,
“This be their home area. I’m not sure
it would be in the best interests of the younger ones to be leaving a place
they are familiar with.”
“An’ maybe it would be better for them to
leave behind all these memories and begin entirely anew. If we took them away, they’d never have need
to return to the castle again. Old
habits are difficult to break. We’ve
more than enough income to provide for them until each and everyone is quite
grown.”
Gilly grinned all over his entire face and
slapped his knee in excitement. “May God
increase the bounty of your heart always, Cuddy. ’Tis a splendid idea. We can buy one of the ships in the harbor,
load her with provisions, and within one day be at any harbor in Ireland filled
with more sensible folk than these, with a chance for the children to grow in
environments more charitable and hospitable.”
“Let’s buy the ship today. We’ll load the supplies and the children in
the morning,” suggested Cuddy.
Chapter 9
Charity
One captain was more than eager to sell his
ship at the stupendous prices McGillvery and McGillicuddy offered. The boys hired the villagers to load supplies
which were to be paid for on the morrow. Late in the day the brothers retired
to the cave to prepare food for their wards for another evening.
When the children came to eat their bowls of
stew, McGillvery and McGillicuddy began talking to them about the ship and
going away to a better land where they could have lamb stew, bread, warm clothes,
and a castle of their own to live in.
The children seemed not to hear and rolled into their blankets and
slept.
“Will they come?” whispered Cuddy.
“I don’t think they understand,” whispered
Gilly. “The ship is ready. We’ll have to lead them there in the
morning.”
In the morning several of the children put on
the new shoes the shoemaker had made the day before, reached for their bread,
and began winding down the path to the castle.
“No, children, no. Not today,” hollered Gilly.
“Children,” cried Cuddy, running in front of
them. “Follow me, this way. This way,
children.”
The brood of children seemed confused. They tried to push past Cuddy to the path
leading to the castle.
“No. No, children. Hurry, Gilly.
This way! Follow Gilly. He’ll show you the way to go.” Cuddy began pushing the children toward Gilly
and Gilly began a prancing dance toward the village. “Sing, Gilly.
Catch their attention.”
“By the bonny glens of Fenwood Green…,” sang
Gilly.
The children milled confusedly. Cuddy pushed them. “Follow him.
Follow Gilly. Listen to the music
and follow it.”
Mairin pushed forward from the back of the
group. “They’s got nothin’, Mister. They’s got nothin’. They’s that got nothin’ don’t understand how
to gets somethin’.”
Cuddy grasped Mairin’s shoulders, “Then you
show them, Mairin. You lead just like
you’ve led them to the castle. Lead them
to something better, Mairin.”
Mairin shook her head. “Only them that’s got, gets. It’s the rules. Ye cain’t be breakin’ the rules, Mister. Even you.
You ain’t got and you ain’t gettin’.
All that’s here belongs to the Madam.
She’s the Keeper of the Treasure.”
Cuddy looked closer at Mairin’s face. “Why—why you’re….”
He grabbed her and turned her upside down. A cat’s squeal came out of her. He threw her up into the air and she twisted
around and came down on all fours. “All
of you—you’re not children! You’re…,” and he grabbed two of the black dressed
creatures beside him only to be greeted with scratches and feline screeches.
“Gilly!
It’s an illusion. They aren’t
children! All of this. It’s an illusion!”
Gilly quit his singing and watched as the
creatures meowing, scrambled toward the castle.
“Where are we, Cuddy?” he asked in
bewilderment.
“It seems, my brother, that we’ve never left the
Sinks.”
A slow
dawning horror came over McGillvery’s face.
“But we walked over the top, Brother.
We spoke with the sheep herding lad and his father.”
“We walked nowhere. The Cat created an illusion of our leaving, but
we did not leave. The stone steps going
down into the Sinks did not come out, Gilly.
The Cat has no intention of letting anyone leave prints which show the
way out.”
“Are we here forever then?”
“No. Not forever. We prayed for a prospering, Gilly. The Lord is faithful. A prayer answered will come only with a
blessing attached, not a bag of tricks.
This is the Cat’s doing I’ll warrant.
It may control the land, let’s see if it controls the sea. We’ve two bags of gold to spend. Let’s spend them quickly and set sail.”
“If this is an illusion, then all our gold
has returned to the Cat, hasn’t it, Cuddy?”
“Yes, it has.
That is why we’ve seen no profit from it. Even the profit of a heart full of peace from
well doing was a cheat and a lie. We
were not helping children at all, but merely stoking and replenishing the Cat’s
treasure.”
“This is a bitterness that goes deep into the
vitals, Cuddy.”
“Aye, but those who do good out of simple
hearts true will win in the end, Gilly.”
“Some saints did not win all their lives,
Cuddy. It’s only in death that they hope
for their reward,” spoke Gilly, a mite fearfully.
“Then if that be the only way for us, we’ll
fulfill our destiny with courage, but never shall we give up doing what is
right,” grimly spoke McGillicuddy. “Dearbháil
and Tamara are somewhere beyond this world and I’ve plans for that Irish
lassie’s future, Gilly.”
By now the brothers had reached their dearly
priced ship. Villagers were gathered at
the docks pushing against one another in their eagerness to procure goodly sums
of Gilly and Cuddy’s gold. Gilly and Cuddy
bought any and all of the items offered and quickly emptied their sacks. The items were loaded into the hold of the vessel
and by very late afternoon the brothers finally set sail into waters unknown.
“Sail south, Cuddy,” directed Gilly. “Sail into warmer and friendlier seas.”
As Cuddy steered the ship into the wide ocean
a clap of thunder crashed overhead—lightnings zigzagged around the ship, a huge
cloud looking like a cat rolled toward their vessel spitting and clawing in
dark anger. For many hours Gilly fought
to steer while the storm grew increasingly fierce. The ocean’s waves grew higher and higher and,
in a place where none could ever be—between two heaven-high walls of water—a huge
whirlpool appeared.
“We’re lost, Cuddy,” screeched Gilly.
“Hang on to your bag, Gilly. ’Tis nearly
midnight. Into the foaming mass we go,
into the depths of the ocean just as Jonah was swept into the great fish’s
mouth so long ago.”
“O’Lord, preserve our souls in life or
death,” cried Gilly and the ship tipped bow first into the swirling abyss
below.
Chapter
10
Lords
and Earls
A warmth covered McGillicuddy’s back. He felt he was being caressed by the sun’s
own golden rays. A heaviness caused him
to lie very still, eyes closed. From a
long distance away, he seemed to hear Gilly’s voice. It wasn’t worth the effort to awaken. He passed back into a deep sleep. Then he felt the familiar rumble of a
tinker’s wagon beneath him and he turned his head to view bags full of laces,
thread, and needles; pans and pots swinging overhead; sweet candies for
children tucked into fabric bolts of plain homespun suitable for the daily
necessities of laboring farmers and their wives.
“Gilly,” he called weakly. The wagon kept pulling straight ahead; but, a
dear Gilly, familiar and beloved, climbed from the front seat into the box
behind.
“Cuddy! You’re awake. Finally.
You’ve been gone such a long time.”
Cuddy smiled wanly and nodded. Then he fell back into unconsciousness. It must have been a great while later he
thought, for he seemed to hear Dearbháil’s voice and he smelled potatoes baking
over the coals.
“Irish manna,” he smiled.
“Why, Cuddy,” Dearbháil cried. “You’re awake at last. Tamara, get the soup and we’ll spoon-feed
The soup was thick, rich with butter and
homegrown onions. Dearbháil had pushed
small pieces of brown bread into the broth.
Cuddy ate the entire bowl and fell asleep.
Long toward evening he again awoke with more
strength and alertness of mind. He lay
listening to Dearbháil and Tam’s quiet chatter.
His mind registered that there was something in this room that was
missing, something he needed to attend to…Gilly!
“Dearbháil!” he cried, sitting up. “I need to speak with Gilly. Get Gilly!”
Dearbháil hurried to his side. “Cuddy—lie down immediately. Tam, get a dressing for Cuddy’s head—it’s broken
open again.”
Cuddy grabbed Dearbháil’s arm. “I must see
Gilly. Dearbháil, all is lost if I do
not see Gilly!”
“Now Gilly’s been gone these three weeks,
Cuddy, and I’d like to know why you’re so fired up to see him right at this
very minute when it mattered not a bit for the last three weeks!”
“Three weeks?” Cuddy asked.
His grasp on Dearbháil’s arm relaxed. “Three weeks,” he whispered.
His heart sank to the depths of despair. Eyes closed, he asked, “An’ ye’ve not seen
anything of him these past weeks?”
Dearbháil snorted. “A fine brother ’e’s turned out to be. Came in, got the tinker’s wagon, brought you in
here one mornin’ ’alf dead, and gave me—a friend of your dear mum—gold for the care of you and ran off
just that fast. ’E hasn’t even been back
to see if you’re dead or alive and what I’ll do with his filthy gold pieces
when I see him is not politeness to tell.”
Cuddy was quiet. He’d not heard half what Dearbháil said for
the racing of his mind. The bags, the gold,
the Sinks, how could Gilly possibly manage two bags of gold per day? “What can I do?” moaned Cuddy.
“Do?” snapped Dearbháil. “Why you’re more foolish than my mare in
heat, McGillicuddy. You’ll lie there and
do nothing till you’re well.”
McGillicuddy lay absolutely still while Dearbháil
and Tam redressed his head wound. “Our
Father in heaven,” prayed Cuddy silently, “I’m not knowing where my dear brother
is nor the devilment he may have fallen into.
You’ll be needing to send your sweet angels to keep him from harm.”
Meanwhile, McGillvery sat in a suit of silk
brocade in deep conversation with the Earl of Donogough. Between them lay two heaps of new glistening
gold. The Earl was running fingers
through the gold, half listening to McGillvery.
“This is the first payment for your lands. Every seventh day, you’ll receive the same
until your price is met. You’re welcome
to carry on as you are—the only thing which changes is the paper of ownership.”
“It’s a tempting offer, Lord McGillvery. It is Lord, isn’t it?”
McGillvery cleared his voice, “Er, yes.” Then with more confidence, “Yes. Lord McGillvery.”
The Earl took his hand away from the
pile. “I’ve never made a decision in
haste, McGillvery. Neither have I made a
decision without advisors.”
McGillvery quietly asked, “How long do you
need Earl Donogough?”
“A fortnight will do.”
McGillvery began putting the gold back into
bags while saying carefully. “Would you p’haps
have some friends who might be interested in a similar offer?”
“Not if it hampers my ability to take advantage
of this opportunity.”
“Nay, nay,” hastily assured McGillvery. “I’ll be buying seven estates in
“In that case, here’s my card of introduction
to the Earl of Worshire. He’s located
south of here, lands connecting to mine.”
“Thank you.” McGillvery bowed over Earl
Donogough’s hand as he accepted the card.
“I’ll present myself to you in a fortnight for your decision. Ah,” he remembered, presenting a packet of
papers to the Earl, “my list of references should you decide to need further
assurance of my good intentions.”
McGillvery left the Earl’s interior
apartments and entered a richly fashioned carriage complete with driver and
matched sets of four bay geldings.
“Back to the village and be quick about it,”
he ordered.
Within the carriage confines of velvet draperies
and fur-lined floors, McGillvery smiled to himself. Even though he’d had little sleep for three
weeks and this late in the day he still had two bags of gold to dispose of
before evening’s setting, he was not worried or pressed for time. He had enterprises in place for spending the
gold at a moment’s notice. In the last
three weeks, he had bought a Lord’s title.
He had been privately tutored in the proper deportment of a Lord. He continuously employed an accountant, a
lawyer, a private doctor, a secretary, and had surrounded himself with all the
accouterments of a man of means.
He had, in full time employment, advisors who
had drawn the necessary paperwork for a money house which lent monies and
invested the profits from his recent holdings.
He even had auditors who made the rounds of businesses he bought in
small villages along the way. Everything
he purchased was managed by the original proprietors who in turn paid two per
cent of monthly profits to McGillvery and McGillicuddy, Ltd., the money house
McGillvery had started. His head, it
seemed, had ideas which never stopped.
This new plan was the topper of them all. By the time he’d purchased seven castles and
their holdings, he would at last have involved the daily flow from the
Everfilling bags so fully he not only could sleep, but also could go back to Dearbháil’s
and see about McGillicuddy’s welfare without the daily necessity of finding
ways to expend the gold.
It was the rough cobblestones under rapidly
moving carriage wheels that roused him from his contemplations as his driver
pulled the travel weary horses to a quick stop in front of an elaborate and
richly adorned private residence.
McGillvery, as was his wont in the last three weeks, raced up the mansion’s
widely pretentious stairs lined with potted and carefully manicured shrubbery,
threw his cloak, hat, and gloves to the waiting butler while walking swiftly
through the ornately furnished foyer.
“Rachel, bring the Doctor and Stebbins.” McGillvery tossed his coat and tie onto a leather-backed
chair. As the Doctor and Stebbins
appeared, McGillvery said, “I’ve decided to build a hospital. Stebbins, draw the paperwork
immediately. Doctor, you are to
supervise the entire operation—the finest equipment, the best materials.”
McGillvery emptied the gold onto the
table. “Weigh it, Rachel. Make me a receipt for the down payment on a
hospital.”
Rachel began weighing. Stebbins began writing. The Doctor began listing all the items a good
hospital would need.
Within the hour, Rachel gave him a receipt. “Rachel, have the accountant come in the
morning to set the proper books for a hospital and deposit the monies into a
hospital fund. Where’s James? There you are. I need a fresh team and driver and fresh clothing. I’m on my way to the Earl of Worshire.”
At the door a basket of cold potatoes, eggs,
and herring were handed him. He stepped
into his carriage, covered himself with a woolen throw, and turned to sleep
with the two empty bags under his head.
“McGillicuddy would be proud,” he thought as he drifted into an
unconsciousness that was oblivious to the rumbling wheels carrying him to his next
appointment.
So passed the next fortnight until McGillvery
had offered every major landowner in
It was with lightness of heart that he began again
this same circuit to close the offers made to the Earls and Lords.
The Earl Donogough seemed pleased to see him
and invited him into the library where a barrister was comfortably seated
before a quiet summer’s fire.
“Now Lord McGillvery, would you please repeat
your offer of a fortnight ago?”
“With pleasure,” said McGillvery, repeating
his offer.
Earl Donogough turned to the barrister.
“Well?”
The barrister cleared his throat with an
important ‘Ahem.’ He placed gold-rimmed
glasses at the end of his nose, picked up a sheaf of papers, and said, “The
papers are quite in order. There are a
few points I wish clarified. Specifically,
I’ve questions about the term of the contract.
When Lord McGillvery passes from this life, who shall benefit from the income
and for how long?”
“I believe the contract is quite specific on
that point, Sir. My heir is one—my brother,
McGillicuddy. The contract stands in
force for the term of my life and then the term of his life. The contract ends at my brother’s death with
all properties reverting to the original owners.”
“And, the two per cent interest rates?”
“They no longer need be paid.”
“And, the principle originally lent? It seems you’ve not required repayment of the
principle.”
“That is correct. I am merely asking a solid, monetary return on
my monies for the duration of my and my brother’s lifetime.”
“In a contract, Sir, there must be a gift in
kind to make the contract valid. It
seems you’ve received little gift for the value for your gold. I’m exceedingly perplexed at the
exceptionally low interest rate you’ve charged for the use of your
monies.”
“And you’ve surely not forgotten the ways of
money,” replied McGillvery smoothly.
“Over a lifetime its face may whimsically change many times. Sometimes it presents a face of value and
sometimes its face makes a poor showing.
Interest rates fluctuate. I am
content with a lifetime of fair showings—neither excellent nor poor. By playing a moderate game, I save myself
palpitation of heart and gain a certain security knowing I have a comfortable,
guaranteed two per cent income for life without further investment of my time
or my energies. I am satisfied with
that. I am not a greedy man,” said
McGillvery. In a further effort to
reassure, he said, “I highly value practicality in all things as a prudent measure
to follow.”
“Then, your brother after you benefits from
the contract at those same terms and with those same values?”
“Precisely.”
“And what is the age of your brother, Sir?”
“We’re nearly twins.”
The barrister appraised McGillvery. “Well, Donogough, you’ve the price of your
castle and lands at a cost of a two per cent per year interest for the lifetime
of this chap and then his brother. After
their demise, the lands return to your heirs.
You’ve no need to repay the principle.
’Tis all in your favor and little in his. Do as you will. You’ll not procure monies so cheaply at current
money house rates.”
The Earl Donogough nodded his head. “So thought I. Would you supervise the reading of the
agreement and my signature?”
“To be sure.”
The agreement was read. No changes were made as it had been written
forthrightly and honestly.
McGillvery poured the bags of gold on the
table. It was counted. A receipt was
made.
“I take your leave, Gentlemen,” he said as he
bowed and left the room.
With very little difference, the contracts
were agreed to and signed by the rest of the largest landowners in
McGillvery traded the coach and four for his
tinker’s wagon thirty miles from Dearbháil’s village. His gloves, top hat, and velvet breeches were
soon rolled and packed in the bottom of a wooden chest having been quietly
exchanged for the much patched tinker’s tweeds he had worn for many a year. T’would never do for Dearbháil to see the
grand manner in which he traveled. Too
many questions too soon would greatly disturb the few days of peace he had
bought for himself at the hands of
A day later toward mid afternoon,
McGillicuddy, sitting before the fire scrubbing the dirt from Dearbháil’s potatoes,
suddenly held the bristle brush very still.
He turned a little and listened harder.
“Is it a tinker’s wagon I be hearing, Tamara?”
The young woman bent a bit at the waist and
peeked below the window’s opening. She pointed
a finger toward the hill on the east side of Dearbháil’s house and said, “I’m
thinking that cart looks very much like your own.”
McGillicuddy scrambled to his feet and bent
to look out the low window. “It’s
Gilly!” he cried.
He ran out the door through the gate to meet
McGillvery. Dearbháil stood up from the
garden, earth caked hands at her waist.
McGillvery, awakened at McGillicuddy’s yelp
of joy, leapt from the seat of the cart, and ran down the rest of the hill to
meet his brother.
“Hah!” he cried and grasped Cuddy. “Hah!
Hah! The Lord’s granted ye rosy cheeks and a bright eye, Cuddy.” Gilly threw back his head laughing and pulling
Cuddy around in a circle, first clapping him heartily on back and shoulders and
then hugging him with the intensity of a she-bear.
Tears rolling down his cheeks, Cuddy cried,
“I’d been a’worrying and a’frettin’ for ye all these days, Brother. I did nae know if the Cat had got you or a
robber by the wayside.”
“Neither a cat nor a robber,” laughed
Gilly. “All’s well.”
Dearbháil had washed her hands at the trough
kept by the garden’s gate. Her chin was
set firmly as if she had something to say, but would bide her time.
“Your horses and wagon have made the house
before you, McGillvery,” she called. “We’re
ready to set the potatoes on the fire.
Best come and tend your animals so you’ll have time to wash before you
eat.” She turned to pick up her basket
of garden vegetables and entered the house.
Gilly clutched Cuddy’s shoulders. “How I’ve longed to catch word of you, Cuddy;
but for the awful responsibility we’ve undertaken, I could not even until now
see you without risking the bags.”
Cuddy looked incredulously at Gilly, “Ye
still have the bags?”
“To be sure.
I’ve arranged with the Lords and Earls of South
“All?” asked Cuddy wonderingly.
“All,” assured Gilly. “An’ there’s time to pack you up from here
and take you to town to live as you should.
I’ve a fine house, all the potatoes and herring you’d ever desire.”
Cuddy grinned, gripping Gilly’s arms tightly. “How can words tell the gladness I’ve in me
’eart to see you and to know you’re safe.”
“An’ the same, Brother,” agreed Gilly. The brothers turned toward the cottage with
McGillicuddy helping unhitch Belle and Shade for turning to pasture. Nothing more was said that evening about their
affairs, for the cottage was small, and both McGillvery and McGillicuddy wished
to keep Dearbháil and Tamara protected from their adventures.
In the wee hours of early morning, Gilly left
to make payment on one of the castles at the nearest money house and returned by
noon. Cuddy met him just beyond the
cottage gate.
“Ye’ve already taken care of it?” whispered
Cuddy.
“Aye, and didn’t break a sweat doing it,”
smiled Gilly.
“Then, even tho’ our mother always said two’s
better’n one, you’ve managed quite well, Gilly.”
“Better with you, Cuddy. For the little reprieve will soon end and
we’ll be right back where we started.”
Cuddy nodded, “Two month, ye said.”
“Aye, but best not be staying here two
month. The lady of the house will be
wondering shortly at my leaving early every morning and will be accusing me of
becoming a highway robber or worse,” Gilly grinned.
Cuddy nodded and made no reply.
Gilly noted the slight slumping of his
brother’s shoulders. It was a habit
Cuddy had ever since he was small—disappointment, sadness, or dejection showed
in the set of his shoulders more than his face.
Gilly looked past Cuddy to the cottage and lush summer garden. The emerald fields beyond the thatched roof
were dotted with white fluffs of sheep grazing.
Dearbháil’s milk cow was being nuzzled by a calf while grazing under
three apple trees fitted for small boys to climb. Within two months, boxes of those small green
apples would be large, reddish-gold orbs sitting in her cellar. It wasn’t hard to imagine deep linings
filled to overflowing with fruit sweet goodness bubbling to well done when
winter mist was hard on cottage walls. He heard Dearbháil singing and Tamara’s
laughter coming from the cottage’s comfortable interior. His face softened and he soothed, “I
know. You’re my brother an’ how could I
not know, Cuddy? It’s about Dearbháil,
isn’t it?”
“Aye.”
“You’re wantin’ to stay and not go. It’s natural, Cuddy. You’ve always loved her.”
“Aye, but perhaps I’d best remember we’re
tinkers free an’ until we can properly care for the gold, what kind of a life
would it be for her and Tamara? Besides
I’m your brother true, Gilly, and ye’ve carried my share of the burden for this
long. ’Tis my duty to carry my half the
rest of the way.”
“I’m needin’ your help sure, Cuddy. We’ve only a little more to do to set a
firmness to our future.” He looked to
the cottage again noting the redness of the roses blooming against its neatly
whitewashed, stone walls. “What will ye
tell Dearbháil?”
“I don’t know what I can tell her with the future
so uncertain. Funny when we were
starvin’ I had no promises I could give her and now we’re the richest lads in
the world and our life less sure than before.
Odd now isn’t it, Gilly?”
“Yes.”
He thought for a while and then said, “Cuddy, I could buy you more time
by going to the landholders in the North of Ireland and offering them the same
opportunity to sell their lands as the Southern landholders were given. I’ve a fine way about me with the Lords and
Earls now. ’Tis not hard and a business
best done alone. What say you to resting
here for a few more months and I’ll be about that business?”
“It’s very tempting, Gilly, but what would be
the difference of leaving her now or later?
It would be just as painful anytime.”
McGillvery looked sadly at his brother. “Wish I could take the hurt for you.”
McGillicuddy nodded.
“I know what you could do, Cuddy!” burst out
Gilly. “Ask her for a year—if she’ll
wait. By then, we’ll have begun
realizing the profits on our
“The Lord’s bags,” corrected Cuddy. “Don’t you see,” he pleaded, “we’re no longer
free men, Gilly. We prayed for wealth
and we got what we prayed for. We can’t
‘hang’ the bags or let them go. Somehow,
someway, we’ve got to find a way to be free of this daily task—a way that will
benefit us and others as well.”
“Remember the good Lord’s people when they
wanted to eat and the Lord sent them all they could hold and a sickness besides? I’m feelin’ sick ’o me blessing, Cuddy.”
“Nay.
Don’t be lookin’ at it so. It’s
the glasses you choose to wear, Gilly, that frame your world. We’ve always chosen to see clearly by framin’
our world with the old timing rules that worked well for generations of men. The
scripture says that God’s blessing makes rich and adds no pain with it. He’s not one to victimize, Gilly. He’s always been our Friend in Need. A loyal friend does not hold out a hand with
a snake in it when one has asked for bread.
Don’t let our hardships now be causing us to be giving a smirch to the
Name. Remember the seer of the Psalms
said he would never tell a tale false about his Creator. We’ll just have to think a little harder, be
a little more prayerful, believe the best is yet to come, and that we’re fair
friends of the King.”
Gilly bent his head, “Pray it be so, Cuddy. I
spoke out of weariness and I apologize before you for the slip of my faithless
tongue.”
“O’ Gilly.
It would not happen except ye’ve been carrying the manly load of two men
for too long. I know my responsibility
and it is first with you until we have discharged our duties properly.”
So it was that Cuddy left dear Dearbháil and
Tamara at cottage door and followed Gilly to the city.
Chapter 11
The Lions’ Den
“My Lord,” said James as he helped Gilly with
his coat. “It seems the Earls and Lords
of South Ireland wish to hold a feast in your honor. I’ve been putting them
off; but now you’ve returned, should I schedule a visit for you?”
“Hold them a fortnight, James. I’ve business to attend in the North and then
I’ll meet with them in full gladness. My
brother, McGillicuddy, needs to be introduced and rehearsed in our routine
here. He shall carry on while I’m
gone.”
“Yes, Sir.”
As James disappeared, Cuddy looked around the
room. “You’re living in fine style, Gilly,”
he observed. “’Tis a wonder you’ve not
grown fat and gouty.”
“You’ll not wonder when you’ve been here ’ere
long, Brother. In truth, since we last
parted until meeting again at Dearbháil’s I’ve not had one hot meal or full night’s
sleep. Most of my days and nights have
been spent in a swiftly moving carriage bundled as best I could for slight
slumber. You know,” he continued, “seems
little different than conditions in our tinker’s wagon except everything moves
faster and I know I’ll always have whole potatoes even though they’re cold.”
Cuddy looked around at the lovely trappings
of the room in which they stood. “Very
handsome,” he said as he stroked a velveteen drapery.
Gilly started up the stairs undressing as he
went, “I’ve never had the time to be in any room of this house save this one
and a dressing room.”
Cuddy thoughtfully followed Gilly up the
stairs.
“What are you planning after this next piece
of work?”
Gilly turned and sat heavily in a chair. “Cuddy, can you honestly imagine spending our
whole life like this? What do I have in
mind? Racing at heart speed to
“What then?” quietly asked Cuddy.
Gilly threw his arms in the air. “Then we’ll own the whole world, Cuddy. What else do we need?”
“We’ll still have the bags, Gilly.”
“Perhaps we’ll begin a money house solely
devoted to buying the stars, Cuddy. Two
bags per star. That should take us way
beyond this lifetime.”
“Have ye read Mother’s Book lately?”
Gilly hung his head in shame. “In truth, Cuddy, we always did it together
and without you I’ve not taken the time.”
“It’s occurred to me that advice from the
Book gave us the bags. It got us this
far. Perhaps there are answers yet to be
had.”
“Would you search, Cuddy?” earnestly asked
Gilly. “Search while I’m gone.”
The Earls and Lords of the North were as
willing as the Lords and Earls of the South to enter into the lucrative venture
McGillvery proposed. Not surprisingly,
seven of the largest landholders signed Gilly’s document and Gilly found himself
with nearly two months free time. For
the first time in many weeks, the carriage with the ‘M’ emblazoned on each of
its side doors, rolled sedately to the front door of McGillvery and McGillicuddy’s
town residence. McGillvery did not run
up the steps while throwing his coat and hat to James nor did he call for
Rachel to quickly make a receipt for the spending of bags of gold. He leisurely walked through the main floor
rooms stopping to admire unusual statuary and lush floral arrangements placed
on handsome marble topped tables backed with man-sized gilded mirrors. He eventually found the library where
McGillicuddy, seated at an intricately carved mahogany desk, was pouring over papers
from McGillvery’s many transactions of the past month.
“Ho, Brother!
A successful trip,” gladly greeted Gilly. “We purchased nearly two months time—time to
sit at table and eat hot meals, time to sleep in soft beds with small fires to
keep off the chill of evening air, time to bathe properly in hot tubs of lime
and soda.” He stopped and looked around
the room. “Time to enjoy rooms such as
these,” he said while running fingers across the backs of gilt and leatherbound
volumes. He walked to one of the library’s
windows. “And a lovely garden! ’Tis the
first I’ve seen it, Cuddy.”
Cuddy shook his head, “No small wonder,
Gilly. Ye accomplished a prodigious
amount of work in such a wee space of time.
I’ve the figures for the profits ye’re turning on your business and land
purchases. They come to a right handsome
sum.”
Gilly grinned. “Whatever that amount is, double it, for I’ve
done the same in the North as in the South.”
Cuddy turned surprised eyes to Gilly.
“In a manner of speaking, then, we own all of
“In a manner of speaking, Cuddy, we are the
new Kings of
Cuddy wonderingly replied, “Did you ever
think it would turn so grand?”
“In all my imaginations, I could not have
hoped for better than this,” agreed Gilly.
“And, now, I’m for enjoying a true Lord’s hot meal prepared by our cook
and served by our own maids in a room of soft chairs and warm fires. Will you join me to dine, McGillicuddy?”
“Aye, I will,” he enthusiastically replied
and the two boys headed for the kitchen to place an order for a sup that the
Lord Darroughby himself would have admired and coveted.
McGillicuddy, still on the mend from their
frightful voyage through The Sink’s whirlpool, recommended they both rest late
for the first few weeks of this much needed reprieve and devote some time to
reading their mother’s Book.
“Routine is best kept when all else is changing,”
allowed McGillvery. “It’s a healing
thing to keep old ways.”
“And, it will give us time to focus on our
next action. Will not be time ill spent,
Gilly,” agreed Cuddy.
Thus, for the first time since possessing the
bags McGillvery and McGillicuddy were able to enjoy leisurely rides in their
carriage, long and full breakfasts served in bed, evenings reading plays and
comedies of finest strain, and many a day of gluttonous mid-day meals with
every type of luxurious beef, fowl, and pastry.
Toward the beginning of the third luxurious
week of living such as the boys had dreamt of and never before experienced,
came another invitation from the Lords and Earls of the South. They insisted on a meeting with Lord McGillvery
and bluntly stated they would be put off no longer.
“Cuddy, they were wishing to fete me before I
left for the North. We’ve fair banqueted
for nearly three weeks and truth be I’ve no real taste for another feast of any
proportion. For the first time in my
life, I can say with genuine feeling that small portions are indeed tasty.”
Cuddy laughed uproariously. “Then you’ll be
having the finest of table manners at their banquet, dear Brother. Best keep the peace and take your short jog.”
McGillvery smiled, and light of heart,
boarded his carriage and soon turned onto lands previously held by the Earl
Donogough.
“Gentlemen,” he said expansively as he walked
up the steps toward
Dour faces of
“Come inside, Sir,” they said.
Gilly swept into the hallway noting
satisfiedly the sheen of the marble foyer.
He was ushered into the library and not asked to sit down. The men formed a half circle around him
giving Gilly an uncomfortable, trapped feeling.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “I’ve come a long
journey at your invitation and I’ve not been asked to remove cloak nor gloves.”
“An’ you’ll not be asked either,” growled the
Lord of Danshire.
Gilly raised his eyebrows and panned a look of
innocence long practiced in his tinker’s trade.
“It seems I somehow have a room of dissatisfied customers.”
“You’re bloody well right about that,” spoke
an Earl.
McGillvery looked around at the bulging waistcoats
and thought, ‘Well, at least I’ll easily outrun them if it comes to that. But we’d best put on our most ingratiating manner
and see if we can balm the troubles first.
After all I’m supposed to be a Lord and it doesn’t seem fitted that a
Lord should vault through the window over the box hedges now does it,
Gilly? Have peace, Man—whatever’s
coming, keep your wits about you.’
He smiled agreeably and helped himself with
his coat. “Gentlemen, what could
possibly be wrong?” He feigned an
anxious look, “Not a missing payment I hope?”
“You’ve seen well that we got your cursed gold.”
Gilly began to seat himself and two Earls gripped
his arms and raised him to a standing position.
“Not in my castle, McGillvery,” said Donogough. “You’ll hang from my trusses before you sit on
my chairs.”
Gilly ran a finger around his shirt neck, ignoring
the word ‘hang’. “Gentlemen, if there is any wrong I’ve dealt
you, I’ll truly try to rectify it.
Surely, it can’t be as bad as you’re all making out.”
“It’s worse than bad,” grimly spoke the Lord
Danshire. “An’ we’ve already voted what
to do about it. Without discussion with
you, you’re a dead man, McGillvery.”
“Gentlemen, Gentlemen,” chided Gilly. “Whatever have I done? Let’s be reasonable,
sit, and talk about it.”
“Silence! You scum of a peat bog. No money will buy you out of this. When a King plots and plans as you’ve done—not
all his treasury will buy his life—much less what paltry sums you may lay hand
to.”
“But Gentlemen,” remonstrated McGillvery,
“I’m not a man of limited resources.
There’s surely a way I can fix whatever ails the South of Ireland.”
“Aye, buy all the North of Ireland, too! What a treacherous piece of business! Without a war, you’ve established yourself as
owner of our entire country! Careful men,
he’ll be selling your own precious daughters to the African Kings.”
“Enough talk.
We’ve decided. He’s here.
Dispatch him.”
Each Earl and Lord drew a small dagger from
his shirt and closed the circle around McGillvery.
McGillvery cried out, “Whatever ails you,
Gentlemen, will not be cured by my demise for the contract stated I’ve a
brother to carry on after me.”
“Wait. He’s right,” spoke the Earl of
Donogough. “In our anger we forgot there
is an heir.”
“Dispatch this one and we’ll travel to the other
one,” a harsh voice replied.
“Nay, nay.
Tie him and let’s think wisely over this matter. Many counselors we have in this room. Let’s
use the experience we all share in common before making too hasty a decision.”
Gilly, mouth now tied with monogrammed silk
kerchiefs, listened to their plotting with heart sinking like an Irish elk in
quicksand.
“We could invite his brother as we invited
McGillvery.”
“Nay.
We know him not and t’would be an invitation unaccepted.”
“The motto of Danshire House is ‘Strike now the
enemy before he is on guard’,” spoke Lord Danshire. “I suggest we send a party ahead of the swift
running feet of rumor for the express purpose of dispatching the brother
immediately.”
To the sound of voices raised in approbation
arose one negative vote. “Nay,” rejected
Earl of Worshire. “’Tis not the throne
sent on the errand. I do not believe
Lord McGillvery is the throne. I believe
he is merely the errand boy of a grander intelligence. That intelligence may be the brother. If it is, he is surrounded with those wisest
to counsel and protect. Just as a throne
is not overthrown in a day, the brother will not be easily dispatched by a
disorderly and rowdy group of Lords and Earls.”
“Gentlemen, that is true,” spoke one of the
Earls. “The real power here may be in
the other brother. Such a political plot
that has caught all
“Such a takeover—so quickly done and without
bloodshed never has been done in history before this.”
“Not so, Gentlemen,” spoke Lord
Danshire. “In Egyptian history there is
a story of a ruler, second in command, who bought all
“I remember that history. The scheme succeeded because the populace was
under duress of famine.”
“We were not under duress of famine when we
fell for a similar plot.”
“It’s true we’ve no excuse except our own
greed and have nearly lost our nation as a result,” said Lord Darroughby. “Even so, you need not be reminding us of our
lack of guardedness,” he complained without humor.
The Earls had been quietly conferring in a
corner and rejoined the circle of men.
They presented one of McGillvery’s contracts to the group of men. “The contract plainly states there is no
other heir except the brother, McGillicuddy.
It would seem, therefore, that this coupe was accomplished by two men
not a whole nation of men. We suggest we
follow through on the idea of luring the other brother here by means of
invitation to join his brother in a royal fete.
If he comes, so much the better for us.
If he refuses, then we shall have to organize and spy out the situation
over a longer range of time.”
Several nods of approval followed this suggestion
with a final “Aye,” all around.
“Then McGillvery needs write a note
encouraging his brother to come swiftly to enjoy the South’s hospitality.”
“Aye and by the edge of a knife at your
throat, you’ll oblige, my Lord McGillvery,” threatened the Lord of Danshire
with a menacing nod in his direction.
McGillvery, with threatening Lords and Earls
in tight circle around him, reluctantly and sadly wrote the invitation. Lord Darroughby sealed it with wax and sent
the letter by means of McGillvery’s coach and four.
As soon as the letter was dispatched, the
Lords and Earls had a hurried conference after which McGillvery was blindfolded
and roughly hustled down several long corridors, winding passages, and unused,
darkened stairwells. At the bottom of
one such stair well, he found himself listening to iron scraping stone. Shortly afterward, a rough thrust forward landed
him face down into a darkly foul stench that seemed to originate from the very
stone of the floors upon which he lay.
The sound of iron scraping stone again reached his ears with the simultaneous
realization that he had been thrown into the castle’s dungeon. He crawled toward the direction of that sound
and lay for a moment near the iron bars.
“Prudence dictated I should have cleared the
box hedge the first moment I thought about it. A little money and a man loses all common
sense. Why is it a man feels less like
running when he’s got satin breeches next to his skin than when he’s clothed in
ragged tweeds? Such a small thing should
not affect his ability to make rational decisions promptly,” lamented Gilly
while raising himself to his knees. He heard
a slight rustling behind him. “Rats,” he
moaned. “Lord, my blessed Irish luck has put me in a prison cell with rats.”
“Not rats, mister. I done et them all long ago,” chortled a raspy
voice.
“I can’t see you, but I hear you,” said
McGillvery rising to his feet.
The shuffling got closer. Claw-like fingers gripped his sleeve. “Ye’ll get used to the darkness, mister. My, my, an’ what have we here? A man o’ means I’d say. A man o’ means. Mmmm, and well-fed too.” The claws were pinching McGillvery’s waist. “Ye haven’t missed many meals now have ye
lad?”
Gilly felt like a rat about to be eaten.
“What be your name, Sir?” he asked shakily.
The
fingers were still poking and prodding him like old women press geese at market
before buying them for supper.
The fellow seemed not to hear Gilly. Gilly felt the chap’s weight shift a
little. He ducked and ran as something
hard and steel-like hit the dungeon bars just where his head had been.
“Why, Sir,” he panted, “are ye settling for
such a meal as me when I’ve a brother to join me in a short time?”
“I’ll et you and then I’ll et him,” chortled
the voice.
“By Jove, it’s like Daniel and the Lions’
Den. I’m Daniel and for the life of me I
can’t remember what he did to seal the Lions’ mouths.”
“He most likely prayed and relied on his
Lord,” spoke a quiet voice beside him.
“Two lions then?” gasped Gilly. “An’ how many more be there here that wants
me for supper?”
“Enna, put the bar down. Down! I say!” The quiet man spoke sharply to the rustling
sound that was again creeping toward McGillvery. What sounded like a steel bar dropped to the
ground and then was drug scraping along stone flooring into the darkness
beyond.
“We’ve not had visitors for awhile. Our manners are in need of some repair, I
daresay. Allow me. I’m Father Ciaron of Donogough Abbey.”
“Are you visiting the prisoners today,
Father?” incredulously asked McGillvery.
“Would that it were so, but I’m a permanent fixture
at least as long as the vermin and our water supply doesn’t end. Come.
I’ll take you along a passage where you’ll feel more at ease. It’s difficult to adjust to darkness when
you’ve always walked by light.”
Gilly was led along a stone lined passage and
up a series of stairs until they came at last to a small room with a window. “There ’tis better now, isn’t it?”
Gilly felt vastly relieved and looked about
him. “However did you find it?”
“Enna.”
The Father pointed to the creature crouching in the corner.
McGillvery surveyed the living thing that
should have grown into a man. “How long
has he been here?”
“As near as I can understand—since he was a
child.”
“Why ever would men consign a child to such a
place? What could his offense have been
that he was forgotten in such a situation as this?”
“Who knows?” shrugged the Father. “He probably does not know himself. I’m
certain those who live above the dungeon may not be aware that he still
lives. The depths of the dungeon are not
on noblemen’s social visiting schedules, you see,” he explained.
“No one brings food or drink?”
“From the skeletons around the dungeon door,
it seems most men die within a few meters of the bars waiting for succor that
never comes. We find the remains of
prisoners in passageways far from those bars once in awhile, but not
often. If it hadn’t been for Enna, I
would have been one of the casualties of Donogough’s Castle.”
At McGillvery’s surprised look, the Father
added, “You see, creatures like Enna are very close to their natural survival instincts. Without guidance and socialization his
natural instincts were not subjugated.
Civilized peoples’ intuitions are dampened to the point where, if needed
in basic existence situations, adequate decision-making abilities are often unable
to surface properly. Civilization
teaches us a way to live in society but rather drowns our natural instinctive
protective gear for basic survival, you see.”
The Father smiled and said, “Enna, so close to those primal instincts,
saved my life. For he did not think
beyond the fact that he had to eat and to drink.”
“Why didn’t he eat you?” inquired Gilly.
The Father reached into his robe and pulled
out a large golden crucifix. He held it
in front of Enna. Enna crouched and cowered
against the wall. The Father replaced
the cross within the folds of his garment.
“I see,” murmured McGillvery, feeling deep
compassion for the hapless creature cowering on the floor. “I suppose I didn’t introduce myself
properly. Name’s McGillvery.”
“Just McGillvery?” asked the Father, eying
McGillvery’s richly brocaded sleeve and velveteen trimmed pants.
“Since I’m here, I suppose McGillvery’s more
than enough,” ruefully replied Gilly. “I
have a brother named McGillicuddy who will be joining us soon, I fear.”
“Ah, an’ for misdeeds or deeds of valor?”
“To be truthful, Father, I’ve no understanding
of the reason for my presence in this place.
I’m a God-fearing man and have done nothing to the Earls and Lords of
Southern
“By having the wrong politics and giving
unwanted advice,” spoke the Father.
“Cheer up, Father,” spoke Gilly wryly, “I’ve
no politics, rarely give advice, and we’re both wearing the same leather boot
with its toe out.”
Not many days later Enna sprang from the
floor like a surprised wild thing and cocked his head sideways as if listening. Then he leapt down the passageway as if he
were to be freed this day.
The Father scrambled to his feet. “Hurry,” he
said. “It means another prisoner or a
very large rat.”
McGillvery endeavored to follow; but the
darkness, after several twists and turns, seemed impenetrable. His hand was reaching along the wall when it
came in contact with a sconce holding an ancient torch. He felt further and found every seven meters
a torch attached to the wall. Greatly
delighted with the discovery, he returned to the room with the window by a careful
retracing of his steps.
As he rounded the last corner, he heard the
Father saying, “Yes, he’s quite well as you’ll see in but a moment.” The Father raised his head as McGillvery
re-entered the room and said, “Aah, here he is and quite soon. Come, Enna,” he motioned. “We will give two brothers privacy for
confidential talk.” Enna immediately
rose and followed the lead of the Father as he left by a lower passageway.
McGillicuddy was standing in the middle of
the room with the barred window to his back.
His eyes had not yet adjusted to the light in the room. “McGillvery?” he asked.
“I’m here,” replied McGillvery.
“Not a boisterous welcome, Brother.”
“Because I’m so ashamed, Cuddy.”
“When they threw me in the dungeon, I knew
you’d sent the note because of a knife at your throat or worse.”
“It was a knife,” admitted Gilly.
“Then what else could you do?”
“I could have died at their hands and allowed
you freedom.”
“Nay.
They would have forged an invitation which I would have responded to in
the same manner. It was the prudent
choice, Gilly. See, we are both alive at
this instant. It’s proof you chose the
wisest action under the circumstances.”
“Thank you for that,” said Gilly forlornly.
“Two heads are better than one,” encouraged
Cuddy. “It seems the Lord’s put the two
heads together again.”
He looked around the close quarters. “The walls are thick and made of good quality
stone. That being the case, we need to
put on our thinking caps and fair figure how to get out of here.” Cuddy lowered his voice, “And before morning,
Gilly, because I brought the bags and they’ll need spending by tomorrow’s
evening just as always.”
“It seems the bags are the least of our
worries now, Cuddy,” reproved Gilly. “If
it hadn’t been for those cursed things, we’d not be here in the first place.”
Cuddy reminded Gilly, “Oh, I don’t know. The way we spent our last year running from
dogs and leaping for the tinker wagon’s seat, it may not have been long before
some villager pinned a serious misdeed to us and we’d been swinging from the
crossbeam at the center roads. Has happened before, Gilly. Poor innocents hanging for another’s wrong.”
Gilly knew it was true and ruefully noted,
“All the bags allowed us was to work with a little higher class of inhospitable
people.” He added glumly, “We’re not the
poor innocents, though. We be the rich innocents
hanging for another’s misdeeds.”
“But whose?” asked Cuddy. “That’s what I can’t figure.”
“O’ ’tis not hard to figure. It’s the gents themselves. Fat paunches sport thankless hearts. I’d supposed the generous offer I made would
be satisfactory and honored. I misjudged
their greed. Why pay two per cent per
year when one can pay nothing and have their lands free and clear this year
rather than thirty years hence?”
Cuddy sighed, “Well, we should have listened
to Mother’s advice. Rub sleeves with a
rich man and you’ll end with a hole in your shirt.”
“Aye, we put our fortune’s trust in the hands
of nobles. We’ll need a better plan by
and by, Cuddy, with a foundation more sure than the fickle ways of man.”
Cuddy grinned. “Seems we’re getting a mighty education right
soon, Gilly. We’ll come across a plan
that will work, one day shortly. But for
now, time’s wasting and we’re in right sore need to find a way out.”
“Do ye happen to have a strike, Cuddy? The passage below us is lined with torches the
entire length. A little light would
greatly aid our purpose.”
A noise along the lower passageway startled
the boys, but it was only the Father and Enna returning. They were immediately included in the boys’
conversation.
“Father, Gilly and I must be out of
Donogough’s Dungeon this day. Have you
explored anything other than the length of the passages from the dungeon’s cell
door to this room?”
“Nay, not many. Enna brings rats to eat and the deep hollows
in the window’s sill catches the rain for our drink. He most likely knows all the ways, but if
there’s one to the outside I would suppose he’d have long left this hole. A fresh peach is a sight better fodder than
raw rat.”
Cuddy looked at Enna. “To some perhaps, Father. To some.”
He leaned toward Enna, “Can you show us a way out, Enna?”
But Enna shrank back into the corner and
groveled as a dog does before a harsh master.
Cuddy shrugged and reached into his pocket, “Well,
I’ve the strike, Gilly. Best show me the
torches.”
Gilly walked forward and began feeling along
the right of the wall until his hands finally reached the first torch. Cuddy struck the flint and the torch sputtered. He struck again and the torch blazed, weirdly
playing over hand hewn stones set hundreds of years before and scattering a
glow over the multitudinous cobwebs stringing the ceilings far above them as
thickly as clouds on a wintry day.
“Gather the torches as you go, Gilly,” said
Cuddy, “and we’ll use them as we need.
Father, stay close behind and mark along the walls with this stone so
we’ll be able to get back should we use all the torches and be far from the
windowed room.”
“How big do you suppose this labyrinth to be?”
asked Gilly.
“The castle building itself covers an acre of
ground in its entirety,” supplied the Father.
“It’s likely to suppose the underground passages run at least its
length.”
“Do you know where we are in relation to the
cooking rooms?”
“Nay,” apologized the Father. “I’m sorry lads, but little I know of
“Seems odd a Father wouldn’t know something
of the wine cellars,” chided Gilly gently.
Father grinned, “You may misunderstand,
McGillvery. My abbey serves the poor of
Gilly appraised the Father, “That would
explain your raiment I suppose. If we
get clear of this, I’ll be needin’ a Father for keepin’ my affairs straight
before our Lord in common. You may come
with me and I’ll see you properly clothed and fed as befits your station before
God and man.”
The Father shook his head quietly. “Do not wish to disappoint you, McGillvery,
but my calling is to the poor. Tempting
as it would be to serve in a higher capacity ’tis not to be in this life.”
Gilly shrugged. “We’ve been poor all our life, Father. ’Tis hard to serve the poor when you yourself
are poor.” He appraised the Father
quietly. “We’ll talk of the matter
again,” he concluded as Cuddy, who had walked farther ahead, came back with an
urgency in his voice. “Look there—high up—is
it a door I’m seeing?”
The men walked forward searching the wall
above them until they verified Cuddy’s find.
Far above, in the stone, was the appearance of a square tunnel.
“Enna, come here,” said the Father. “Up you go.”
After a boost from the Father, Enna
disappeared into the tunnel just as the first torch began to die. McGillvery used it to light a second
torch. They waited patiently for Enna's
return. When he came back, he was covered
with cobwebs and dust.
“Enna,” said Father, “was there a way out?”
Enna shook his head negatively. He dropped to the floor and the group quietly
proceeded on its way.
After using a third and a fourth torch, they
at last came to a bricked in wall—a dead end, no way to go left or right or forward.
Gilly kicked at the wall in frustration. “What an odd set of thinking dominated these
lower dungeons. Why should one build
such a long tunnel, only to have it end like this?”
Cuddy held the torch closer to the wall. “Perhaps it did not always end here, Gilly. Look.
This part of the wall is much newer than the rest—made of red brick
rather than stone. I’m supposin’ it may
have been put here to keep prisoners from entering the upper reaches of the
house.”
Gilly ran his hand carefully over the brick. “’Tis not kiln-fired brick. If we had a heavy tool, the brick could be
smashed. It is very old and crumbly.”
Enna pushed forward and drew a heavy iron bar
from his clothing. He motioned for everyone
to stand back and began swinging at the most deteriorated spot in the brick
wall. A hole soon appeared. By taking turns prying the rod up and down,
an aperture large enough for a man to pass was made. Enna crawled through first, then Cuddy, Gilly,
and lastly the Father. A torch was held
high. The four escapees had entered the
house’s wine cellar.
Gilly reached for an ancient bottle of a fine
liquer quite covered with cobwebs and dust.
“I think I’ll have a toast to Lady Freedom courtesy of the gracious
hospitality of the Lords,” he said mirthlessly.
“We’re not free yet,” reminded the more
practical minded Cuddy.
“That can be rectified soon enough,” said
Gilly, heading immediately for the cellar stairs.
“Wait,” called the Father quietly. “Prudence first, McGillvery. Wait till we believe the maids to have retired
for the evening,” urged the Father.
Gilly hesitated, the torch showing a plainly
impatient face. “Aye,” he finally agreed
reluctantly. “We’ve a better chance of traveling
distance if we could leave without detection.”
The Father walked quietly to the bottom of the
cellar steps and stood listening carefully.
“Sounds as if they’re in the preparation for the main supper. Let’s block the hole we’ve made. If we leave this room as we found it, they’ll
most likely never look for us again.”
“I’m more for using the time we’re waiting
for the breaking of their fine bottles of drink one by one to give them a long
remembrance of our visit to their dungeons,” spoke Gilly.
The Father grinned. “Why waste good drink? Who knows?
Perhaps sometime in the future we may yet enjoy some of it in the
upstairs rooms.”
“I wouldn’t drink the finest of it in their
company,” replied Gilly.
“Well, circumstances can change in the space
of a day, Gilly. Perhaps you’ll be
drinking it in the company you’ve chosen.
I will for it always to be good company.” The Father added, “Here now, Enna.” He
motioned with his right hand, “Help me.
I’ve a mind to move that chest just a bit farther to the right. It’s relocation will be so small that it’ll
not be noticed and will do quite nicely for covering the wall’s hole.”
Enna pointed to a pile of unused bricks to
the left of the hole.
“No,” said the Father as the last torch died
out, “we’ve no mortar and now we’ve no light.”
The
blackness was soon filled with the sound of wood moving over an earthen floor.
“Enna, you see best in this blackness. Can you feel and tell me if the hole in the
wall is completely covered?”
The boys heard no sound from Enna, but the
Father was soon saying, “Thank you for your strength. You’ve preserved my life many times, Enna. Now, hold my hand and we’ll wait for the
house to quiet.”
Many hours passed before Cuddy felt Enna
grasping his hand to place in Gilly’s hand.
Gilly’s hand was placed in the Father’s hand and the boys felt
themselves pulled forward behind the Father as Enna led them around the last
row of wine shelves toward the bottom of the stairwell. They stood, ears large against the darkness
to hear any sound from the upper floors.
At last the Father nudged Gilly’s arm and
whispered, “It’s time to go. Follow my
lead.” Gilly grasped Cuddy’s hand and
they followed the Father up the stairs through the cellar door into the kitchen
beyond. A low cooking fire was still
burning, permitting an orange glow to show the way to the servant’s entrance. The men ducked through the back door into the
servant’s yard, crept under the clothes’ lines and around the washing tubs
without incident and after a quick conference at the hedgerows parted company. McGillvery and McGillicuddy headed toward the
village to rent riding horses while the Father and Enna began their trek to the
village orphanage.
“What are you going to do, Gilly?” asked
Cuddy over the saddle as he adjusted the stirrups in the earliest light of morning.
“They’ve got me goodwill money, they same as
took my life, and the life of my brother.
I judge them cheats and thieves, Cuddy, and I’ll deal with them
accordingly.”
Cuddy did not comment and each boy rode home,
as if alone, each deeply involved in his own private thoughts.
Chapter 12
Bribes in High
Places
Mid-morning allowed the arrival of the
brothers at their town residence. “Perhaps
it’s best to rest a bit before starting the day,” suggested Cuddy.
Gilly ignored the suggestion and called
loudly, “James! Rachel!”
As soon as Rachel appeared, Gilly poured the
newly refilled bags onto the table. “The
payment on
James turned startled eyes toward McGillvery,
“Sir?” he questioned.
“You heard me the first time,” gruffly replied
McGillvery.
“Yes, Sir. Also, Sir, the Earls and Lords of
the North are desiring a meeting with you.”
“Really! Now I wonder is it for peace they
wish a convention?” sarcastically asked Gilly.
“I’ve had a most interesting reunion with the Earls and Lords of the
South. I’m speculating it’s on a similar
vein of hospitality that the North wishes an assembly.”
“Gilly,” cautioned Cuddy. “It may not be what you’re thinkin’. You don’t want to go into a meeting with a
mind preconditioned. It’s best to assume
the best until one finds otherwise.”
Gilly took a deep breath, “I’ve got me ire up,
Cuddy. Ye well know I’m a patient and longsuffering man up to a point. My peak’s long been reached. I’m feeling mean and righteous. It’s the exact combination that won the
Crusades, Cuddy. I’ve got me a holy mission to punish the godless men who’ve
stolen me money and tried to kill me besides!”
Cuddy looked at Gilly and said quietly, “I
don’t think anyone won the Crusades, Gilly.”
Gilly had not heard. Still fuming, he charged on, “We’ll meet the
Northern Irelanders, but I won’t go with a smile on my face expecting a feast
in my honor for a generous nature. I’m
suspecting Lords and Earls are men all alike—devious, treacherous, greedy sons
of Beelzebub!”
Cuddy said, “But we’re rich men, Gilly, and we’ve always liked to think ourselves
innocent, clean, and loved of God. Anyway,
that’s how we’ve always tried to live our lives.”
“An’ what good did it do us? Harassed by bags of gold to spend everyday,
half
“Gilly, you mustn’t speak of the gold as a
harassment or a curse,” remonstrated Cuddy.
“It was a prayed for thing and as a prayed for thing—a gift. A workman must never abuse his tools. We must find a way to make our tool a blessing. As for half
Gilly calmed somewhat and said, “Aye. One must take care with words spoken and
those words were spoken in haste and in anger.
I’m sorry, Cuddy, and you’re right, of course. ’Tis best to go into every meeting without
preconceived notions so one doesn’t color the outcome. But by the Saint’s, Cuddy, one hates to play
the fool!”
“We won’t play the fool, Gilly. We’ll be ever so careful.”
Urgent affairs were settled. Within hours McGillvery and McGillicuddy found
themselves barreling along a northerly route within the comfortable confines of
their carriage. McGillvery found himself
a bit more settled in mind as they rounded the last knoll leading to
“’Tis my favorite of the lot, Cuddy. The turrets are especially well-proportioned
and set in a pleasing manner to the eye.
I have imagined it to be a place of many pleasantries and have hoped we
both might be a welcomed and honored part of those activities in our old
age.”
However, as they walked the steps leading to
the interior of the house, they found dour faces peering from the library’s
windows. McGillvery hesitated in his
steps. “I recognize the look,
Cuddy. The best time to vault is before
the dogs are sic.”
McGillicuddy hesitated, too. “We’re not the tinkers, to be vaulting over
the hedges, Gilly.”
“Tinkers or Lords will vault when it’s necessary
to preserving their body parts. I’m for
doing the prudent thing and leaving our dignity at their steps, Cuddy.”
“It will make us look guilty,
McGillvery. We’ve done nothing for which
to hang our heads. Courage. Let’s meet it head-on and talk sweet if need
be.”
The boys were ushered into the library and
with faint hearts observed unanimously portly body postures indicating their
presence was viewed as an unfavorable circumstance. The Northern Lords’ facial demeanors were
unwelcoming and downright inhospitable. Their
words and their actions soon verified McGillvery and McGillicuddy’s intuitive
premonitions. Standing in the middle of
the powerful men was a local magistrate and several well-muscled neighboring
youth.
“And for what purpose are we brought and with
legal officials present, too?” queried McGillicuddy.
“We’ve no need to explain to thieves and
liars their offenses or their charges,” retorted Lord Darbury. “The magistrate has heard our testimonials
and before God and man we stand today agreed to the morrow’s hanging of McGillvery
and McGillicuddy in Hundstone’s Square at half day.”
All the Lords nodded in dour agreement; the
magistrate iron-locked McGillvery and McGillicuddy’s hands and feet while the
young men made a ring around McGillvery and McGillicuddy to herd them toward
the rear of the castle where a prison wagon stood waiting. The boys were quickly and rudely aided into
the wagon’s interiors and the door most forcefully shut before the wagon began
its lumbering plod toward the village jail.
Gilly looked through the iron bars at the
back of
Cuddy frowned and maintained silence until
they had been transferred to the local jail.
“The party turned a little sour,” noted Cuddy
while surveying their new surroundings.
“At least we’ve been apprised of the lay of
our Lords and Earls,” said Gilly.
“By the Saints, seems we’re spending more
time paying for other people’s sins than our own and now it looks like we’ll
die for them, too,” said Cuddy, looking out the window at the very tip of the
aged hangman’s gallows.
“It seems our adventures of late have led to
one distress after another,” agreed McGillvery.
“Distress can lead to endurance,” suggested
McGillicuddy mildly.
“And, endurance leads to positive
expectation,” added McGillvery.
“Positive expectation leads to hope,”
continued McGillicuddy.
“Hope, when kept surely, leads to good
ideas,” ended McGillvery.
“T’was what our mother taught us,” agreed
McGillicuddy while looking around at their less than agreeable quarters. He quietly removed a scented silk kerchief
from his pocket and tied it around his nose.
“Helps the air,” he suggested as Gilly looked at it questioningly.
The odiferous perfume of urine and unwashed
bodies seemed to permeate the very stones of this unpleasant room, a smell much
the same as the dungeons of Donogough’s Castle in the south. Gilly pushed the single, half cot under the
high, narrow window set in the cell’s outer wall, stood on it with his face
pressed to the bars while endeavoring to breath the fresher country air. “’Tis not much better for breathin’ at the
window,” he said and reached into his pocket for his own kerchief. “What are we to do, now?” he asked Cuddy
while turning to sit on cot’s edge.
“We could thank God for showing himself great
in our behalf,” said Cuddy
“Done,” said Gilly. He lowered his head and said a quick
prayer. “Now that’s done, we’d best get
some sleep so we’ll be rested for the idea when it comes.”
“The idea?” questioned Cuddy.
“The idea from our Lord that will tell us how
to miss the morrow’s hanging,” replied Gilly.
Sometime during the wee hours of earliest morning,
McGillvery gently prodded McGillicuddy.
“Do ye remember the story of David and how the great King Saul had him surrounded
in an arroyo and at the last minute when David and all his men were nigh on
being captured a messenger came and Saul retreated on another errand? David walked free.”
“Aye, ’tis a good story to remind one never
to lose hope even when all seems lost.”
“T’was what I was thinking. Just thought I would remind you of that story
if you were lending your mind to worry.”
“I was bringing to mind how Joseph was lying
in a prison cell and in one day the Lord raised him from a prisoner to the
right hand of a Pharaoh.”
“Aye,” agreed Gilly. “Those stories were written to give men
courage in the face of imminent disaster, Cuddy.”
“It’s reliance on those stories that can turn
a regular man into a canny man. The Lord
looks to see a canny man who relies on Him.”
“We do rely on Him, Cuddy.”
“Aye. Always have and always will, Gilly.”
Gilly was very, very quiet. “We’re in a jolly bad predicament this time,
Cuddy.”
Cuddy stuck a brave chin forward, “Oh, I
don’t know—the whirlpool was quite the challenge.”
Gilly laughed and gently jibed, “But Dearbháil
took a great deal of the hurt out o’ that.”
“Aye—Dearbháil.” Cuddy sighed and stood at
the edge of the cot to look at the gallow’s shadows on the moonstruck
lawn. “She’ll never know what
happened. I wonder if she’ll die an old
maid. I promised her a year, Gilly.”
Gilly’s chin was resting on both hands. “A God-fearing man’s got to do the best he
can to keep his promises, Cuddy.”
“Aye,” sadly agreed Cuddy.
“A canny man looks for answers in a canny
place,” stated Gilly.
Cuddy turned to Gilly. “Well, do you have it?”
“Yes, when you don’t, I do.”
“It gave us the answers to get the gold. It has to have the answers on how to get us
out of the terrible situation we’re in.”
“Where two or more are gathered….”
“Aye, and He stands ready to grant the wishes
of those who fear Him and rely on His name.”
“Then we’ll pray ever so humble and have faith,
Cuddy.”
The two brothers bowed their heads and prayed
earnestly for guidance, took a deep breath, opened their mother’s Book and
began reading, “‘A bribe in high places does much good.’”
“Why, Cuddy,” gasped Gilly. “Our very prayers were heard and answered
within seconds! Of course! Why didn’t we think of it ourselves? And right from the Proverbs, too! Bless King Solomon’s words of wisdom! We’ve got the bags! They’ve filled again and need spending. Call the magistrate, Cuddy!”
McGillicuddy shook the iron bars and
hollered, “Gaolkeeper! We’ve business
with the magistrate!”
The keeper sleepily shuffled into the room
stifling a magnificent yawn. “The
magistrate’ll not be seeing you boys at this hour of day.”
McGillvery threw a handful of golden coin on
the floor of the jail and began slowly picking the coin one by one from the
floor. “I’ve three handfuls just like
the one I’m picking from the floor for the man who’s brave enough to roust the
magistrate and bring him to the gaol.” He
held the handful of coin through the bars of the door. “Here, hold them awhile and think of all the
comforts these coin will buy.”
The goalkeeper, now much alert, cautiously
picked a few of the coin from McGillvery’s hand. He bit them with his side teeth and grunted in
satisfaction. “Let me see the rest.”
McGillvery held out two double handfuls of
coin. “When you bring the magistrate,
I’ll give you the coin.”
The man pocketed his first handful and
hurried into the cloudless night. He was
back in short order with the magistrate.
McGillicuddy wondered what the keeper had said to the magistrate to
cause him to hurry so, but smiled. After
all, he and Gilly had the Word behind them and with that kind of power all was
bound to go well.
“I’m an important man and you’ve interfered
with my sleep and therefore my day’s performance. This had better be important or I’ll hang you
twice tomorrow and throw your corpses along the ocean for seafowl’s food.”
McGillicuddy quietly handed the gaolkeeper
his handfuls of coin and smiled cheerfully at the magistrate. “Good morning, Sir! Yes, we do have something of the utmost
urgency to talk about and we wish to speak in privacy.” He raised his eyebrows in the direction of the
gaolkeeper who was trying to decide his new worth with the coins now jingling
in his pockets.
The magistrate quickly dismissed the man and
turned a glowering face on the two boys.
“Make haste. I’ve a bed coolin’
and wife waiting.”
“Well,” began McGillvery, “it seemed to us a
shame the Earls and Lords of Northern Ireland had got so much of our money and
a poor man such as yourself had got none.”
“Yes,” agreed McGillicuddy. “Seemed not quite fair seein’ how they’ve got
so much already and you’d not been able to benefit from their gain.”
“So,” went on McGillvery, “we’ve decided how it
would be to your advantage if we shared a little of our bounteous blessings
with you,” and McGillvery dragged his bag of gold forward and poured it in a
glinting, enticing pile in front of the magistrate. Gilly reached down and picked up a handful of
the gold and casually poured it from one hand to another. “Magistrate,” said he, “you’ve a great deal
in common with the Lords and Earls of this land. A paltry amount of gold such as this would
close any gaps you may feel now exist due to a…ah…shall we say ‘lack of
fiduciary backing?’”
“Sir, how much do ye suppose is there?”
queried McGillicuddy. “Would it be
enough do ye suppose?”
The magistrate cleared his throat visibly moved
by the gold and all the possibilities it presented. After a brief moment of struggle, he said,
“When money’s present, someone always wants something.” He paused significantly.
McGillvery obliged. “We’re all responsible men present,
magistrate. One bag of gold for one
life. Two bags of gold for two lives.”
The magistrate cleared his throat again. “I need live among the Lords and Earls once
you’ve gone. They’ll not give me my life
should you escape.”
McGillvery nodded, “Of course.”
“This is what we have in mind, Sir,” said
McGillicuddy and bent his head close to the magistrate’s ear and began urgent
whisperings.
That night the magistrate became richer by
two bags of gold while McGillvery and McGillicuddy sat waiting for the noon
hanging. Crowds began to gather at
ten. A few luncheon hampers were spread
under the larger trees at the edge of the common. Small lads ran in and about under the
gallows. Larger lads pretended to hang
themselves at the top of the gallows.
Flower girls began to drift into the crowd along with merchandise
hawkers, a pieman, and a juggler. At
gallow’s edge a minstrel struck a new ballad dedicated to the hanging of
McGillvery and McGillicuddy.
McGillvery looked through the bars and
gloomily observed, “T’would be a good investment for
“Would be a good cause, Gilly. Indeed, the whole nation’s morality would be
greatly improved.”
“Do you suppose the magistrate will be fair
and keep to the plan, Cuddy?”
“He hasn’t raised to the position he has
without learning the value of playing both hands well, Gilly. I’ll safely say he will be clever enough to
understand the value of being friends with persons in high places and having a
steady cash flow from persons in low places.”
Gilly looked at the crowd again. A boisterously drunken marm was waving arms
toward the cell window. A small crowd
gathered round her and began laughing and hooting. She grew red of face, redoubling her efforts
to communicate her liquor inspired ideas to the audience.
The laughter continued until she finally took
a wide armed swing at nearest laughing face.
The crowd’s laughter doubled as the woman singled a particularly jovial,
young man for a downpouring rain of her quite manly blows. The young fellow madly ducked this way and
that, endeavoring with all his might to escape the now closed ring of fellow
neighbors whose not ungentle hands continually thrust him back to face the now
raging bull of a woman.
Giggling a bit, McGillvery said, “The woman
would indeed be funny if we were out there, Cuddy.”
“Gilly, we are the same as out there for
we’ve a balcony seat view of the whole proceedings.”
McGillvery looked at McGillicuddy. McGillicuddy looked at McGillvery. A little smile played at the corners of their
mouths and soon they were slapping each other and laughing with all the tears
and gulps of breath as the freest of men.
It was at this moment the gaolkeeper came to
deliver McGillvery and McGillicuddy to the hangman.
“I’ve delivered many a man to the rope,” he
noted sourly, “but never have I delivered one smiling.”
“Why,” jovially replied Gilly, “All God’s
children got hope and when you’ve got hope, Sir, you’ve got everything.”
“You see,” added Cuddy, “for fellows such as
we be, no matter how this day ends, it will end well.”
The gaolkeeper glowered, “When you’re dead,
you’re dead. Religious or not they all
hang the same.”
“Why, Sir,” innocently asked Gilly, “do we
seem religious to ye now?”
“I see your mither’s Book and how you keep poring
over it.”
“Then you surely know the story of Elijah and
how a chariot came down from heaven and whooshed him away into clouds of
invisibility? The Lord’s a’saving Lord. He’s an active defender of the right,
Sir. When e’s on your side, forces of evil
have no chance of carrying forth their misguided plans.”
“Hmpf,” snorted the keeper and led McGillvery
and McGillicuddy forth into noonday sun.
“’Tis odd no Lords or Earls are present this
day,” observed Cuddy, looking out over the crowd. “Seems they would wish a front row seat at a
performance orchestrated by themselves.”
“Would be beneath their dignity,
Brother. They’ve a taste for
entertainment above the popular strain. The news will reach them soon enough.”
Someone in the crowd cried, “Here they
come.” Necks strained to see
McGillicuddy’s rich satin breeches and velvet coat. Fathers hoisted sons to shoulders for a
better ’vantaged view of the two well-kempt brothers.
As Gilly and Cuddy had no reputation as
murderers—no person drew back in horror.
The faces were oddly curious, wondering, the thoughts the same—‘What if
it were me?’
The drunken marm was in restraint, arms held
by two farmers. The children under the
gallows were fleeing to sister’s and mother’s sides.
Gilly and Cuddy walked the gallows’ steps,
smiling and nodding to each and every eye they happened to catch in
passing. McGillvery waved to the crowd
and tipped his hat as one does when soliciting for public office. For all the world the boys looked like folks
ready for a wonderful trip.
At the gallows’ top, Cuddy turned and faced
the crowd. “Gentlemen, my farewell
address to you is to rely on God in all things so that by honest acts and pure
hearts you may experience His salvation.”
A rough voice broke out of the crowd. “If this is the kind of salvation you’re
wanting for us—no thanks! Keep your
religion to yourself, stranger.”
Gilly opened his mouth to match Cuddy’s
statement when a canon roared at the far common’s edge.
A woman screamed. The crowd began shoving and running from the
common with children crying and women stumbling under the feet of their fellow
villagers. Gilly poked Cuddy and they
both leapt backward from the gallows onto the soft turf behind.
“The alley,” whispered Cuddy.
“Aye,” agreed Gilly.
The crowd’s entire attention had been
actively diverted by the canon’s roar. Gilly and Cuddy made a safe escape to
the alley, then the livery. Two horses
stood ready. The boys mounted and were
off.
Chapter 13
The Wrath of Man
When a man allows his mental powers to become
overpowered with fervent emotion, great errors can be made, errors which often
are not easily retracted. Gilly had
become deeply angry over life threatening injustices returned for his
generosity and practical kindnesses. He
did not comprehend nor understand the reasoning behind the fear and outrage of
the leaders of
No words were spoken as the brothers made
their trip home by a long way round.
They entered the doors of their richly appointed townhome early the next
morning with two bags of gold needing spending and privately held thoughts not
shared.
“James,” asked Gilly, around the time of mid-afternoon
buffet. “Whose armies are the best for
hire in all the world?”
“The African armies have a fearsome
reputation, Sir, and are not at present totally engaged.”
McGillvery poured two bags of gold on the table. “They are now engaged. I will confer with their Chieftains on the
shores at the South of Ireland.”
“Sir?” questioned James.
“Yes?” asked McGillvery.
“I’m begging your pardon for my forwardness;
but I feel I must state that all your funds have been used for the good for those
less fortunate than yourselves—the hospital, the schools, the…. It seems at odds with your purposes in life
to hire mercenary soldiers.”
McGillvery interrupted brusquely, “Sometimes
to continue doing good, it is necessary to fight evil.”
James hesitated as if to ask a question,
thought better of it, and merely said, “Yes, Sir.”
“Every day for ten days we will send two bags
of gold in ships bound for
“Yes, Sir.”
Later that evening, Gilly sat in the
library’s handsomest leather chair looking at the fireplace’s full-bodied flame. At that moment a cold breeze fanned the fire
and he shivered a bit. When one shivers, the red-hot flames of anger burn not
so warmly and decisions made in the heat of the moment appear shaky
indeed. Gilly drew the large chair
nearer the fire to regain the lost warmth.
He soon felt more comfortable and with the warmth returned the feeling
of righteousness. He had made the
decision. Justice must be served. Corrupt and selfish masters, ruling without
good principle, are a cankerous sore to a nation’s well-being. It is a truism long understood by those who
are ruled and who have suffered at the hands of a dishonest ruling class. He would remove the morally diseased Lords
and Earls and replace them with men of high character who had a deep love for
the people’s welfare. With this plan firmly
in mind, McGillvery entered the next several months with much time spent coolly
deliberating over the future of
Within a short time, Gilly’s plan gained form
and substance, ready for greeting a new breed of man who stepped onto the rocky
shores of Southeast Ireland. McGillvery
and McGillicuddy, there to meet them, trembled in their souls at the sight of these
ferocious warriors.
“Gilly,” whispered Cuddy, “it looks like you
called up the demons of hell.”
Gilly nodded apprehensively as he watched
hundreds of warhorses plunging from ships into the sea. “The men wear armor, Cuddy. They’re as well equipped as
“Perhaps the Lords and Earls will be as awed
by this display of military might as we,” spoke Cuddy hopefully, “and will have
the decency to admit their error in dealing with us.”
“Aye,” agreed a daunted Gilly.
The Chief of the African warriors, as large
as a Goliath, broad black face set with unreadable dark eyes, neither saluted
nor greeted Cuddy or Gilly. He merely
surveyed the shore as if it belonged to him alone and waved for his warriors to
form rank. Those with horses, mounted. In unison the black-faced men began a shrill,
screaming, hooing. Gilly turned green
while Cuddy turned white, shaking inside his boots. The African riders then whirled their horses
in a fierce charge toward the boys, stopping and spraying sand from horses’
hooves onto the brothers’ cloaks. This
display was repeated several times with Cuddy and Gilly growing increasingly
anxious while feeling as if their hearts had lost substance and power.
At last the Chieftain stepped forward without
smile or bow. Gilly, not sure of proper protocol and not wanting to seem
inferior to those he was to command, stepped forward, chin held high. The Chieftain advanced. Gilly advanced. This continued until the Chieftain and Gilly
were quite eye-to-eye. Gilly remembered an Irish jig that began in much the
same manner and heartily wished that were the purpose of this meeting; but the
occasion was far beyond the lightsome frolics of Irish lads and lassies at
play. This was adult work with serious
consequences if not carried out correctly.
His mind raced wildly. He must do
the correct thing before these men or all would be lost. At that moment his eye rested on the red
feathers of the Chieftain’s headdress.
He reached up, removed the headdress, and replaced it with his own
tam-o-shanter. Then he reached down,
pulled off his two brown, leather dress boots and handed them to the Chieftain.
“
The Chieftain bowed his head slightly and
held up two fingers. The warriors began
the shrilling hooing again while circling in a tearing eight columned run
around Gilly and the Chieftain. Cuddy,
who had retired to a nearby hillock, observed with heart in hand. “Ah, Gilly,” he whispered. “You handled the whole affair remarkably well.”
By noon next day, the band of warriors had
traveled in a westwardly direction the distance to Earl Donogough’s
estate. McGillvery sat astride
“This is the fortress, McGillvery?” queried
the African Chieftain.
“Yes,” replied McGillvery. “First we must parlay.”
“I do not understand ‘parlay’,” returned the
Chieftain.
“It means to talk,” answered McGillvery.
“Talk?”
The African Chieftain swung his horse around in a tight circle. “No talk.
Talk gives the enemy advantage. Talk
allows adversaries time in which to plot the killing of my warriors.” He raised his finger and the warriors began a
hooing which raised in volume and shrillness.
McGillvery looked in the direction of the
castle. There were no servants walking
the grounds. He could see no sign of life
at the windows. The castle appeared
deserted.
He did not flinch a jaw muscle nor did his
mount move. He calmly replied, “I have
paid you to fight for me. My decision is
to talk first.”
The African Chieftain challenged him with the
black eyes of a world class fighting man.
McGillvery said, “I will risk my life first
before I risk your warriors. Wait for my
signal.”
The Chieftain’s nostrils flared as if daring
McGillvery to set the pace for his army.
McGillvery waited. After many minutes,
the Chieftain lowered his fingers. The
hooing stopped.
McGillvery nodded solemnly at the Chieftain
while urging his mount forward. His
horse’s hooves echoed hollowly on the flagstone paving—a lonely sound enhanced
by the gray sky and the wetness of the trees and grass. The horse neither pranced nor tossed his
head, but walked forward in a stately manner much befitting McGillvery’s frame
of mind.
McGillicuddy watched his brother’s advance
and reached over to the flag bearer’s pole, took it into his own hand, spurred
his horse alongside McGillvery’s, and began tying a white kerchief to the top
of the pole. This signal Cuddy held high
and steady.
Gilly looked at Cuddy riding by his
side. “By code our flag seeks peace
first, Cuddy?”
Cuddy did not reply. “Perhaps we’d best stop here,” suggested Cuddy. “’Tis within hailing distance and yet safe
from the bowmen lined along the top wall.”
“Bowmen?
Where do you see bowmen?” urged Gilly.
Cuddy pointed. “There.
There. See, be quick about it, or
the eyes will not see. Also, behind the
draperies on the second and third levels—surreptitious movements.”
“I see,” noted Gilly. “They’ve pre-anticipated our advance and prepared
accordingly. I suppose I was a fool to think
we may talk the Lords into seeing our viewpoint.”
“No, not a fool for that, Gilly,” objected
Cuddy. “We’re both fools if we think
ones who’ve had power so long shall abdicate their positions without a bloody
good row.”
“I expected first an apology for our
treatment and perhaps a reimbursement of our investments.”
Cuddy looked sideways at McGillvery. “Now, really, Gilly, when they’ve as much as
they have, do ye really think they got that way by giving it away to every
wandering tinker that passed and held out his hand? When even the orphans under the dear Father are
looking for bread in the shadow of Donogough’s Castle—do ye think he’s a heart
to ask our forgiveness and bestow a gift of gold on us besides?”
“I’d rather hoped the Earl Donogough would
remember a higher Lord to whom he is accountable and would remember well his lessons
from his nanny’s knee ‘to do good unto others.’”
“Perhaps those that live in such castles do
not employ nannies of that disposition, Gilly.”
Gilly looked quite surprised. “I’m sure there’s not a nanny in all
Cuddy shrugged. “I think Donogoughs are known for nannies of
the imported sort.”
Gilly looked quite aghast. “You mean nannies who have no fear of God? Godless nannies!? Ohhh,” he breathed with a shocked
whistle. “I’d no idea, Cuddy. No wonder their foul treatment of us, their
fellow countrymen. What wickedness must
reside within those castle walls.”
“Aye,” agreed Cuddy. “After all, where did they have the Father
now? Trapped like a rat in the darkling
dungeon. Shouldn’t they have had him
elevated to the right hand of the master eating the dainties and drinkin’ the
finest as befits a holy man? But nay,
not they. See to yourself, Gilly. Ye’ve already shared their dungeon once. The next coming to foul of Earl Donogough may
not be so lenient a punishment.”
Gilly appraised Cuddy quietly. “Ye’ve thought about it a bit deeper than I,
Brother. Ye’ve had the military experience. Perhaps you should take the lead from here on
out.”
Cuddy shook his head. “No, Gilly.
I was never to be a leader of men.
It takes a certain presence to do that—you have more of that presence
than I. I saw it when you were speaking
with the African Chieftain. No,
my part in this affair is to watch first and fight as needed.”
“Then onward, Cuddy!” urged Gilly as he put
firm heel to his mount. Ere the willing
steed took two prancing steps forward, a canon roared, plopping iron ball not
five meters from Gilly’s left.
“By the Hag of Beare,” he cried. “Parlay’s done. Fight’s begun.”
With Cuddy following closely behind, Gilly
charged the main castle gates. He heard
the fear inspiring hooing of the African hordes as they followed in a black
sweeping swarm over the hills and moat toward the castle walls.
“An’ what should we tell dear Mother now?”
whispered Cuddy as he gave a second spur to his mount, unsheathed a long unused
sword, and headed straight for the main gate.
As Gilly charged the main gate, he was
astonished to see it open as magically as if an angel himself had extended a
personal invitation to enter. “By Saint
Patrick’s feast! Donogough’s shall fall
as easily as
He swept into the castle along with hundreds
of warriors. The pounding hooves crashed
against stone. Far above shrieks and
cries of servants could be heard along with crashings of furniture and weaponry.
“Earl Donogough,” he cried. “For injustices rendered to honest men, I now
stand in your castle and I claim it for myself and my brother beside me in
God’s name.” With that pronouncement he
tore the Donogough colors from the entranceway, drug them along the stone
paving to the fireplace, and hurled the woven tapestry into the licking
flames. Still mounted, his horse jumping
nervously at the shrill cries all around him, Gilly surveyed the room—the same
room where he had been tied and led to the dungeon. How sweet to be astride in this very room!
Cuddy and the African Chieftain came striding
through the doorway. “Earl Donogough nor
his family nor his chief servants are on the grounds. ’Tis only the kitchen maids and a few
gardeners. The bowmen are nowhere to be
found.”
“Question the servants. Perhaps they’ve overheard where their fine
plumed Earl has fled. Then leave them
be. They’ll serve our needs well this
evening should they be promised their positions and their lives.”
The night was spent in the castle. The warriors ate well from the castle larders
and drank equally well from the Earl’s wine cellars.
McGillvery and McGillicuddy stood at fireside
recounting the day’s events. “Now did
you see the way the door opened for us, Cuddy?
It’s like taking the Promised Land.
The first city
“I believe the Lord’s Hand was helped by the
hand of Enna,” observed Cuddy.
“Enna?
What do you mean Enna?”
“Only that some outside the castle were more than
willing to lend a hand inside the castle to bring Earl Donogough to his knees.”
“Do you mean to say Enna raised the doors?”
“Aye.”
“Well, ’tis not a small matter to be thankful
for. And where is he now?”
“He is lighting torches in the dungeon.”
“I say, that’s an odd thing to do.”
“Perhaps not.
After all he’d spent many a year in the darkness of that dungeon. Seems natural he’d want to shed light where
none was shed before.”
“Mmmm,” murmured Gilly thoughtfully. “’Tis a night many men will do as they please. I wonder, should we not turn this castle over
to the Father for his orphaned children?
Would be a fine thing to do, Cuddy.”
“Fine until Donogough came back to claim his
own.”
“’Tis not his anymore, Cuddy. We shall hunt him and take him for his treachery. No more will he be allowed a life wherein he
may ill-treat a priest and ignore the cries of the poor and needy of heart.”
Cuddy smiled a bit ruefully, “The deed is
well on its way to being done. So I will
say—it is good. Now is best to slumber,
Gilly. The whole of the castle is beginning
to quiet.”
Gilly had already slipped into deep,
satisfied sleep. All had gone well and
he foresaw no real troubles ahead.
Sun shone bright the following day with birds
singing, rabbits darting from one bush to another. All in all, it was the most perfect of days
to besiege another castle. Warriors
waking, grumbling, their Chieftain ordering, organizing, packing valuables into
wagons, hitching Earl Donogough’s finest stable mounts to pull the plundered
goods, receiving Gilly and Cuddy’s two bags of gold for the army’s daily hire. Yes, it was an entirely satisfactory morning.
McGillvery rubbed hands together
briskly. “Fetch Father from the village,
Enna. We’ll conclude business with him
and be off.”
It was nearly the ninth hour before the Father
came. Gilly, now a recognized leader
among all present, strode with confidence to meet the Father on castle green.
“An’ happy we are to see you, Father.”
“May God bless you,” returned the
Father. “We meet in the light of day at
last.”
“Aye. We’ve punished the misdeeds
of the Earl of Donogough and claimed that which we’ve bought and paid for in
acts of valor in the name of our God.
We’re donating the spoils of war to the orphans and widows of Donogough
village. It’s leaving it in your care
and keeping to manage in a way that would best suit our Lord that we’re doing,
Father.” Gilly stepped back allowing
Cuddy to step forward.
“The keys to
“Oh, McGillvery, McGillicuddy,” said the
Father quietly. “What have you done ‘in
the name of God’? Good intentions I can
see on my lads’ faces and know I well they spring deeply from good hearts all
around, but how can poor men such as we reach out and occupy a place so grand
as this? Don’t you see, McGillvery? ’Tis one thing for one such as yourself to
ride in and occupy a castle so grand for you’ve a splendid military to keep it,
once gained. But I and my flock of
little ones are peaceful without reliance upon worldly strength. Can’t you see
the way of it, my boys? My
people—they’ve nothing anyone wants—they may hunger and need, but they can
sleep. They have no fear of someone
coming to take what they have for they’ve nothing anyone desires. How can sheep such as they live in a castle
such as this—a place whose very walls speak of another spirit than theirs? Why surely they would be vomited out of this
place within the fortnight.” The Father’s
chin trembled as he spread his palms to them in a manner most beseeching.
McGillicuddy motioned to McGillvery. “Wait but a moment, Father,” he said. To one side, Cuddy spoke in a whisper. “Why is it folks are so unwilling to accept
their blessings? Wouldn’t you now if we
were in our tinker’s wagon and someone fought, bought, and paid for a home such
as this be more’n willing to step inside and take ownership?”
Gilly thought for a moment. “Perhaps he is
feeling,” he said thoughtfully, “that ’e’s got to have earned it before he can
be receiving it and with the principles he holds he cannot justify earning it
or receiving it.”
Cuddy snorted, “That’s a lie of the Devil
himself.”
Gilly looked surprised, “How do ye mean?”
“Well, whatever did Adam do to ‘earn’ the
Garden of Eden? A baby doesn’t ‘earn’ the
luxuries of his crib. It is a gift of
parents who are able to give and the more able they are, the more luxurious the
crib. Whoever ‘earned’ the gift of our
Lord, Cuddy? A gift is to be taken,
thanked for, received, and used, Gilly.
No more. No less. I’m sure the Father of us all wants us to
have all the gifts in the world but if we keep saying no, no, no, we have to
earn them first, then we shan’t have anything at all—why there’s not enough
daylight to ‘earn’ all we’d like to have. It must come in the form of gifts just as our
bags did, Gilly.”
“Then you must educate the Father, Cuddy.”
“Aye, I will.” Cuddy moved back toward the Father’s
side. “Seems Father, you are pre-anticipating
problems with this gift. It is as if you
feel that in accepting this gift you may have to fight for it someday and being
a peaceful man, you do not want to fight for your gift. Now that is the basic problem here, is it
not?”
The Father looked sheepish, “’Tis rather a
bald way of saying it, Cuddy.”
“Would I need remind you, Father, of the Psalms
which says God shoots the arrows for a righteous man? All we need do is abide under his wing.”
“Abide under his wing we might, McGillicuddy,
but does not lessen the fact that David raised a sword, Joshua fought and
battled, Elijah called fire down out of heaven—I know a great deal about my
Lord, boys, but I know not how to call fire down to consume my enemies.”
McGillvery raised his hands to heaven in
exasperation, “Then we’ll be your Joshua and David, Father. You accept the gift and we’ll raise the sword
in our Lord’s name.”
The Father looked surprised and McGillvery
repeated, “My promise as well as God allows me to carry it through is to keep
you safe within these castle walls throughout all the time you serve Donogough
village, its widows, and orphans.”
“Then all is well,” spoke the Father. “Thank you, my friends,” and reaching forward
took the keys to Donogough’s Castle.
As McGillvery and McGillicuddy rode away,
McGillvery muttered, “There’s something wrong with a ‘peaceful fellow’ who
isn’t willing to fight for what’s been given him.”
“Now, now,” chided McGillicuddy. “We’ve all been given different gifts of the
spirit. Some are kings given to fighting
and gathering, and some are priests given to encouraging and dispersing. Rarely is one given the king-priest
personality. ’Tis a rare blend indeed,
McGillvery.”
“’Tis a better one to my way of thinking,”
grunted McGillvery. “A bit better balanced
that—to fight as a king does and to accept and live in peace when one can as a
priest does.”
McGillicuddy did not reply as he was deep in
thought about the battle that lay before them.
They were a short hour’s distance from the next castle. But, he needn’t
have worried. The next castle was
abandoned. Word had long reached the inhabitants
of the fate of Donogough’s estate. The
Lords and Earls, long used to peace, poorly equipped to do battle for their own
inheritances, resorted to the only alternative they possessed—flight and retreat.
“The problem lies in knowing where they’ve
gone and what plans they’re entertaining for a return,” noted
McGillicuddy. He turned to the African
Chieftain and waved toward the castle calling out, “The castle is yours for the
plunder. McGillvery and I shall ride
ahead to the next village. We’ll gather
information from the villagers. They
will not have had the wherewithal to flee and will perhaps know where our
plumed carrion have flown. We will meet
you here in the morning.”
The Chieftain nodded and motioned his warriors
to make camp.
The boys reached the village in short order
and found all shops closed, shutters down, and doors barred. McGillvery rode the length of the village
square and finally raised his voice with,
“Can I raise no one without pillaging the entire village?”
A woman’s sob was heard, a door cracked, and
a young man stepped timidly from a doorway.
“Are ye all that’s left?” asked McGillvery in
astonishment.
The young man braced himself against the
doorpost while giving McGillvery a mute nod.
Cuddy came behind McGillvery and took careful
note of the lad’s whiteness of face,
trembling of limbs, and felt surprise.
Always it was he and Gilly who felt afraid. To see someone other than themselves in such
stark terror was a startle. “Son,” he said
compassionately. “Whatever are you afraid of?
If those Lords and Earls have threatened you in any way, you may look
upon us as your saviors and protectors.”
The young man looked as if he may fair faint
away. The trembling increased until the
poor fellow’s teeth rattled.
McGillvery surveyed the situation, dismounted,
and approached the man whereupon the young man moaned a dying sound, leaned
backward, and fell into his house.
McGillvery walked forward and leaned over the fellow. “Why ’e’s fainted dead away,” he said in surprise. “Hello!” he added, looking at a wee lassie
near the fire. “Is this your daddy,
then?” The child, too young to know of
the significant events occurring in her native land, nodded while sticking four
pudgy fingers into an un-talkative mouth.
A moan issued from the room beyond the main
room. McGillvery walked across the space
which served as kitchen, living quarters, workshop, and play area to push aside
tattered curtains of red and green plaids leading to a smallish room beyond.
“Hello, what have we here? Cuddy, come quickly.” A woman near giving birth was lying against
the wall on a peasant’s bed not unlike the one Gilly and Cuddy had often slept
upon. “Cuddy, your help will be needed,”
urged Gilly. Cuddy was already looking
for toweling and soap.
McGillvery, wondering at the young man’s long
unconsciousness, turned and bent down to feel the man’s neck. “A heart beat, strong,” he muttered. “But for deeds of valor…,” he shook his head
woefully. “Your small miss has more
courage than thee. And yet, I must be
fair, for ye could have run away from your woman with all the rest. Ye stood your ground this much and it is a
commendation to your loyalty and love of ’er.”
Feeling better at this homely assessment,
Gilly looked around the room. “But why should
a young fellow be afraid of the likes of me or Cuddy? This is an odd turn of circumstance. One day we’re tinkers running for the top of
our wagon, dogs licking our heels, and the next we’re mounted astride ponies with
the householders fainting in the doorways at the sight of us.”
McGillvery noted a small piece of mirror over
the fireplace. He picked it up to survey
his face from side to side. “I don’t
look different—so why should I inspire such fear in this peasant?”
A movement caught the corner of his eye. He turned in time to see the young peasant
raise himself from the floor onto an elbow while putting the other hand to his
forehead. “Here, I’ll help you, man,” offered
McGillvery as he stepped across flagstone toward the youthful fellow. “There, now.
You’ve had quite a scare. Come
here. I’ll heat you a broth and you can
gather your sense by the fire.”
The man turned toward the curtain. Gilly steered him toward the fire and a short
stool at fire’s edge. “She’s all right. McGillicuddy’s helping her. He’s the one for birthing living things. You needn’t worry the tiniest of a feather
about ’er.”
The young man, finding his tongue, whispered,
“McGillicuddy—a good Irish name. Thank
God for the Irish,” he added fervently.
McGillvery noted the returning color in the
man’s cheeks. “How be it you’re alone in
this village?”
The man looked up in surprise and waved
toward the curtain. “Couldn’t leave
’er. What kind of a man would I be to
leave ’er? Everyone else tho’, they’re gone
and won’t be back. No.”
“Why? Why has everyone fled?” queried Gilly.
“Why?
Where have you been, Man? Don’t
you know the ill fate that has swept
McGillvery, not yet divining the young man’s
concern, dumbly shook his head in negative directions.
“Then you must have been hidden away in a
mossy cave,” ejaculated the man. “How
could you be foolish as to the woes that have befallen our dear motherland?”
Gilly, still thick of mind as to the concern
of the young man, with genuine concern urged, “Speak, Man—speak. What has happened so grim to cause one of
“Demon hordes have swept the land. They’ve so
much power the Saints themselves have been bound. No more good shall our green shores see. Even our protectors and ensamples unto
fidelity have fled.”
Realization spread across Gilly’s face. The young man was speaking about the African
armies, Cuddy, and himself. In dismay,
Gilly protested, “These hordes be not interested in the poor of the land. They’ve only eyes for the gluttonous…,” and
stopped. The young man’s last words had
just caught up with Gilly’s mind.
“Protectors and ensamples unto fidelity?
And…who might they be?” carefully inquired Gilly.
“Our Lords and Earls,” simply answered the young
man.
“Mmmm,” snorted Gilly. “Poor protectors they be if they flee at the
first sign of a demon horde. An’ where
did they flee to?”
“North.
There are castles more strongly fortified than these. They are raising an army to protect our fair
land.”
“An army of peasants, I suppose,” spoke Gilly
grimly.
“Of course.
There are only a few of them and a great many of us. ’Tis only right we help defend what is ours.”
“What is theirs,
you mean.”
The young man looked puzzled.
“Never mind, lad. We’ll stay until the lass is delivered of
child and be on our way. You’ve nothing
to fear from us. Ye’ll not be harmed in
any way.”
McGillvery stepped from the young man’s small
cottage into the village streets and looked toward the millions of stars in the
sky. “’Tis a cruel joke to have the
peasants’ blood run for the noblemen’s sins.
The peasants know not, dearest Father, but the nobles know full well.”
This was an unexpected and most unpleasant
development. McGillvery began pacing. About midnight, McGillicuddy joined him.
“’Tis a laddie, a fine strong one with lusty
lungs.”
McGillvery nodded without taking notice of
Cuddy’s words. “A strange turn in our
affairs, McGillicuddy.”
“Aye.
I heard.”
“I’d never meant to punish the innocent for
the misdeeds of a few.”
McGillicuddy nodded.
“If we pursue this any farther, we’re likely
to meet the new wee laddie’s father eye to eye on battle field. Where would we stand with our Lord to cut
down a small laddie’s father and him having to grow up an orphan with a widowed
mother?”
“T’would sentence them to a poverty worse
than death.”
“They wouldn’t even have the potato on their
plates most nights that I so complained of.”
“The young man thinks he’s fighting for his
home and his family.”
“How little he owns of it!” cried McGillvery
bitterly. “An’ what am I to do then?
What am I to do in this instance?”
“We could do what we’ve always done and go
back to the Book, Gilly.”
Gilly felt extreme reluctance to read in the
Book. He shook his head negatively. “No.
I’m not much caring to read in it now.
We’ve got ourselves into this fine mess and we best be figuring a way
out.”
“Mother always said when one least feels like
reading in the Book, that is when they most needs to read it.”
Gilly’s reluctance increased and he firmly
shook his head. “No,” he replied. “I do not wish to read this evening.”
The boys bedded down for a short nap in the
deserted village square. In a short few
hours they would meet the African Chieftain for a sweep to the North. Gilly tossed and turned for a long while
until he finally changed his mind and decided to pick the Book from the back of
his knapsack and retire to the fireside for a bit of reading.
He turned many pages, paying little attention
to the multitude of words he passed over, until a verse seemed to leap from a page
and capture his attention. He read,
“‘The hope of an irreligious man comes to nothing. God breaks up an ungodly man’s plan.’” He mumbled to himself, “The Earls and Lords
needed their ungodly plans broken up and Cuddy and I are helping our Lord do it
with a mighty arm of justice.”
Cuddy, unknown to Gilly, was listening in the
shadows and agreed. He, himself, had
been on many a military campaign whose purpose was to correct injustices
occurring on national scales.
Gilly read for some time until fatigue urged
him to retire for the last of the morning hours. He started to close the Book when his eye
caught these words, “‘The man of peace has a future.’”
Through half-closed, sleepy eyes, Cuddy had
been watching Gilly’s face and body posture by the dying flames of their
campfire. Gilly’s change of posture as
he had been about to close the Book, caused him to alert and speak, “What are
you readin’ now, Gilly?”
Gilly read the verse and Cuddy immediately
rose from his bedroll to sit near his brother.
Gilly handed the Book to Cuddy.
“Why don’t you read aloud for me, Cuddy?”
He read, “‘Turn over the course of your affairs
to Jehovah, and rely on Him, and He will act.
He will bring your rightness out like the light and the justice of your
case like noonday. Leave it silently to
Jehovah and wait for Him; do not lose your temper at one who comes off
successfully, a man who executes deep-laid plots.’”
Gilly’s shoulders slumped despondently. “Are you thinking it’s meaning me in this
instance? If it’s meaning me, then I’m
terribly in the wrong, Cuddy.”
Cuddy had no answer for they were deeply
involved in an undertaking from which he could see no extraction.
“Cuddy, a good and wise man, who had been
wronged, would have sent ambassadors first to the Lords and Earls for a parlay,
wouldn’t he? And, only after talk, would
he dare bring war down on their heads and even then with a proper warning first
to allow them to repent of their misdeeds and to right the wrong. That’d be the fair and Godly way of doin’ it,
wouldn’t it?”
“Aye,” answered Cuddy. “’Tis the way its done by the great
nations. A great deal of talk on both
sides and a great deal of compromising.”
“Oh, Cuddy!
What have I done?” cried Gilly.
“I’ve invited myself from the tinker’s seat to the seat reserved for
leaders of men—kings and generals. With
a tinker’s thoughts I acted hastily—giving no time for peaceful
negotiations. All we wanted was a potato
on our plate and a bit of chop to go with it.
How did that simple desire lead us into a war with all our countrymen?”
Cuddy thought deeply and then said slowly, “I
can’t see the error was that we wanted too much. It is the basic needs of every man we were longing
for and I’m not sure it was that desire that led us into this awful predicament. I’m remembering the Lords themselves acted
hastily without giving us much time to address ourselves in their
presence. They invited us to a meal, if
you remember accurately, and threw us in prison both in the North and in the
South without the benefit of the meal.
Little questions did they ask before putting us in those dark places
away from the light of men.”
“Yet,” returned Gilly, “perhaps our Lord
would have required us to parlay one more time before acting.”
“Perhaps we should have explained ourselves,
but they didn’t really give us much time for explanations of the simplest sort,
did they?”
“Nay, ‘tis what made me so angry,” admitted
Gilly.
“It’s a sad, but great truth that once men
have made their minds to a bent and have taken action on that bent, it’s not soon
they’ll be listening to the persuasion of mere words. Persuasion is best done before the action
starts.”
“Aye,” replied Gilly lowering his head,
“more’n likely a good rap with a sound stick is the only listening they’ll be
doing now until they’re so broken, they’ve nothing else except to comply.”
“Even then, the stick only convinces them
against their will. Breaking never lasts
long. ‘Tis why generations later,
descendants will fight to right perceived wrongs suffered by their elders
hundreds of years before. Ye’ve seen it
in the lines of the Kings and the
The eastern sky was dawning red and
gold. Cuddy placed his arm around
Gilly’s shoulders and said, “Our story has become uncommonly complicated. We be not the wise of the land, Gilly. It’s why we always relied so on the Book for
advice—to keep a little free of error against our Lord and against our
fellows. Perhaps we need to step under
that umbrella again. It would be the
course of humility.”
Gilly looked quickly at Cuddy with dawning comprehension
in his face and eyes. “Humility! Yes,
Cuddy, yes! The ladder, remember the
ladder? The Ladder of Success! It had four steps: first, was ‘fear of the Lord’; second, was
‘humility’; third, was ‘riches’; fourth, was ‘honor.’ We’re standing on the third rung, Cuddy. We got our riches. The final step is to acquire honor. How could a rich man become honorable?”
Cuddy said slowly, “By carrying out honorable
actions with his riches.”
“Aye,” enthusiastically agreed Gilly. “An’ since our gold is a gift from our King,
if we weren’t to act as honorably and as wisely and as obediently as we could
with our riches, then our King would have just that much right to take it
away. We’ve been poor lads for a great
long while, Cuddy. I’ve no wish to be losing
the potato and the chop on our plate that we’ve come to rely upon. ’Tis a fact that money in the hands of
haughty men could do no good and much harm.
We’ve acted the haughty men. ’Tis
good for us to listen to the advice of the Book as we understood it this day
and rely on the Lord for the rest.”
Cuddy closed his eyes in quiet prayer and
nodded in agreement.
Gilly stood up quickly and decisively from
the side of their dying fire. “We must
send the African Chieftain and his armies home, Cuddy.”
Cuddy smiled, “For Ireland and its eternal
peace, then,” and raised a stiff, smart military salute.
Gilly tipped his hat and returned, “To
Ireland’s mountains and valleys. May God
’ere smile on her lightness of heart and carefree days.”
Decisions, even when made with great
sincerity of heart, are often difficult to carry through and extricating
oneself from a false misstep is tricky indeed.
Many a fine man with good intentions has wound himself into quicksand
that would as readily suck him down with all his excellent ambitions as a dumb
beast of the mountain who lives not by good intent but by animal instinct alone.
The African Chieftain had finished the pillaging
of the second Irish castle and had begun to believe the entire country lay exposed
before him without a military force to protect its possessions. It was unbelievable that such a land could
exist and his heart had swelled with thoughts of easily obtained wealth and
great plunder. He knew all creatures
maintain fighting defenses for times of trouble. Even the smallest ants retain and sustain
their warrior classes to preserve their territories and species. It was beyond comprehension that a land could
so flaunt the natural laws that it lay exposed and unprotected from foreign invasion.
“Nay.
’Tis not so,” protested McGillvery.
“There is a great Lord living in heavenly places whose purpose is to put
fear into ungodly men’s hearts. He used
your forces to accomplish His will—to discipline those who owned these two
castles ’Tis why it was so simple a battle
won. But the lesson has been finished. He is no longer with us and has returned to
the people of this land. He no longer
agrees that we shall be successful in any war against His people.”
The African Chieftain raised his head, “What
is the Name of the God of this land?”
“His name is Jehovah—one greatly to be
feared—a warrior wreaking great vengeance on those not obeying His wishes.”
“I know no such one.”
“But you need know Him, mighty one,” spoke
McGillicuddy. “He controls the rains,
the storms, the sun, the seas. It is
most important that you listen in this matter because even if you should pursue
the castles and their wealth to the North, you shall have to go home by the
sea. He may let you take some of
“Perhaps,” the Chieftain suggested, “this One
was not with you in the first instance either.
Perhaps you imagined He was with you.
Perhaps you imagined He will not be with you now. Perhaps I and my warriors already have His
backing. Perhaps that is why we stand where we are today.”
“If you return to your country, we will
pledge the two bags of gold you’ve received each day for an additional four
hundred days. It would mean as much
wealth as you could possibly take in the whole of
The African Chieftain disagreed, “In four hundred days my warriors would be
soft and fat like women. The gold would
be gone and they would no longer be in condition to fight and regain their wealth. Soldiers are meant to fight. We came to fight and we shall fight!”
McGillvery looked him full in the face, “Then
you’ll not go with my blessing nor my two bags of gold each day.”
The African Chieftain reached out and grabbed
Gilly by the neck, raising him from the ground by a full meter. “Our agreement was to take the North and the
South with two full bags of gold per day to be delivered to my tent. My soldiers were to pillage and plunder what
they wished with no hindrance. You shall
go with us and you shall perform your part of the bargain until we have done
with this land.”
He sat Gilly back to the ground. “Warriors!” he commanded and raised his
fingers. The shrill hooing began. “We march!”
McGillvery and McGillicuddy were not tied but
allowed to ride in their same positions with a second chieftain riding
between. It was a day of gloom and
despair unlike any Gilly or Cuddy had ever imagined could be their own.
“So this is what desire comes to then?”
bitterly asked Gilly. “What I do not
wish is about to happen and upon my soul will rest all the innocent children of
Cuddy, always the thoughtful, spoke, “Gilly,
while it’s true we gave the wheel a push, we did not run down the hill with it
to keep it spinning to its final goal. I
perceive that this affair is out of our hands and we must silently watch its
conclusion.”
Gilly turned in hot anger at Cuddy’s philosophical
attitude. “How can you live and say such
a thing? ’Tis like saying because we
were lazy lads and our dear old mother was starving for our laziness that tho’
we had started the wheel in motion we are no longer
responsible and are obliged to continue standing by in laziness till she
starves to death. What a godless outlook
that, Cuddy! In fact,” he said fiercely,
“it makes me so angry I should strike you!”
McGillicuddy reined his mount short. “The trouble with you, McGillvery, is you’ve
always reached your hand out to muddy the waters before using the good mind
God’s given you. If you weren’t so eager
to run ahead and would wait a bit to see the lay of the land, so to speak, we
wouldn’t be in ’alf the trouble we are!”
“So ’tis my fault then? I, the one who loads the tinker’s wagon,
hitches the horses, and waits every morning for his majesty, McGillicuddy, to
join me on top?”
“If you would wait a bit, you wouldn’t be left
to do more than you need!”
“An’ if I didn’t, every day we wouldn’t be
off till noon. You are a lazy rascal
with no initiative. I’m sick of you
being my brother. In fact,” shouted
McGillvery, “You are no longer my brother and I shall eradicate you from the
earth!” With that, he leapt from his
horse, pulled Cuddy to the ground and began choking him about the neck.
The dust was in McGillicuddy’s nose. His tongue felt as if it would come loose
from its roots and pop out his mouth like a cork from an Irish bottle. His eyes swam between blackness and
stars. The roaring in his ears became as
the surf on the rocks at Clough’s Cliffs.
Their mother’s Book lay in the road, spilled from Cuddy’s sack, its
pages slowly turning in the wind.
The African warriors, black faces showing no
emotion, made a neat circle around the brothers. It looked a fight to the death—the end of
As swiftly as the disagreement had begun, it
was over. McGillvery stood wiping his
hands across bloodied lip while encouraging McGillicuddy to his feet. “It’s you,” he cried pointing a finger at the
African Chieftain. “It’s you—not
us.”
He leapt with the power of a tinker horse’s
rear haunches, pulled the Chieftain from his mount, wrested the saber from the
Chieftain’s belt, held it to his throat, and looked fiercely at the
warriors. “You will return. You will return from whence you came or your
Chieftain shall die upon this soil never to lead you again into profitable
ventures.”
The warriors, long steeped in the superstitions
of their Chieftain’s supernatural connections and earthly right to a power of
unchallengeable authority were aghast at the prospect of losing one they were
schooled from infancy to revere, honor, protect, obey, and enrich. All mounts were pulled back leaving an open
road to the sea. McGillvery, not
lessening his hold, began that arduous march, saber held tightly to the Chieftain’s
throat. He marched the rest of that
day. He marched all night, past
Donogough’s Castle, back to the beaches where the warriors had first madly chased
round him in the sand.
The men who guarded the ships put hands to
hilts of weapons, but the Chieftain shook his head. “Warriors, home,” he said, his broad, black
face showing little emotion.
McGillvery waited while all warriors loaded
mounts and gear into the holds of their ships before releasing the African
Chieftain. The Chieftain looked
McGillvery squarely in the eye. “I will
return,” he promised.
McGillvery shook his head firmly. “No, this land does not belong to you nor
Gilly nor I nor the Lords and Earls. It
is guarded by One more powerful than any of us. He will not let Irish blood be
shed at your hands or ours.”
“I accept your payment of two bags gold for
this day’s work and two bags every day for four hundred days.”
McGillvery nodded in agreement while Cuddy
brought the bags forward.
The African Chieftain boarded the last ship
and stood facing them while the sails were set.
By day’s end the African warriors had disappeared over the horizon.
McGillvery, who had stood at rigid attention
all the while they were in sight,
collapsed to the sand quivering with
exhaustion. McGillicuddy began a small
fire and rummaged through his pockets.
“Ahhh!” he grinned. “One of Earl
Donogough’s potatoes. I believe part of
the skin has been scuffed, but it’s large enough to share.”
McGillvery sank into a deep sleep at fire’s
edge while McGillicuddy tended the baking of their supper.
Chapter 14
Rabbits on the Glen
As the potato baked McGillicuddy nodded until
he, too, was fully asleep. It was the
popping of a last dying ember and a fearful dream that caused McGillicuddy to
awake. With a small cry of alarm, he
scrambled to his feet.
“Gilly!
Awake!” he urged, his voice rising in pitch. “We’ve forgotten our promise to the
Father! We told him to occupy
Donogough’s Castle and we would protect him.
Now we’ve sent our warriors home, we’ve no way to protect him. The Earls will hang the Father sure,
Gilly. Up! We must be up!”
McGillvery struggled through layers of
exhaustion, McGillicuddy finally hauling him to his feet in exasperation. “Have you no heart, Man? The Earls will have already heard of the
African departure. It’s only a day’s
good ride for them to be returning to their lands. Their anger will be hotter than summer’s sun
looking for flesh to scorch. They’ve no
heart for orphans in the best of times let alone in these worst of times and
it’s the orphans and their father who’ll be sitting in the way of Earls’
blaze.”
“Let’s go then,” urged an awakened Gilly. “Quit your forever muttering and ride that
horse if ye know how,” he yelled as he slipped a noose around the first horse
he reached. He swung onto the mount and
gave sharp heel thrusts to its flanks.
With short leaps the horse cleared the sand bank breaking into a galloping
run toward Donogough’s Castle.
McGillicuddy caught and mounted a second horse just as quickly. His horse, of heavier haunches and longer
legs, soon caught McGillvery’s. The two
horses settled into a distance-eating lope.
“You’ll have to pace them,” cried McGillicuddy, “or they’ll windbreak
an’ we’ll not reach the Father before Donogough does.” Even at such a pace it was the midnight hour
before the boys sat on the hillock overlooking Donogough’s.
“Nary a light showing in the entire eerie
place.”
McGillvery shivered. “Forgive my cowardice, Cuddy, but I cannot
bear to go in at this hour by candle and look upon slaughtered children.”
McGillicuddy agreed, “Nor I—but, dear Brother,
it could be Donogough has not yet arrived and the children’re asleep in their
beds. If we do not go in to see, we may
stand aside and watch Earl Donogough’s actions when he does arrive.”
McGillvery, nauseated to the core of his being
from the fear of what he may find, urged his mount forward. The gates of the castle were barred. The boys rode round to the servant’s entrance. This door, whose lock had been torn from its
hinges, was neatly pulled shut, tied securely with a leather thong. McGillicuddy feeling more sure than his brother,
pushed in front, untied the thong, and passed into the kitchen. A lantern, which McGillvery lit, displayed a
neat, orderly room. The boys passed into
the main entrance and beyond to the entertaining rooms. Every room had been set to order, draperies
re-hung, firewood neatly laid in each fireplace.
“No dead bodies of orphaned children lying
wastin’ on this floor,” spoke a relieved Gilly.
“Up
the stairs then,” rejoined Cuddy.
The upper floors were in the same order with
beds neatly laid, bureaus dusted, and garments on their proper hooks.
“To the servant’s quarters?” queried Cuddy.
“Aye,” nodded Gilly.
Things were the same there with no sign of
life anywhere. Cuddy passed a hand over
his eyes. “Did we not sack and ruin this
castle, Gilly?”
“I’m ashamed to say we did.”
“Then why isn’t it sacked and ruined?”
“Perhaps because my orphans have learnt well
how to sweep, repair, and mend.”
Gilly turned swiftly. “Father! How glad we are to see you! And
yet,” he paused. “Not glad to see you.”
The Father raised his eyebrows slightly in
question.
Cuddy grew crimson of face while explaining
the turn of events. “So you’re surely seeing, Father, you must leave at
once. We’d promised you protection for
the castle and we’ve none to give ye now!”
“Please, Father, for the little children, you
must leave at once!” urged Gilly.
The Father looked surprised. “Why, Gilly, I’ve no need to leave.”
Several of the village’s orphans walked into
the room carrying scrub buckets.
Gilly moaned, “Father, ye don’t
understand! Earl Donogough’s sure to be
quite soon back. Our warriors have
departed. Donogough has clapped you in
prison once, when he finds you in his castle and living here, he’ll turn on you
and your orphans like a raging wolf.”
Father looked puzzled, and then threw his
head back while laughing in comprehension.
“Oh, Gilly, Cuddy! Do ye lads
think I would be audacious enough to move into a place I’d not earned? Or had
the permission of the owner to live in?”
Gilly looked a bit offended. “You mean you didn’t accept our gift to you?”
“Why, Gilly,” objected the Father, “’Twas not
yours to give.”
“’Twas spoils of war! We were the owners,” sputtered Gilly.
The Father smiled and asked softly, “Gilly,
are ye one moment urging me to leave and the next angry I didn’t stay?”
Gilly blushed, “No, of course not.” Then looking around, “But if you weren’t
staying, what are you doing here at this late hour and keepin’ the orphans out
of their beds, too?”
“We are replacing, repairing, and putting things
to order,” quietly stated the Father.
“You’re helping the ones who’ve starved your
orphans,” ejaculated Gilly.
“We are doing what our Lord would have done.
‘Do good unto them that persecute you’.”
“It will be like ‘heaping coals of fire upon
their heads’!” piped one of the many children who were now crowding the room.
Cuddy shook his head, “I do not think you
truly understand the person of the Earl, Father. You see, he will not thank you for all you’ve
done. He sees it as his divine right to
be served by such as you.”
“I do not do it for his eyes,” spoke the
Father quietly.
“Oh,” acknowledged Cuddy, ashamed. “Of course.”
“Perhaps you’d help us? If you could straighten this last room, I
could take the children back to the village to gather the remaining furniture,
which they’ve repaired, to return to the castle.”
Cuddy looked across the room at Gilly. “Yes, Father.
We will help.”
Not many hours later the boys surveyed their
assigned room with satisfaction. It
looked tidy and well kempt.
Gilly sat on a bed near a small window, mop
in hand. “I suppose it’s us who must be
fleeing now.”
Cuddy walked to the window where Gilly sat. “Aye.
We’ll be hunted as enemies of
Gilly sighed deeply as he looked out the servant’s
window. “Even at midnight,
“How can it be that in trying to defend oneself
one becomes a traitor to one’s own country?”
“It’s an agonizing question, Gilly. From the rise of
“I’ll not know how I can be leaving my own
motherland,” said Gilly as he looked at Cuddy.
“In all my travels, I’d never wished to be
anywhere else,” agreed Cuddy. “But,
we’re not the first who have need to immigrate and start a new life. All we’re really needin’ is a place to be
welcome in.”
Gilly grimaced. “There’s nothing more welcoming than the scent
of soda bread and tea and the sight of our own emerald green hills.”
Cuddy’s eyes traveled again over the moonlit
terrain. “Look well and fill your eyes,
Gilly. You’re high enough to see it as
an angel does. ’Tis the last time for we
must be going.”
Gilly looked and gripped Cuddy’s arm. “Cuddy!
Look carefully. What is it you
see now?”
Cuddy looked and his heart turned to
stone. “O’ for the merciful love of God,
no,” he breathed. “No, no, no.”
Marching through the moonlight from the east
was the African Chieftain with his black-faced warriors. From the west marched Earl Donogough and his
Irish peasants. From the south in the
valley between the two armies came Father and his band of orphans. The larger children were carrying small tables
and chairs on their backs, the younger were leading the oxen pulling carts of
the castle’s repaired furniture.
“Oh, Gilly,” whispered Cuddy. “The angels weep in
At the precise moment the African Chieftain
crested the eastern hillock, Earl Donogough crested the western hummock. The Father in the valley between looked up in
surprise. The Africans began a shrill
hooing. Earl Donogough held up a
hand—his peasants and villagers spread along the hillside. Father began trying to lead the oxen into a small
circle. The older children were piling
mended chairs and tables alongside the carts.
Father attempted to tie the oxen’s heads to the end of the carts while older
children lifted younger children into the circle the carts created.
The shrill hooing stopped. Cuddy gripped the edge of the window. Earl Donogough sharply dropped his arm at the
same moment the Africans screamed and streamed down the hillside. The armies met in the bottom of the narrow
valley. The Africans, trained in
military technique, cut through row after row of peasant farmers. Bodies lay two and three thick with the
hooves of horses trying to gain foothold on dead and dying men.
The African Chieftain sat surveying the situation
below his station and signaled his last rank to round the hill and charge into
the southern end of the valley. Then he
lighted a torch, raced to the carts piled high with furniture and threw his
blazing brand onto the varnished woods. A
crackle, then a blaze. Cuddy’s knuckles
gripped white on the windowsill as he saw the Father endeavor to push the now
blazing furniture away from his orphans.
Wood, centuries old, long kept from its warming purpose, gave itself readily
to flame. Gilly sobbed as he saw the
engulfing blaze overwhelm the living bundles vainly struggling to push their
way through the rubble only to run a few meters and fall to the ground in
melted heaps of human flesh.
It seemed the Africans would win, for their
skill was such that fifty peasants would die for their African one. But Earl Donogough and the Lords had
propagandized well. The Irish were
fighting for their homes and families, their established way of life, such as
it may be. From tip to tip, from shore
to shore, they had come. On that night
in Donogough’s Glen, the valley ran red with blood and no one won. When daybreak came, a smoky stench arose from
the blackened circle where the orphans had been alive and well in their performance
of good deeds only a few hours before.
The African Chieftain lay with sword buried to its hilt through his
chest. Earl Donogough had been cut in
half by a saber. Peasants lay twisted
and torn between horses and African warriors.
No rabbits played on the glen. Gilly looked
at the shining sun. “How could you be so
blasphemous as to show your face on a day such as this?” he cried. “Even the rabbits know when blackness has
passed over a land.” He turned from the
servant’s window to walk the castle’s steps to the out of doors. Cuddy followed.
The silence of death is complete. Its stench
allows no comment. At edge of glen a
young peasant, body grotesquely twisted, mouth permanently set in death’s
grimace, eyes open in blank stare, caught Cuddy’s attention. “Gilly, the young man. The new wee laddie’s father from the next
village.”
Gilly turned and began retching as if his
very soul wished to vomit itself onto the ground. He walked and stumbled all through that day’s
morning to the edge of the cliffs of Donge’s Sea.
Chapter 15
Light Breaks
Cuddy, gray of face, sick at heart, stood,
head bowed beside Gilly, looking into the dreary, foaming mass below. “’Tis a place no ship comes, Gilly.”
Gilly dug at his face with fingers desirous
of tearing life away from its covering of flesh. “Ye know what I must be doin’, Cuddy,” he
cried wretchedly. “I’m sorry for it; but
I cannot face the rest of the days filled as they’ll be with the ghosts of my
countrymen. The orphaned children would
come whispering and dancing in flames of fire with battle cries low and loud to
torment all my days and my nights. I’m not man enough to face their thunderous
accusations for the rest of my time.”
Cuddy nodded in aching understanding, tears
streaming down his sorrow filled face.
Gilly, without the release of wet grief his
brother so freely employed, asked, “Will
ye be putting the bags of gold on my back now?
I’ll be taking them to the hell’s depths from which we brought them.”
“Aye,” granted Cuddy and lifted the two heavy
bags to Gilly’s back. He stepped forward
to secure their leather bands and then clasped his brother’s arms tightly.
Gilly shook his head, trying to clear it from
throes deeper than Misery’s Sorrow.
“Isn’t it an incomprehensible thing that a prayed for thing could have
caused so much hurt, Cuddy?”
Cuddy’s mouth worked to bear words, but none
came forth.
Gilly turned toward cliff’s edge and Cuddy’s
tongue released to tearfully cry, “Brother, what am I to do? I’ve not the courage to follow you and alone
I’ve not the courage to continue.”
Gilly hesitated. He turned pain-racked eyes to Cuddy’s
quivering shoulders and lowered head.
Cuddy, near to collapsing on the ground, had pathetically positioned his
hands as if pleading for a reprieve from the cruelest and most heartless of
prison masters.
“Oh, Brother,” Gilly moaned, voice breaking
in most profound sorrow, “two heads are better than one.” And he grasped Cuddy in his arms and cried
until his soul’s source contained no sustenance for continued well-being.
Some time passed before Cuddy was able to
smudge Gilly’s grief-stricken, freely pouring tears.
Gilly hung his head in terrible unhappiness
and said, “We’ve lost our honor, Cuddy.”
Cuddy nodded his head in troubled agreement
and yet, even in that most regretful of moments, felt an inobtrusive something
brushing lightly and yet insistently against the back of his mind, quietly
endeavoring to wind itself through and past the blackened, tangled masses of
bitter and seemingly bottomless sorrow overflowing from its depths. After a long while he could feel the light
brushing as if angel’s wings were tickling the edges of his tongue, urging smallish
words, words just dancing at mouth’s opening, to spring forth ably into
fruitful life. Cuddy opened his mouth,
endeavoring to birth the words, trying to make a beginning at the ideas
formulating in his head by saying, “When something’s lost, a body usually goes
looking for it, Gilly.”
“And, in what land does one find an honor
lost?” bitterly inquired Gilly.
“Perhaps,” Cuddy faltered, “it’s not found,
but regained.”
“How so can honor, reputation, and a good
name be ever regained once lost? They be
of such fragile materials t’would take an angel’s breath to sew the seams once
they’ve been rent.”
Cuddy wavered timidly and then said, “We’ve
not an angel’s breath to do our sewing, Gilly.
But, we could begin mending through right doing made regular and consistent
deeds of valor replacing deeds of shame.
What good would it be, Gilly, to look on a great wrong and then take the
one thing we have at hand to right that wrong and destroy it?”
Gilly was exceedingly puzzled, “I do not
understand what ye’re tryin’ so to say.”
“We have our life,” stumbled Cuddy. “It is the single most valuable asset we
possess which can be used to correct the great wrong we have had a hand in
perpetrating. Courage requires no less
of us than to live and to try to use the rest of that life correctly. After a lifetime of courageous, honorable
acts we may find that we, in some small way, were able to compensate for our
wrong actions. In that compensation, we
may, when we are very old men, once again find ourselves in possession of a
semblance of honor.”
“If I
should die a thousand deaths every day for the rest of my life, it would not
compensate for the lives of all those people, Cuddy.”
“No, it would not be enough,” agreed
Cuddy. “There is nothing that will ever
be enough. But, it is a moot point,
Gilly, for it is not in your or my power to die every day a thousand deaths as
compensation for our deeds. We can give
our life once in death for the dead as a guilt offering or…,” he paused waiting
for the words to form. “Or,” he continued,
“we can give our life over and over again as each day begins new, for the
living, as a blessing.” The words were beginning to rush now. “Your death will do nothing for the dead,
Gilly. But a lifetime of good deeds and
honorable actions could do much for the living.
If you’re bound set to die for your sins, if ye think about it, by the
nature of things, ye’ll come to death soon enough, as all of us will. Why not let the Lord choose when that shall
happen? He may yet have a plan for our
lives.”
Cuddy paused and took a deep shaking breath. “On that field of battle what was the last
thing we saw before coming to this cliff?”
“The wee bairn’s poor father. The one who wouldn’t leave his young
wife.” Gilly’s voice cracked with
emotional tension.
Cuddy let him cry and then gently wiped Gilly’s
forehead. “There was something we should
have seen after we saw his face, Gilly.”
Gilly strained to think. “I don’t remember anything after that,
Cuddy.”
“But there was something, Gilly, think.”
“I can’t.”
“What about the wee bairn’s face?”
“The wee bairn!” dumbly repeated Gilly.
“The wee bairn’s mother’s face and the wee
bairn’s sister’s face.”
“Oh, Cuddy, I did see all of them—in my thoughts. It was what hurt so at seeing the peasant’s
face.”
“Gilly, we can do nothing for all the
Father’s orphans nor all the men left on the field of battle—but the two bags,
Gilly, could do a great deal every day for putting at least a potato on the plates
of all those men’s wives and children—their orphans they’ve left behind until
those orphans could grow to be men big enough to fill their father’s shoes and
rebuild the Ireland that has been lost on Donogough Glen.”
Gilly slumped to the ground at cliff’s edge
and looked into the foaming surf far below.
“Even if we helped them all their lives t’would not compensate for the
loss of their fathers.”
“No, and we should not spend the bags as
compensation nor as a payment for our guilt, Gilly. We still have a responsibility to
Cuddy reached over and pulled the bags from
Gilly’s back. “You know it would suit
the Cat’s purposes well to have the gold buried at the bottom of the abyss, but
it would suit the Lord’s purposes better to have gold in the hands of men
sustaining widows and orphans in the real world where the real problems of
sickness and hunger will be a daily factor in such lives as theirs.”
Gilly stood and walked away from the cliff’s
edge and said sadly, “But it will never
compensate for what I’ve done.”
“No.
For what we’ve done. The unfortunateness of ignorance is the
legacy of mistakes it leaves behind.
Perhaps the only just compensation is to not repeat the mistakes nor
allow ourselves to lapse again into that particular ignorance.”
“Yes,” agreed Gilly. “We shall not do that again! Shall we?” he asked earnestly, looking deeply
into Cuddy’s blue eyes.
“Two heads are better than one,” replied
Cuddy firmly. “I’ll endeavor to keep you
from it and you endeavor to keep me from it.”
Both boys were walking away from the cliff’s
edge as a darkness began to spread over the land. Suddenly, looming in front of them was the
Cat much larger than ever they had seen it.
The Cat sneered and laughed and chortled and
snickered. “Fools, fools, fools, fools,”
it purred. “You’ve let darkness come and
you have not spent the bags. By the Law
of the Sinks the bags return to my treasury at this hour.”
Horrified, Gilly cried, “No! No!
Oh, dear God. We must have the
bags. Not for ourselves but for the wee
ones and their mothers. Oh, God, help us
poor lads or our souls shall be lost in darkness forever unending and so much
suffering on the land that not one of Your eyes could bear to look upon
it. As You did for Gideon of old let the
light spread over this land—for the sake of Your orphans and widows. Be showing Yourself great in our behalf.”
A clap of thunder split the darkness and a
majestic voice rolled over the earth, “And your righteous cause shall go before
you, McGillvery and McGillicuddy.” With
that, the darkness began to roll backward.
The Cat screeched a scream of unearthly sound and began disappearing as
the sound of thousands upon thousands of hands acting in applause filled the
air. A magnificently slendiferous voice
pealed, “After the darkling hours comes light.”
The Cat’s dying shriek filled the air as the
darkness rent like a curtain and in the tear of the dark curtain was a stream
of light which Gilly and Cuddy, bags of gold over their shoulders, began running
toward as if it were the seat on their tinker’s wagon. As they got to the edge of the light they saw
a white stairway winding up into sunshine and blue sky.
“Go, Cuddy,” urged Gilly. “Go.
The tear is trying to close.”
Gilly scrambled through the narrowing slit
nearly tumbling over Cuddy in his haste to breathe the excitingly fresh air of
life, air seemingly scented with the delicate perfume of millions of
flowers. Heaven’s sweet melodies
chorused, surged, and undulated around and into the brothers’ yearning ears,
trickling down to bathe aching, tired hearts with sustaining, healing
waves.
“Oh, Gilly,” Cuddy breathed. “Hold my hand and let’s walk these glorious
stairs.”
As the boys walked, faces began appearing on
each side of the stairway, then hands, and then bodies dressed in white. The hands were throwing rose petals, daisy
petals, tulips, and daffodils along the stairs.
Somehow the faces seemed so familiar.
And then, one cried out, “I couldn’t leave her, Gilly,” and laughed.
For a moment the creature’s face had looked
like the peasant father of the wee bairn.
“Ye feel plump and juicy, Gilly,” chortled
another raspy voice. For a moment this
one looked and sounded like Enna.
The boys continued up the steps looking first
left and then right. One creature cried
like a newborn baby and transformed himself into the momentary semblance of a
newborn male child and snickered mischievously.
“I don’t understand,” whispered Gilly.
“Nor I,” returned Cuddy, “but I know it is
good and I feel so utterly happy.”
Another creature said, “I will not risk my
warriors,” and then fell down to the side of the steps, sword buried to the
hilt in his chest. It looked for a
moment like the African Chieftain.
Cuddy saw dozens of the luminous creatures
turn into the orphans and then gently laugh and blow soft kisses in his and
Gilly’s direction.
Another turned into the shepherd boy and the
villagers and somewhere in the background the Cat seemed to be pacing back and
forth.
“They’re all here,” whispered Gilly.
“Yes.
Earl Donogough, James, the Lords, the magistrate. All.”
“All but the Father. Where’s the Father?” asked Gilly turning
round and looking down the long stairway lined with all the beautiful,
beautiful shining faces. The luminous
ones, with one accord, turned and pointed both left and right arms toward the
top of the stairway. There, on a throne
made of the streamings of an infinite number of brilliant lights, sat the benevolent
Father crowned in gold encrusted rubies.
McGillvery and McGillicuddy at one cried,
“Father! Oh, Father! What does it all mean?”
“McGillvery and McGillicuddy,” he said
tenderly, “Do you not yet understand?
You prayed for a very big thing, my sons. It is a difficult thing to take a tinker and
make him into a prince.”
“But we did not pray to be princes,” objected
Gilly.
“No, you prayed for the gold. How could one have gold without the heart of
a prince? With gold comes power. With power comes the ability to do much evil
or much good. The evil a poor man does affects
only a few. The evil a rich man does
affects whole nations of men. How could
I answer your simple prayer in wisdom? How
could I turn loose, in the real world, a man with tinker’s abilities as yet
unproved and untried with such power as the gold would buy? I could not, Gilly and Cuddy. Before you were let go with your gift you had
to understand what such a gift could do and what you would do with your
gift. Lovingkindness on earth is that
which is most valued in heaven. You have
proved yourselves not lacking in that most valuable quality.”
Cuddy said, “You mean,” hesitantly, “this was
all a dream?”
“A theatrical stage, Cuddy,” corrected the
Father kindly. “Everyone played a part
with you and Gilly as the leading men.”
“Then,” queried Gilly hopefully, “No one
really died…the orphans…the warriors…the peasants, Lords and Earls?”
“Turn around, Gilly. Look to the left and right of you. They are all here.”
“Then we can go home. We can go home not as traitors and with no
burdens on our hearts!”
“Yes, go.
Turn and go in joy, peace, and happiness. Walk onto
One of the luminous beings stepped
forward. “Listen,” he said. “Someone’s calling you.”
From far above the stairs, deeply beyond the
white clouds, Cuddy heard, “Gilly, Cuddy.
Gilly, Cuddy.”
“It’s Dearbháil and Tamara!” he cried
joyfully. Grabbing the bags and Gilly’s
arm he began running up the stairs laughing, jumping, and gamboling as a
newborn four-legged creature in the warmth of noonday sun. “Dearbháil, wait, wait, we’re coming! We’re coming!”
The Father smiled a gentle smile, blew a bit
of watery mist after the two brothers, and spoke for them a word of blessing,
“The last rung on the Ladder of Success is Life and that rung I give you both
freely without your asking—a full Irish life of goodness and happiness all the
days you’re caring to live.”
A woman’s voice joyfully cried, “I see them,
Tamara! They’re coming! They’re coming!”
The Father said, “Aye,
##
MCGILLVERY AND MCGILLICUDDY,
TINKERS AT LARGE
Part I
Wealth
by
Ben Meyers
With
Olivia
Jeshurun
Where is it
to be found and what position shall one play in the final part of the game?
Dedicated to all the ones who
provided loving, enduring, and loyal support
Foreword
A thoughtful Irish writer once wrote,
“Worthwhile dreams need never die if the dreamer can find the secret that
allows conversion of wishes into realities.”
Unfortunately, that secret is often as coy and as illusively shy as the
brush of an angel’s wing. The truth of
the matter is that the secret, once found, lies openly available for the
taking; but few persons from ancient times to present times have been able to
see or to find the secret even after a lifetime of wishing, wondering, and
searching. Not too very long ago, two
Irish tinkers solved this age-old riddle and made the secret their own. The tinkers’ journey begins, as all
worthwhile journeys must—within the bosom of distress.
▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪
Table of
Contents
Chapter 2
Need and Greed………………………………………………………...16
Chapter 3
Land of Gone Forever…………………………………………………..33
Chapter 4
The Dreamer Begins…………………………………………………….42
Chapter 5
Peculiar Places………………………………………………………….58
Chapter 6
Mankind’s Pain…………………………………………………………80
Chapter 7
Black Eyes and Puppies…………………………………………………91
Chapter 8
Small Portions………………………………………………………….103
Chapter 9
Charity………………………………………………………………….139
Chapter 10
Lords and Earls………………………………………………………...143
Chapter 11
The Lions’ Den………………………………………………………...157
Chapter 12
Bribes in High Places………………………………………………….178
Chapter 13
The Wrath of Man……………………………………………………..192
Chapter 14
Rabbits on the Glen……………………………………………………221
Chapter 15
Light Breaks……………………………………………………………229
Chapter 1
A
Dish of Vegetables
On nights when the Irish mist is particularly
deep and the moon’s fair light is quite smothered in the shadows of men’s
darkened dreams, the aging tinker cart sign’s beseeching cries, rising from
shadowed lanes and meadows, caused many a late lad and lassie to gather their coat’s
collars in gestures reflecting anxious acknowledgement of the slim hold mortals
have on life.
Could the late travelers have seen the sign before evening’s fall as it gently
swayed from the back of its dilapidated tinker’s cart, the rusty sound would
have melded rather nicely with meadowlark’s song, two easy tinkers’ voices
carrying over greenly gentle hills, and the patient, steady drumming of horses’
hooves as their cart pulled along winding, dirt roads. In Irish blue on Kelley green the sign’s complimentary
letters dutifully, conservatively, and genteelly proclaimed, “McGillvery and
McGillicuddy, Tinkers at Large.”
It was just at the end of such a day, before
the darkling hours begin laying around, that McGillvery said to McGillicuddy,
“Now, I’m that much wishing we’d have been havin’ a cabbage with our potato
this evenin’.”
“Aye, now,” agreed McGillicuddy a wee bit
wistfully. “The cabbages in that last
garden were exceedingly fine. ’Tis a
miserable thing indeed the gentle lady of the house was so ready for callin’
her dog or we might have had the time to ask for a head or two while
passin’.”
“’Tis an even sadder thing of late that we’ve
more potato on our plate than much else,” glumly observed Gilly. “Both our breeches will hardly stay in place
for our thinness this year, Cuddy.”
McGillicuddy did not reply at once for
another farmhouse had loomed on the horizon.
Ever the hopeful, he said, “Cheer up, lad. Day’s not done yet. Yonder looks like we’ve another chance at
sale or trade before evenin’ falls.
Perhaps we’ll have better than cabbage for our sup tonigh’. A lamb chop would much surpass the cabbage as
a compliment to our potato.”
As they neared the whitewashed and newly thatched
cottage, McGillvery sat eagerly forward on the wagon’s stoop, “Do ye catch a
whiff of soda bread and herring? Mmmm,”
he sighed. “I’ve not tasted a piece of
herring for ever so long. Perhaps the
fair lady will extend an invitation to dine.”
“I hope the teapot’s bubbling and she’s a way
with marmalade and jam,” agreed McGillicuddy longingly.
McGillvery gripped McGillicuddy’s sleeve in
excitement. “I smell apples baking sure. Look, they’ve a small orchard behind the
sheep’s shed. Ohhh,” he breathed while rolling
his eyes toward heaven, “I’m thinkin’ in this ’ere ’umble cottage tonight is
being set a supper fit for
McGillicuddy, too, hoped for an honest meal
from the generous heart of a fellow country person as their tinker horses,
Belle and Shade, automatically turned shaggy legs into the dusty lane leading
through the farm’s main gate and stopped the tinker’s wagon precisely at the front
of cottage door.
“Clean and neat, too, Cuddy,” whispered
Gilly. “Flowers at the door mean a dear
lady who takes a little extra care in her doings.”
As McGillicuddy began to clamber down from
the wagon seat, a burly, ruddy-faced man emerged from the low hung door.
“What’re ye doin’ comin’ up me lane without
invitation and at supper time, too?” he asked roughly.
“No offense, kind sir,” replied McGillicuddy,
hesitating in his dismount. “We’re
tinkers three generations down and are come to furnish the home with needles
and pins, pans and fabric. We’ve even a horse to trade if ye’re needin’ a mare
to pull or ride.”
A well-rounded woman wiping her hands against
cotton toweling appeared in the cottage shadows behind the man. The man’s suspicious eyes roamed to the back
of the wagon, looking at the gray mare in tow. “’An what’s wrong with ’er?” he
growled.
“I’ll not be foolin’ ye nor takin’ advantage
of ye in any way. The mare’s recovering
from injury to her right hind foot,” truthfully answered McGillicuddy. “But in another month’s passin’ she’ll be as
sound as ever.”
The heavily built man looked into
McGillicuddy’s unshaven face and frowned testily, “Two tinkers on a fellow’s
property looks a bit unseemly. What’s
the one doing while the other’s sellin’?
Perhaps ’e’s going ’round back and shooing me best ewe out to pasture to
pick up a little later in the evening, eh?
I’m not that foolish, gents. Ye
take yer mare and be off my property or I’ll be givin’ ye a taste of the lead,”
and the man produced an aged gun which was soon cocked and aimed straight
toward McGillicuddy’s square head.
“Nay, not so,” replied McGillicuddy in
remonstration. “We be honest lads,
raised at our mother’s knee with strong respect for the commandments. We stop at church every Sunday and read in
our mother’s Book every night. We’re not
what ye’re believin’,” protested McGillicuddy weakly.
The man stepped closer to McGillicuddy observing
his unshaven face and well-worn clothing.
“Don’t be hidin’ behind the Lord, laddie. I can see for myself what ye be. Ye best be havin’ that wagon down the road at
the count of three or ye’ll not be tinkerin’ anymore on this earth.”
McGillvery pulled urgently at McGillicuddy’s
sleeve, “Come now. Sit yourself back
into the wagon, Cuddy. The man’s set sure to fight and we’ve little to gain
buried in this isolated spot. Turn Belle
and Shade now and let’s be quick about it.”
Long practiced in the art of turning the
heavily built wagon in tight spaces, the two horses at Gilly’s urging, complacently
accomplished their task with gentle ease and soon carried the two brothers far
from the inhospitable cottage door.
McGillvery’s stomach growled deeply—an
encouragement to begin a gentle lament to accompany his hunger pains. “The
timing was so right at that house.
Smelled the bread coming hot from the oven I did. The herring was crisp in the pan and smelled
like the apples had been dipped in flour biscuit and coated in sweet syrup
before she set them to bake. Would have been
a fine evening beyond compare. After the
supper, we’d have set ’round the fire showing the lady our fabrics and
pans. Ye’re well knowin’ they always buy
more after a fine meal. We may have had
an invite for mornin’ sup and the master, so set at ease by our fellowship from
the night before, may have traded for the gray mare.”
Not much later, their cart passed the large
stone piers raised many a year past to hold the imposing gates leading to Earl
Donogough’s estate. McGillvery took
especial note and morosely said, “But for just a few different circumstances of
life we would have been inside those lovely gates eatin’ finer than all
McGillicuddy did not join in McGillvery’s
wishful suppositions. He let his brother
ramble on for a good piece of the road before finally stopping at the edge of a
lane where stood an abandoned cottage much in need of thatching and
repair. He clambered down from wagon
seat, began unhitching the horses, and set the hobbles on their feet so they
might more freely graze and get their drink from a stream nearby. McGillvery had hung the harnesses to dry and
was gathering a bit of fuel for night’s meal.
When the fire had died to its proper lowness, he returned to the wagon
reaching for their grub sack. In its
bottom was left remaining a single medium sized potato bypassed for many a
night in favor of its larger brothers.
Tonight it finally met the fate of the rest by being laid in a smallish
iron covered pot which was then carefully buried beneath the fire’s coals. That done, McGillvery looked for two flattish
rocks suitable for seating and dining at fire’s edge. Out of the two rocks found, he appropriated
one, situated himself near the fire, and sank immediately into a despondent
gazing toward embers’ orange glow.
When the
potato was quite done, McGillvery handed it to McGillicuddy for separating into
its two halves. When his half was
returned to him, he looked at the slim fare, and said a bit testily, “Hasn’t
our Lord promised that honesty in business has a fair sure result in
comfortable living and the respect of one’s fellows?”
“What are
ye tryin’ to say, Gilly?” mumbled McGillicuddy around a mouthful of his half of
hot potato.
McGillvery
set his potato back into the pot while carefully observing, “We’ve a sound
night’s sleep for our good consciences, but ’tis an aching affliction to be
treated in so rough a fashion by our countrymen, now isn’t it?”
McGillicuddy,
ever the patient, grunted and waited for McGillvery to continue.
“When the
wintry mist is particularly biting, it’s damaging to one’s good nature to be
refused the hospitality of a comforting cup of steaming, hot tea at cozy
fireside.”
“’Tis not
winter, Gilly,” replied Cuddy.
“It’s
damagin’ in fair weather or foul,” argued Gilly.
“We’d
best get used to the fact that the welcoming scent of soda bread wafting down
the tinker’s road is not a sure promise of an invitation for a wee bite of the warm
loaf,” remarked McGillicuddy philosophically.
A very
disappointed Gilly looked down at his half potato with eyes growing a bit moist
and said mournfully to himself, “Now I’m not complaining, mind ye, for we can’t
complain at the Lord’s Great Bounty. Still…”
and he paused for a moment before continuing sorrowfully, “I’m sure wishing we
had a bit of chop to go with this potato.”
McGillicuddy, the older of the two, consoled
his brother, as was his life-long custom, “Now, now. Times pass.
Maybe tomorrow we’ll have the better side of luck and be dining on fowl
and summer peas.”
McGillvery made no effort of reply.
McGillicuddy, understanding his brother’s
heart, quietly encouraged, “We’d best be always lookin’ for our eternal future,
Gilly. It’s what our dear mother taught
us. ’Tis a simple philosophy leading to
peace and to a certain graciousness not obtained by giving in to rapacious
appetite. We’re knowin’ the future of
God’s children is to be as bright and as pleasant as each and every one could ever
wish. But while we’re livin’ in the
present, it’s needful for us to be content.”
Ever mindful of the importance of being thankful and counting blessings,
Cuddy added, “We’ve food for the night and it’s hot sup, not cold.”
“An’ no food for the morrow I’ll be addin’,”
spoke Gilly. “T’was the last potato in
the sack, Cuddy.”
“I’m knowin’ things are a mite short,”
acknowledged McGillicuddy. “But even our
Lord urged us not to be worrying about our food and clothin’—that it would be
provided at the time most needful. An’
we’ve only ourselves, fine strong men, to worry about. There’s not a wee bairn that’s havin’ to be
doin’ without due to our bad fortunes.”
“Thank ’eavens for that stroke, Cuddy,” agreed
Gilly. “It would quite put my ’eart to bursting
if we’d a small babe and nothin’ to feed ’im.”
Cuddy nodded and rearranged himself on the
ground with his back resting comfortably on the rock. “Gilly,” he began, “I’m for figurin’ a
potato’s as good as the manna the good Lord furnished his people in the Wandering
Wilderness. If He saw in His great
bountifulness that manna was sufficient for his dearest chosen ones for forty
long years, then I’m supposin’ a potato on our plate is good enough for us,
their brethren in spirit.”
McGillvery looked at the potato on his plate.
“But the good wandering people had all they wanted of the manna and left from
the side of their tables quite full in belly.
Half a potato would hardly feed a wee mouse much less a fine man such as
me.”
McGillicuddy looked sadly at his brother,
“Well, I’ve finished mine long before now.
Be eating your share before it takes on the cold. Then we’d best be giving thanks and be about
turning out the bed and doing some reading out of the good Book.”
McGillicuddy thought about bringing their
mother’s harp from the wagon to float away some of his brother’s misery with
the cheery tinker’s songs they frequently employed to fill the long hours
between farmhouses. The songs encouraged
a tinker to forever look on the bright side of life and always leave behind the
gift of a smile. This evening was a good
time to be reminded of those truths, yet somehow, in this lonely spot, beside a
windowless cottage with little cheer and no warmth, Cuddy didn’t feel like
vocalizing the ideals that bolstered the tinkering way of life.
Instead he looked across the fire at
McGillvery’s despondent demeanor and said,
“We’d best keep in form, Gilly.
Try smilin’ just a bit over that potato.
If we lose our smile and give in to fret and worry, it will soon be showing
to the wives along the way. They’ll be
driven that quickly back into their doors for fear they’ll be catching
the glum looks we’ve caught. It will
only make our situation worse, Brother.
A smile is the face’s little prayer.
It’s saying, ‘Here’s hoping a myriad of blessings are awaitin’ just
around the corner to surprise you and me.’
Circumstances often change much for the better with just the right
attitude. We’ve proved that again and
again.”
Usually McGillicuddy’s common sense and pleasant
way of speaking provided quite the cure for any ill-favored circumstance which
may have befallen the brothers, but tonight McGillvery would not be consoled.
“The night falls, Cuddy, with nary moon nor star
to light the way,” he gloomily noted.
McGillicuddy worriedly said in great haste,
“’Tis not so.” He quickly looked toward
the night sky as if endeavoring to see any invisible saint who might be passing
by and overhearing their conversation. Just
as quickly he spit on two fingers of each hand which he immediately stuck to
his ears while saying, “We be two good brothers. Here’s stopping the accuser’s ears and mouth
until we can right this temporary despair.”
He turned to McGillvery and urged, “Be careful what ye’re saying. We’re belonging to a different sort than that. Hope never dies in bosoms that belong to the
Lord. How can it, Gilly? To think there’s no way out is to deny the
power of our Holy Helper. This little
lull in our business affairs is not a matter of that much consequence that it
be called impossible. If it were
impossible, we’ve every right to expect help from on high for our heavenly
Father works best in the most impossible of circumstances.”
Gilly did not respond to Cuddy’s rebuff nor
his encouragement. “’Tis no use, Cuddy. The talk won’t work this time. All the fair words in the world will not
cover the reality. An’ the reality is
we’re poor. It seems, since we pulled
into this campsite, that I’ve been besieged by all sorts of queer thoughts I’ve
never thought before. I’ve never thought
of ourselves as poor. And it’s not just
the empty potato sack or the last two houses we visited that’s set me to
thinking this way. I’m remembering years
back when our mum was ill. We couldn’t
buy the medicines before she passed away.”
His voice broke as he said, “What kind of a life is it, Cuddy, when
those you love do without the necessaries which can prolong their sweet
fellowship for a bit longer on this earth?”
His voice rose distressfully, “Nay.
The sweet words will not cover what we’ve become, Cuddy. We’re poor and I don’t see how we’ll ever be
anything else but poor.”
McGillicuddy understood his brother was in a
state of great consternation, but he did not understand how deeply his
brother’s feelings were running this night until Gilly suddenly stood, the heat
from the newly laid, crackling branches making him appear most unearthly and
quite ready to fight things visible and invisible. Unable to see the enemy which had so beaten
them, he bent to the ground, picked a rock, abruptly turned, hurled it at the
stone wall of the cabin, and said vehemently, “I’m bloody tired of being poor!”
McGillicuddy was quite taken aback at the
intensity of McGillvery’s feelings.
Although his brother was more highly tempered than himself, it was his usual
habit to take whatever situation they found themselves in with complacence,
accepting the ways of the world in which they lived. Cuddy watched as his brother agitatedly
turned his face toward the heavens. The
words poured in a rush from his heart as much as from his mouth, “We’re not bad
lads and we’re living like we were the worse refuse of
He turned pleading eyes toward McGillicuddy.
“Even a thief eats meat once in awhile, Cuddy.
I’ve not once left my mother’s upright ways nor passed the church on a
Sunday nor neglected my duty to my fellowman to seek his welfare and peace in
all things and yet I’ve not had a glass of milk for a fortnight, let alone the
bite of meat from the worst part of the sheep in nigh on six months.”
Although McGillicuddy had been quite taken
aback by his brother’s words, he at last found his tongue. “McGillvery!” he reprimanded. “Watch your language! How Mother would cry to hear you say such
things!” But, for all that, McGillicuddy
knew that all Gilly had said was true and Cuddy had no real answer for
him. He looked up at the moon and found
it covered, as dark and unyielding as Death when he comes to snatch away the
life of wee babe and old marm together.
As McGillvery had said, even the stars had fled from their sky with nary
light to show a way. McGillicuddy shivered
a bit as he thought of the last several years’ business. In truth, it was as if the sky had joined
arms with the earth in a binding mutual contract to turn upon two lads for the
purpose of vomiting them out of the land of good living. McGillicuddy searched his mind and knew
they’d been patient and never resorted to ill doings despite many privations and
hardships. Somewhere a grave error in
justice had been made—a mistaken identity—so that two good lads were receiving
a life that they wouldn’t wish upon the very bad. McGillicuddy held his head in his hands while
mightily searching for right words, but the soothing and healing words he
needed so badly had quite fled away.
Chapter 2
Need and Greed
McGillicuddy need not have worried about his
lack of words, for McGillvery soon supplied words quite uncommon to his usual
nature.
“The last farmer needed a thorough thrashing
for his uncharitable manner and his wife needed a good spanking on her ampleness
for not having acted the Christian to strangers. We might have been angels for all she knew
and she missing a blessing by the turning of us away. What kind of Christian thinking is that to
not offer the sustenance of
McGillicuddy looked at McGillvery’s rosy-hot
cheeks and flaming red hair, which was now standing in undisciplined peaks all
over a roundly shaped head. He couldn’t
help smiling a bit while thinking of the startle the farmer would have should
McGillvery appear at his bedside in just such a manner and demand his
justice. The smile turned into a chuckle
and the more he thought about eating the soda bread and apple treat in a warm kitchen
while the lady dished out the proper Christian charity, the deeper the humor
seemed until he was quite rolling in laughter.
McGillvery was not amused and frowned quite
sourly at McGillicuddy which sent Cuddy into deeper throes of merriment at
Gilly’s expense. When he finally calmed,
he turned more serious eyes to Gilly and asked, “An’ while your first plan to
end our poverty may not be the best plan, what do you sincerely reckon we do
about it, Gilly? If ye’re well tired of
something, then ’tis best to do something about it. What are ye preposing we do to change our
most serious circumstances?”
Gilly threw his arms outward in frustration
as if wishing to gather a whole world of ideas to himself, then stood hunching
his back in the manner of a hedgehog when he’s very wet and quite cold. He finally began a pacing to and fro in front
of the fire.
“I don’t know!” he said agonizingly. “I feel as if we were both wrong
somehow. Someway we’ve a great error
inside us that needs correcting so that the outside circumstances we suffer can
be corrected But I’m just short of
knowing what the error is for us to be suffering along so.”
McGillicuddy understood exactly. It was the very thing he had been thinking. “There’s a verse I’ve read in Mother’s Book that
says the Lord is the author of adverse and favorable circumstances, Gilly. If we were to set our mind to the possibility
that perhaps the good God above is allowing these less than fortuitous times,
then we would be asking our God what we were needin’ to do to walk into the
sunshine of good conditions again.
Perhaps there’s a large change we’re needin’ to make just like the
wandering people when they was slaves in Egypt and they had to go from bein’
slaves to bein’ a free people. Their
circumstances became just that poor before the good God sent an answer.”
“An’ they had to make tremendous big changes,
Cuddy,” acknowledged Gilly.
“A whole way of life taken away and a new one
learned,” agreed Cuddy. “Their lessons
weren’t easily learned and at quite some hardship to themselves and their
families.”
McGillvery turned to McGillicuddy with tears
near brimming along the rims of his eyes, “Is that what’s needin’ to be done
then, Cuddy? Are we needin’ to become
something other than tinkers? What do
people do when all they’ve known is a tinker’s life, an’ their fathers before
them, an’ their fathers before that?
Where do they go?”
“The wandering people went into the
wilderness,” returned Cuddy.
“We’re already in the wilderness—a wilderness
of lack,” protested Gilly.
McGillicuddy shook his head firmly,
“Nay. We’re not in the wilderness. I’m thinkin’ we’re in the slavery of
McGillvery looked shocked. “How can that be? Our father gave this business and told us we
were the luckiest sort for we were born free with the right to claim our time
and our way on this earth with no one to tell us how to manage but
ourselves. We’re not the slaves of
another where we must draw his wage and depend upon his success and goodwill
for our own, Cuddy.”
“An’ yet we’ve found ourselves in slavery to
the worse
Gilly turned surprised eyes to Cuddy, “An’
what may that be?”
“Poverty,” replied McGillicuddy simply. “We are in slavery to Mister Poverty.”
McGillvery did not know what to say, so taken
aback was he at this revelation.
McGillicuddy explained, “We’ve not the
ability to place tasty food on our plates at night nor the funds to pull into a
roadside inn from time to time to lessen the rudeness of constant travel in the
enjoyment of the fellowship of others.
Our items for merchandising have become just that meager and shopworn
that many wives turn their nose at it for trading the least of things. An’ even ourselves, Gilly, we’re in need of a
little repair. The funds are sorely lacking
for the littlest piece of leather for the resoling of our boots. Haven’t ye noticed on Sundays how we’re
always waitin’ until the last to go in to church and quietly sitting in the
shady corners and leaving before all the good people are up and out of their
seats? It’s not for politeness we do
that. We’ve humble clothin’ and rough
looks about us, Gilly. If we’d the
finery of the Lords and Ladies in the balcony seats, we’d be up front with the
best of them a’shakin’ the vicar’s hand when we’re in Protestant land and a’shakin’
the priest’s hand when we’re in Catholic land.
I’m thinkin’ we are in our
McGillvery had quite shut his mouth. It was all true.
McGillicuddy continued to hold the
floor. “Have ye noticed that tinkers are
rarely along the roads like when we was small and ridin’ with our father?”
McGillvery nodded his head, “Not ever do I
see one any day of the year.”
“It seems, dear Brother,” spoke Cuddy gently,
“that the place left a tinker is so small a man can’t be a man and the times
have grown past us. When we can’t feed
ourselves, we can’t plan for future.
We’re livin’ one day to another with barest of necessities. Do ye know,” he continued thoughtfully, “I’ve
not even the tar to patch the wagon’s roof should it begin a leak. There’s nary a colleen in
Gilly knew his brother quite well but was
surprised to find him linking ‘being’ with a bride and child. “Were ye that much a’wantin’ a family to be
speakin’ of?” he asked in amazement.
“Aye,” answered Cuddy, surprised at the
resurfacing of a deep-seated wish long buried.
“I suppose I was. When I was the youngest
of lads, I’d always planned to take Dearbháil to wife when I was of age. Every time we traded down her way with Father
and Mum I’d think I’d make the proper moves to tell her my choice in the
matter,” admitted McGillicuddy. He added
as an afterthought, “She did a masterful thing by keeping the affairs in order
after the passin’ of her parents and her so young, too. Her wee sister never missed the tiniest
comfort even though an orphan. A body
would never lack at any time of year with such a strong and reasonable mind as Dearbháil’s.” He sighed a bit and said, “She’s pretty even
now that she’s heading toward being a confirmed maid.”
“Aye,” remembered McGillvery. “She always liked our Mum. That’s to her good sense. But I’m recalling hair flaming like a Irish
goddess’ and a temper to suit.”
Cuddy grinned, “Temper puts the pepper into
life so it doesn’t go stale.”
Gilly’s face took on the surprise at his
brother’s response. Cuddy had always
been a man of placid manner and accepting ways.
Yet, it was fitting Cuddy be drawn to such a fiery one as that
lassie. In the tinkering business the
two brothers partnered, it was Gilly who added the pepper. McGillvery drew a slow breath, laboring in
his mind for an answer to the situation the two brothers found themselves
in.
“We’re not the poor, Cuddy,” he observed while groping for ideas. “We’ve got our potato and I do recall,” he
continued, “even the Lord, while doing his work, was hungry enough to desire a
fig from a tree he was passing. Did he not
be of ever so much hunger that he and his men once plucked heads of grain from
a field they were walking through?”
“Aye,” responded Cuddy. “I’m supposin’ two tinkers shouldn’t be
expectin’ any much more than the Lord himself while we walk this earth.”
“I should never,” stuttered McGillvery,
aghast at the thought of such presumption, “think of myself as more than
He! And, I’m well aware that if we get
too roused about the matter of our material sustenance, we’ll find ourselves
sinning against the Lord. ’Tis a small
step between discontent and stealing, or worse.”
“‘Contentment is a deathblow to the monster
greed’…,” smiled McGillicuddy remembering.
“ ‘An’ greed is the witch-mother of many a
bad child.’ T’was what our mother always
taught us,” finished McGillvery.
“Her very words,” agreed McGillicuddy. He shivered a bit and looked fearfully into
the darkness. “Perhaps ’tis best we kill
these depressing thoughts now before all sorts of evil spectres are born. Live our lives as they be and not give any
more energy to thinking about changing what was meant to be.”
Gilly looked at Cuddy with pleading eyes,
“Cuddy, if we should unleash evil by our desire to have more than we truly
need—t’would be a great evil indeed. But
I’m believin’ our desire is pure and clean.
We’d not use the extra to do bad with.
We’ve only a use for the extra to raise our standards a bit and to
provide for a future that could contain a growin’ family for each of us.”
“Aye,” returned Cuddy thoughtfully, “To be
truthful about the matter, Gilly, the Lord had a different callin’ than
me. His job while on earth was quite a
different one than that to which most men are called. It would not be so appropriate for my dearie
and her children to walk along through the grain fields of
Gilly nodded, “And besides does not the
scripture say ‘the will of God is to feed the dear widows and the orphans in
their need’? I’m just a little short of
knowin’ how to do that when we can’t even feed ourselves. I mean, ’tis different for us, Cuddy. If the Lord were here, he could feed all the
widows and orphans of the world out of this one potato forever and ever, but I
could sit on yon mountaintop till I starved to death and wouldn’t know how to do
it for myself and you, let alone all the starving widows and orphans of the world. All I know is trading, Cuddy,” continued
McGillvery earnestly. “I know you’ve got
to have something to trade before you can get something you want. ’Tis the reality of living in a real
world. I’m very, very sorry,” said
McGillvery burring his r’s thickly, “to speak it, Brother, but I…,” and
McGillvery hung his head ever so low, “…I am not spiritual enough a man to know
how to solve all these problems without real gold and real money.”
McGillicuddy was quiet for a very long time and
then said reflectively, “When I left on our dear homeland’s military campaigns
to lands far from here, I remember watching the foreign holy men a’beggin’
their daily food, wandering from one place to another, and wondered if what
they gave in words was worth the bread they got in return. Then I wondered what they gave the poor what
had naught to give in return for their words.
Our Lord gave words, but he also gave real food and real care to the
unfortunate, Gilly.”
“Aye, that’s right, Cuddy!” agreed McGillvery
enthusiastically. Then with a bit of
cunning added, “Not just in foreign lands do the holy men give words
alone. I sometimes notice our own
priests and vicars are more willing to give well-wishing words than part with
the tithes that have been received. I’ve
also seen they are always asking for the gold and tend to live in pretty fine
houses themselves for these parts of the world.”
“Shhh!
Shhhh!” McGillicuddy urged,
looking uneasily around. “The Saints
have large ears and we’ve no need of offending them. Who are we, Gilly, to say the vicars and
priests have not taken care of their funds well? Best we tend to our personal affairs and let
the Lord tend to theirs. After all there’s
a rightful order to things and we’d best be paying homage to that order.”
Gilly snorted disdainfully, “It’s that
precise order I’m talking about, Cuddy!
Why is it all right for everyone else, including the vicars and priests,
to be comfortable and well sustained while we suffer along so? Would it upset the whole order of the universe
if two tinkers lived as an Earl or a Baron or a Lord does for a day?”
McGillicuddy grinned, “I don’t know about the
universe, but it might upset any one
of those three men should one of them be traded down to our level while we
occupied theirs.”
McGillvery ignored the humorous picture
McGillicuddy had painted. Thoughts were
framing in his mind and he began vocalizing them in words, “Cuddy, I’ve read in
Mother’s Book of folks from unpretentious and unlikely beginnings being raised
from humble circumstances into places of surplus and plenty. If such ones had their circumstances changed
so drastically, why couldn’t the same happen for us also?”
“An’ who are ye thinkin’ of precisely,
Gilly?”
“I was remembering the Hebrew story of
David. He was only a caretaker of sheep,
but out of such small beginnings he became a leader and controlled great stores
of wealth for himself and the great nation he ruled.”
McGillicuddy sat rock still. “Are you thinking we could be a David,
Gilly?”
“Nay, I’m thinkin’ we could be ourselves and
receive at God’s hand the same as David received.”
“But, in the case of David that was the
Lord’s will for David, Gilly,”
protested McGillicuddy. “The Lord
intervened for David, you see.”
“Well, why couldn’t He intervene for us?”
logically inquired Gilly.
“I don’t know,” replied Cuddy. “But the
question makes me feel trembly and upset inside like maybe we shouldn’t be
asking it or hoping it for ourselves.”
“Well, maybe we should, Cuddy. I’m remembering another instance in Mother’s
Book when a fellow asked and it turned out quite well for him.”
“An’ who are ye thinkin’ of this time?”
“Solomon.”
“The wise man?”
“Aye.”
“I’m recalling he asked for wisdom, not gold,
Gilly,” recalled McGillicuddy. “Also, if I remember correctly Solomon was asked
by the Lord to ask what he would and it would be given him,” objected
McGillicuddy. “He was asked to ask. We’ve not been asked to ask.”
“I’m thinkin’ our sad circumstances are beggin’
us to ask,” stubbornly insisted McGillvery.
“And that’s the first clue. From
Solomon’s example we’ll ask for wisdom first and then we’ll ask for the gold.”
“Really, Gilly,” a shocked McGillicuddy
responded. “I think you are not quite right in all this. Even in David’s instance I think the Lord
chose him first. T’wasn’t David who did
the choosing for his prosperous life.”
“Well, how do ye know what David was thinking
and wishing for while herding his father’s sheep all those growing up years in
the hills of
“I believe the Book says he thought a
powerful lot about God, Gilly,” corrected McGillicuddy gently.
“Maybe he thought a powerful lot about his
heavenly Father helping him to get that gold,” persisted Gilly.
A small smile played at the corners of
McGillicuddy’s generous mouth until he finally laughed outright. “No wonder you outsell me, Gilly. You’ve got the gift of the Irish sons in your
tongue, sure enough.”
“Would that I had the gift at the end of
Irish rainbows, too,” glumly returned McGillvery.
“Aye,” agreed Cuddy and turned to the fire,
poking and stirring the dying embers, all the while wondering how does a man raise himself from day-to-day
subsistence to a place where there is a roomy surplus of valuable things.
Gilly hesitantly broke into Cuddy’s musing. “I’ve thought, Cuddy, that since it is a fact
one must have something to trade before getting something in return, then one
must wonder where one originally gets the item to be traded.”
McGillicuddy wrinkled his forehead in
perplexity and said, “I’m not understanding what ye’re tryin’ to say.”
“I’m not sure how to say it exactly,”
admitted McGillvery. “But…we’ve always
lived by having something in our hand and we trade that something for something
else we’re wantin’. But if we was to go
back in time ever so far, there had to be a time when one of our dear fathers
had nothing in hand to trade. Where did
he get something when he had nothing?”
Cuddy furrowed his brow in bewilderment. “We got our items from our father. It was our inheritance….”
“Precisely.
We had someone who helped us get a start, such as it was.” McGillvery
held his head in his hands. “I feel as
if my head were fair to breakin’ but it seems to me that if someone gave us a
start in this poor tinker’s business then someone would have to give us a start
on the road to prosperity.”
McGillicuddy was completely baffled. “I do not understand, Gilly. I know for a fact that if ye were to ask anyone
we know for a start on the road to prosperity, ye’d be laughed out of
McGillvery hung his head in silence knowing
what McGillicuddy said was the fact of living. Finally, he said wistfully, “Perhaps men in all their injustice may not
help poor lads such as we, but could it be our dear heavenly Father would help
us be more than we are at this present moment in time? For you see,” he continued, “’tis a most
perplexing problem and not one many men would be able to answer seeing how’s
most are in the same small craft at sea as we be.”
“What you’re saying is that we’ve no one on
earth could or would help us and you’re thinking our dear Lord might be able to
lead the way?” asked McGillicuddy.
McGillvery nodded a glum head. “I know not what else to do seeing the
situation is so grave.”
McGillicuddy said, “It is traditional that
lads such as we look to a hope of better things beyond this life, laddie.
’Tis what our betters have taught us.
To think such thoughts as ye’re thinkin’ could be spiritual ruination
for simple folk such as we. We’re most
likely the little birds and rabbits of this world, Gilly, not the roarin’
lions.”
“And yet,” spoke McGillvery softly, “even the
lions enjoy the little bird’s song, Cuddy.”
McGillicuddy was quiet and then handed their
mother’s Book to McGillvery. “We’ve
never a night we didn’t say our prayers and read in the Book, Gilly. Why don’t you do that now?” he suggested
gently.
McGillvery cleared his throat and said, “I
thank thee that our poor dear mum did not live long enough to see the pitiable
situation her sons have sunk into and I thank thee for the skill of McGillicuddy’s
hands in carving the last potato so fairly and I pray thee to remember how thee
prospered Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob and remember us, their Irish Brothers,
Amen.”
“Amen,” agreed McGillicuddy.
McGillvery opened the parlor sized, leather
bound Book and read, “The meek shall inherit the earth.” He paused and noted significantly, “I’m
knowin’ two brothers who haven’t been doing much inheriting lately.”
A few pages later he read a verse that said, ‘If I had not expected to see my reward in this life’ and he turned amazed eyes in
McGillicuddy’s direction. “Cuddy! Did ye hear that now? I’ll read the words
again.” He slowly read, “’If I had not
expected to see my reward in this life….’
Cuddy! This was someone who wrote
that he expected to see a reward in this life while here on earth.”
McGillicuddy reached over and took the large
Book from McGillvery’s weather roughened hands and said, “Where did ye read
that?”
McGillvery rose from his warm stone seat and
stood over Cuddy’s shoulder pointing to the exact verse.
McGillicuddy looked and said excitedly, “Why,
this is a portion that David himself wrote and we jus’ talkin’ about him this
evening, too.”
McGillvery nodded elatedly, “And you see, Cuddy,
David said he was looking for some o’ the good things in this life! I can’t see any
wrong in wishing for the same things for ourselves that David wanted. Why he was a man after the Lord’s own
heart! The Book says so itself!”
“You know Lord,” he whispered to himself, “I
would sure like to see some of that inheriting and taste a little of King
David’s reward before I die.” McGillvery
paused for a moment as if reflecting, then said aloud to McGillicuddy, “You
know Lord Danbury has fresh fowl every evening’s meal.”
“Aye.
Well I know it.”
“And even the high tempered lassie and her
sister has a garden of fresh greens and herbs, potatoes to dig the year round.”
“Aye.”
“Then, Brother, it seems we must be doin’
something peculiarly backwards to be fightin’ so every day for the potato on
our plate.”
“Aye,” finally agreed McGillicuddy
halfheartedly. “If it were a famine time, it would seem more fair. But this isn’t scarcity times in any county
of Ireland—nary in the mountains nor the valleys—only in this here cottage,” he
said, pointing to their tinker’s wagon.
“So what do you be supposing, Gilly?”
“I been thinking maybe we’ve been not humble
enough and that’s why we ain’t got our daily victuals.”
“An’ how do ye mean?”
“Did you notice that verse last Sunday by the
vicar? I marked it a’purpose.” McGillvery retrieved the Book from McGillicuddy,
quickly flipped over several pages to a place specially marked with a blue silk
ribbon, and read, “See here…it says, ‘first comes fear of the Lord, humility,
riches, honor, and life.’ After that was read, I realized this must be the
Ladder of Success.”
“A ladder?” puzzled Cuddy.
“Sure, a pattern, a road, a way to walk so a
fine chap could get from one place to another more easily. I read that verse and I thought it was
tellin’ about a ladder that a discerning type could climb to get from a state
of poverty to a state of plenty. I
figgered we both were standing on the first rung of the ladder because we do
fear our Lord and that means there must be only one rung between us and wealth
beyond our wildest imaginings.”
McGillicuddy reached over, took the Book, and
read the verse, “‘Fear of the Lord, humility, riches, honor, and life’…An’ what
are you trying to say, Gilly? Are you
saying that since we fear the Lord the next step is to be humble? Somehow I’ve never thought of ourselves as
too awful proud.”
“But if we was really humble then we should
have our gold, Cuddy. You see, it says
right here that first one must fear the Lord, then one must have humility, and
then comes riches.”
“Well,” hesitated McGillicuddy. “Ye’re not knowing how big the space is
between those rungs on your Success Ladder.
I’m thinkin’ there’s a big gap between being ’umble and bein’ rich. I know we’re God-fearing folks. Our mum saw to that. We always pull into the first worship place
we see every worship day. We’ve always
shown respect for priest and vicar alike.
We spend regular time in the good Book.
We’ve always tried to do onto others as we’d want to be done. But still to be quite fair, Gilly, there’s a
heap of folks that have done the same and they’re not the rich of the land so
far as I can see.”
Gilly shook his head stubbornly, “This is the
Ladder of Success. I know we’re standing on that first rung and now we’ve got
to step up to the second rung. I’m thinking we’ve got something wrong in the
humility part and we’re needin’ to fix the error. The only reason the rest of those God-fearing
folks ’aven’t got their gold is they just never understood the Ladder and even
if they did, they jus’ couldn’t bring themselves to be that ’umble. Being ’umble is a difficult thing for a man
to accomplish, Cuddy.”
“Well, if that be true, how do you dispose us
to recondition our dispositions?” queried McGillicuddy logically.
“I was thinking on that,” replied Gilly’s
ready tongue. “The good Book says, ‘Ask
and ye’ll receive.’ So I’m thinking maybe we need to be humble enough to ask.”
“I asked for our daily needs today,”
countered Cuddy.
“But maybe that’s not formal enough nor
specific enough. Maybe we ought to ask
on bended knee like a knight would ask a Lord—maybe with our heads kind o’
lowered and trembly like.”
Cuddy looked thoughtful and finally said, “If
that will put a potato on our plate every night, let’s do it right now, Gilly.”
“All right,” delightedly replied Gilly.
“You’d better say it,” urged Cuddy, “since
you’d been thinkin’ on it a powerful lot longer than I have.”
So McGillvery and McGillicuddy entered the
old stone cottage, got down on the worn flagstone floor with bowed heads, clasped
hands, trembly hearts, and asked most properly for all the gold they’d ever
wanted and more. They stayed there until
their fire burned to black and Cuddy complained of his aching, stone-cold
knees.
“Be humble,” cautioned Gilly.
“If I’m any more humble, I’ll never walk
again,” chided Cuddy.
McGillvery sighed, “It’s probably enough
anyway. Were you truly humble in your
heart, McGillicuddy?” he inquired anxiously.
“Humble as ’umble pie,” reassured
McGillicuddy.
McGillvery sighed a satisfied sigh of relief. “Well, it should be a powerful request with a
powerful answer, Cuddy. For it says in
the Book that ‘two agreed together on earth is agreed in heaven.’”
So the brothers went to sleep with hopeful
hearts and slept deeply as does everyone with happy expectations.
Chapter 3
Land of Gone Forever
McGillvery was not sure what had awakened
him. He lay still and listened. There was something missing, but he wasn’t
sure what it was. He nudged McGillicuddy
who quietly groaned his protest about being awakened after such a short
sleep.
“Shhh!!!
Listen fair,” whispered Gilly.
Cuddy obliged with both ears carefully tuned
for a very long time and then whispered back, “What did you hear?”
“I didn’t hear any a thing.”
“Then for all the heavens above, why did you
awaken me? You awaken people when there’s
danger or when you hear something,” complained McGillicuddy in a low voice.
“It’s what I don’t hear that’s bothering me,”
whispered McGillvery.
McGillicuddy listened again and then laughed
quietly, “You don’t hear the sign squeaking on the back of the cart. It means the summer breeze has quite died
away.”
McGillvery listened again and agreed. “Ye’re right.
The Irish wind is resting in its bed and the sign is dead silent.” He looked at the stars in the sky and said,
“It must be around midnight, wouldn’t you say?” but McGillicuddy had already
gone back to sleep and did not reply.
Cuddy was the first to rise in the
morning. His stomach was growling quite
fiercely and he went to the back of the wagon to give their potato sack a short
shake just to reaffirm there was nothing in its bottom. After verifying there was nothing for
breaking the night fast, he called to Gilly, “If we head down the road, we
might be finding an apple tree. Wouldn’t
be bad sup on a summer morning.”
McGillvery, who had the slighter build of the
two brothers, was always looking for the next meal. He immediately retired from his bed sack and
began rolling both boys’ bedding into tight rolls for storage in the cart while
McGillicuddy hitched Belle and Shade to the wagon. The gray mare was tied to the back. Soon their sign was squeaking in time with
the music of the horses’ patient hooves as they pulled their load along
pleasant roads lined with greenery.
While Gilly minded the reins, Cuddy pulled
their mother’s Book from within the wagon letting it open where it may, placed
a roughened finger on the page, and began reading this verse:
“For
there is a mine for silver and a place for gold that they wash out, iron is
taken out of earth, and one melts stone to copper. Man has set an end to darkness, and to every
extremity he ransacks stone of blackness and gloom. An intruding people breaks into ravines that
were forgotten by feet; they suffer privations, they rove from men to a country
from which bread has gone out and whose underpart turns to be like fire. A place whose stones are malachite and which
has clods of gold. A path no bird of
prey knows nor has a kite’s eye glimpsed it.
Which boldest beasts have not trodden nor lion passed along it…He
explores the sources of rivers and brings to light an undiscovered
thing….”
McGillicuddy began to shiver so violently
that McGillvery took notice.
“What’s troubling you, Cuddy?” asked Gilly
anxiously. “Are ye getting’ a chill?”
McGillicuddy shook his head negatively and
firmly shut their mother’s Book. “Nay,”
he said in a voice that quivered in quite an unmanly manner.
Gilly pulled the horses short and examined
his brother’s face. “I’m sure knowin’
there’s somethin’ wrong with you. Are ye
that hungry then? If it comes to that,
we’ll eat that gray mare before ye get ill from the starvation. You know you won’t starve. We’ve still resources, Brother.”
Cuddy shook his head and with shaking voice
said, “Not the hunger, Gilly.”
“Then what, man?” urged Gilly. “Ye’re lookin’ right pale and frightenin’ me
some as if ye saw the Banshee for yerself or hearing her for the both of us.”
McGillicuddy looked queerly at
McGillvery. “Nay. Not the Banshee. It’s the verse I just read.”
“What could ever be bothering you about a
verse in Mother’s Book? It’s a Book for
giving peace not upset to men.” Gilly
examined Cuddy’s face more closely and exclaimed, “Ye are
frightened.” Gilly had great admiration
for Cuddy’s courage. Cuddy had gone away
when he was young on the foreign wars and come back again. He was a well-trained military man and a
fighting man as well. It would take a
great deal to frighten his brother.
McGillicuddy nodded his head affirmatively and
said palely, “I know a place exactly like the place that was described in the
Book, Gilly.”
McGillvery was quiet and said, “I was half
paying attention to the words when you were reading, Cuddy. Could you read it again? I’ll be paying closer attention.”
McGillicuddy opened the Book flipping many,
many pages for nearly a thirty- minute span and finally said, “I can’t find
it.”
“Can you paraphrase what you read?” asked
Gilly. “It was something about gold,
wasn’t it?” he prodded.
“Aye,” agreed Cuddy, “It was about where gold
can be found.”
“An’ what’s a verse in the good Book makin’
ye shudder like ye were receiving the Devil’s own sentence at Judgment Day when
it’s a verse about where to find what we most have need of?” asked Gilly.
“Didn’t ye hear what it said at all,
Gilly? It’s a place where no bird
flies. A place where the boldest of beasts
refuse to go. A place forgotten by men’s
feet. It’s the land of the Gone Forever,
Gilly.”
“Ye mean the
“Nay.
The Land of the Gone Forever.”
McGillvery scratched his head ponderingly. “The only place where one can go and not come
back on his own is the land where all the dead are, Cuddy. What kind of a land are you thinkin’ of?”
“There’s a place in
McGillvery was quite dumbfounded. “I’ve been back and forth everywhere a man
can walk and ride in
“No,” said Cuddy. “It’s a place with a narrow path into and no
path out.”
Gilly snorted in disgust, “You’re getting’
addled in your brain, Cuddy. If there’s
a path in, it serves a double purpose as a path out.”
“Not this path, Gilly.” Cuddy explained, “This path goes into a place
where you can see the footprints of men who’ve long ago gone, but there are no
prints showing they ever came out.”
Gilly thought about this for a moment and
then said, “Well, it’s a simple riddle then.
It’s like the mud flats when they’re fresh wet and a person walks on
them and leaves a print that dries in the mud.
Later in the afternoon when coming back all the flat is dry and a body can
walk right along the prints set in the ground without leaving nary a
trace. If the mud flats were a path, it
would look like travelers had gone in on the path and never come out. But of course, the travelers did come out. It just doesn’t show because when they
returned, the mud had dried and carried none of their prints.”
Cuddy shook his head, “This is not the same,
Gilly.”
“Explain yourself, then.”
“The prints are set in stone.”
When Gilly had no answer, Cuddy continued,
“An’ it’s a place you can never get to the bottom of.”
Gilly was beginning to feel the tickle of
hairs raising on the back of his neck.
“What do you mean?”
“When a person begins to walk down the path,
he begins to get fearful and trembly inside.
The feeling grows and grows until even a grown man will feel as if he’s
walkin’ into the face of Death himself.
Finally, the fear becomes so unbearable that a man has no other option
than to turn and run as fast as a good man from the dev’l himself past the spot
where he was first settin’ his foot. The
man will ever afterward never desire under any circumstance to go back into
that place.”
Gilly said, “If we were destined to go there,
Cuddy, we wouldn’t act the fools. We’re
not just any two men, Cuddy. Maybe
many men would behave in that manner, but never you and me.”
Cuddy looked at Gilly a bit wild eyed and said,
“The man running and leaping out of that place was me, Gilly.”
Gilly looked startled and said, “How came it
you found such a devil’s place?”
“The year I was shepherding for Lord Danby
above the
“Did the old one give you a reason for the
circumstances on that path?”
“He told me he thought it was the path into
the devil’s own den.”
“I’m not seein’ how
“Who knows?” said Cuddy, “There’s been many a
tale about supernatural doings at the source of the
“An’ ye’re saying the description in that verse
you were reading this morning exactly describes the place you tried to enter?”
“Aye, even down to the malachite stones.”
“Isn’t it an odd thing, Cuddy, that just last
night we were asking for gold and just this morning Mum’s Book opened to a
place about where to find the gold? It’s
even an odder coincidence that ye’re knowing exactly where such a place be.” Gilly looked at Cuddy and continued, “Mum
always said there was no such thing as chance in the lives of those belonging
to the Lord and that everything makes a complete picture in its own time. If you’re thinking closely about the matter,
it could be He showed you the place long ago seeing in advance we would be
needing material sustenance in these years.
When we relied upon Him by asking His assistance, He already had
everything in place for us to solve our financial woes.”
Cuddy shook his head vigorously side to side,
“You’re thinking we’re supposed to be going to that place to pick up the gold
we prayed for. I’m not wanting to ever
go back to that place, Gilly. Nothing is
worth returning to that place.”
Gilly laid his hand upon his brother’s arm. “Wait a minute now. When a fellow prays for a thing, the Lord
provides a way. But then a fellow’s got
to have the gumption to go forward. What
a fellow has to provide in every transaction with the Lord is the faith to act
upon His direction. Don’t you see? We asked like ’umble pie and received an
answer this very morning. We need to be
’umble enough to walk to that place and rescue our gold. Humility, Cuddy, humility!”
“I’m thinking of courage, Gilly.”
“We’ll be the ’umble lads and let the good Lord
have the courage,” boldly charged McGillvery.
McGillicuddy turned quite pale and looked far
down the road beyond Belle and Shade’s ears.
“Ye’re not understanding what it’s like,” he said. “We’re men of flesh and blood and we’ll not
be dealing with the matters of flesh and blood.
How can a man fight something unnatural?”
“All through Mum’s Book there’s stories of
folks battling the unnatural, Cuddy. Jacob wrestled with an angel and look at the
reward he received for his efforts.”
“I’m not Jacob, Gilly,” returned Cuddy. “I’m just a poor Irish tinker.”
“A hungry Irish tinker,” said Gilly
pointedly.
“We could eat the gray mare and not be hungry
for many a day,” suggested Cuddy.
“An’ when we’d quite finished ’er we’d be
jus’ that much poorer and still lookin’ for our next meal,” said Gilly. He stubbornly added, “The Lord never intended
for his own to be doing without.”
Cuddy sighed and conceded, “The Book is
overflowing with the promises he makes for His own. He raises lowly men from impossible circumstances
to places of roomy surplus. I’ve read it
in the Book and know it must be so. But,
it’s one thing to read a fair story of others’ good fortunes at the Lord’s hands
and quite another to see it for oneself, Gilly.” He sat for a moment as if ruminating on their
future and then reached across Gilly’s lap, took the wagon’s reins from his
hands, gave the signal to Belle and Shade, and said, “We’ve no other place to go,
have we, Gilly?”
“That’s the way I’m seein’ it, Brother. We’ve been backed as far into a corner as we
can go and have no way out now except to fight it out.”
“Then, mark the date in Mother’s Book,
Gilly,” said Cuddy resignedly. “’Tis a Friday
morning in
Chapter 4
The Dreamer Begins
Many a dreamer fails to begin his
journey. He fails because he forgets
that the role he plays on the human stage of life is not the planner, the
adviser, or the reasoner. The dreamer
has one job—to hope, to believe, to speak the dream into being. Let the practical planner plan. Let the advisor count the cost. Let the reasoner dictate the journey is
ill-advised for financial reasons, for health reasons, for unforeseen
circumstances, for fear of failure. The
dream, a fragile thing giving to playfully teasing for the opportunity to
become reality, easily fades away into nothingness if the dreamer does not
stand firm for its right to live. The
dreamer hangs his future on the coat rack of hope and with his dream as company
proceeds along his way.
And, that is the peg upon which McGillvery
and McGillicuddy hung the success of their journey. They had no material resources and no education
upon which to make more sure decisions—no deep, lasting circles of friends from
which to draw excellent advice. The only thing they had was a dream of changing
their circumstances in life, hope that it could be done, and the beginning of a
path to walk. Somewhere along the way
hope must undergo a transformation into a quality with substance. ‘Faith is the assured expectation of the
things hoped for,’ says the Book. But,
directions on how to transmute hope into faith are not so very clear. Sometimes it can take a lifetime to develop
and sometimes it can come in a hurry.
The brother’s journey took them to the edge
of a long lane winding past a pied cottage that McGillicuddy had not forgotten
nor had he visited since his mother’s death. Belle and Shade turned the wagon into the lane
as if they were finally going home.
McGillvery made no move to correct the horses’ decision and justified
the delay with their need for supplies for their journey.
“We’ve need of sustenance, Cuddy. She had respect for our mother. At least she’ll not turn us away.”
A large, red-haired woman emerged from the
cottage doorway while three shepherd dogs came loping down the lane to greet
the tinker’s wagon. Soon a young girl of
about fourteen years of age appeared from the apple orchard with an apron full
of summer fruit. Both women broke into
smiles and waved the wagon into the yard.
“McGillvery and McGillicuddy! No one hereabouts has heard of neither of you
for such a long time. I’d thought you
had grown so rich from tinkering in other counties that ye’d emigrated to
McGillicuddy blushed and said, “Not when we
could be keeping company with
“An’ ye haven’t lost the Irish tongue, I
see,” she retorted archly and quickly added,
“Then if it’s company you’re caring to keep you’d best be turning the horses
to pasture and showing us your wares.
We’ve apple pastries to bake and may trade you some potatoes for some
fabrics before many days have passed.”
McGillicuddy had grown as deeply crimson as
red morning. McGillvery waved their thanks
while urging Belle and Shade toward pasture.
They pulled the wagon into the orchard before releasing the horses and
pulled a pail of water from the spring to wash and shave.
After sincere efforts to smooth the rough
edges of their appearance, Gilly noted, “Ye’re lookin’ right fine, Cuddy.”
Cuddy felt his smooth cheeks while looking
around at the trimness of Dearbháil’s home and pastures. “A fellow could smell almost decent every day
with such handiness about him—running water all the year. She’s got herself a paradise of luxuries,
that’s for sure.”
Gilly reached into a small wooden box kept in
a chest. “Here,” he said, handing
McGillicuddy a bottle of Bay Rum. “It’s
the gentleman’s way of announcing his arrival.
A bit of the scent on your face and ye’ll be as presentable as Lord
Darroughby.”
A small giggle escaped from behind the wagon
and Tamara appeared with an impish gleam in her green eyes. “What’s that awful smell?” she asked
mirthfully.
McGillicuddy looked at McGillvery, “Is it
smelling?”
“Nay.
Can’t ye see the child’s teasing you?”
“Don’ be listening to him, McGillicuddy. It smells fiercesome bad,” she retorted
firmly.
McGillicuddy reopened the bottle and passed
it to her. “You wouldn’t want to be
trying any then, would you?”
Tamara’s eyes lighted with joy and she
quickly put two fingers to the neck of the glass jar touching a bit of the Bay
Rum behind her ears. “I’ll be borrowing
it for a bit, Cuddy,” she said and just that quickly ran toward the cottage
with the gentleman’s scent in her hand.
“Must not have smelled too badly,” observed
McGillvery. “The child was quick to try
it and quicker still to share it.”
McGillicuddy laughed and asked, “Do we still
have a bit of the Lavender packed away?
Would be a fine thing if the lassies were smellin’ a bit different from
the laddies.”
McGillvery got into the wagon and soon
presented two small bottles on which he tied two green silk ribbons. “They will make a superior thank you for the
apple tarts we’ll be havin’ this evening.”
McGillicuddy smiled his thanks and the two
brothers headed toward Dearbháil and Tamara’s cottage. “How different it is to be among friends than
strangers, Gilly. I’m smelling the tarts
and some cabbage, too.”
They knocked politely on the cottage door and
Tamara flung it open. The smell of Bay
Rum hung heavily in the room nearly overpowering the lovely smell of the
tarts. McGillicuddy’s eyes roved longingly
over the plaid checked tablecloth and the deep glasses filled to brim with
creamy fresh milk. Small pats of new butter
lay near each plate and man-sized napkins conveniently lay to the side of the
forks. Dearbháil noted his satisfaction
and nodded her head knowingly.
“Best be sitting yourselves. The cabbage is hot and the soda bread just
coming from the oven. Tamara’s already
laid by a most enticing apple jelly this year that she’s sure to be trying on you
this evening.”
The boys immediately sat themselves at table
and then McGillicuddy rose apologizing.
“It’s been a long time since Mother passed away and we’ve near forgot
our Christian manners, Dearbháil.” He
walked toward her while reaching into his pocket for the small bottles of
lavender. “One for you and one for
Tamara. A thank you in advance for the
fine evening and kindness of your hospitality.”
Dearbháil smiled while taking the two bottles
from him. “An’ Irish colored ribbons, too.
They’ll look lovely in her hair, Cuddy.”
After setting the bottles on a shelf, she handed two large skillets to
him and said, “Put them on table and I’ll be bringing the bread.”
Tamara was setting the new summer’s jelly on
the table and took the covers from the two skillets. One was filled with cabbage and the other
with shepherd potatoes.
McGillvery’s eyes fairly watered with
anticipation as Dearbháil sat three loaves of soda bread at table and began
breaking them into thick, soft, hot pieces.
Without conversation the meal began while many a hungry night was
forgotten at the small table covered in green plaid. The evening passed merrily with music
provided from the harp, tinker’s stories swapped about places small and grand,
tea and apple tarts served at midnight, and rolls of fabric spread for the women’s
viewing at candle’s glow in the wee hours of the morning.
Three days passed in such a fashion before
McGillvery finally tugged at McGillicuddy’s elbow. “’Tis time we were going, Cuddy. We’ve a prayer to seek the answer to and an
adventure to undertake.”
McGillicuddy was greasing the cart’s rear
wheel while sitting under an apple tree and did not immediately answer.
McGillvery continued pleasantly, “If the
place ye’ve been telling me of is not far from here, we need not be gone for
many days.”
McGillicuddy remained silent.
McGillvery noted his brother’s reticence and
quietly added, “I’ve been thinking on it a bit.
We could leave the wagon with Dearbháil and Tamara. Would give us a reason to stop at the cottage
again when we’ve become the successful gentlemen.”
McGillicuddy finished the rear wheel and
rolled it toward the wagon for remounting.
“We
can take Belle and Shade as riding horses and leave the gray mare for Dearbháil. She’s a way with animals and could use the
mare once it’s had time to heal,” continued McGillvery.
McGillicuddy looked down at the ground while
wiping the sweat from his brow. He
continued with the mounting of the wheel while McGillvery planned.
“Do ye want me to tell Dearbháil we’re on our
way, then?”
“Nay.
There’s no need. I’ll be tellin’ her,” reluctantly agreed Cuddy.
The next morning the two brothers rode away
from the pied cottage with Dearbháil and Tamara left standing in the door. The tinker’s wagon sat forlornly in the apple
orchard, its sign strangely quiet. They
turned to wave until the hospitable property faded away into green pastures and
rolling hills. Belle and Shade patiently
plodded forward while flicking ears against the occasional straying insect.
All that day they traveled along the
McGillicuddy said, “We’re not far now from
the Sinks. An’ it’s there, Gilly, you’ll find the place described in Mother’s
Book.”
“We’re that close by then?” queried Gilly.
“That close an’ already a dread coming over
me.”
“Don’t be speaking so fearfully, Cuddy. The Lord’s men walk confident and sure, with
no fear, for they’ve His promises to hold and protect them.”
“I’d fight a thousand enemies of flesh and
blood, Gilly, with both arms resting on my Lord for strength. But, what lives in the Sinks is not something
that assails the body, but the spirit.”
Gilly quietly ignored Cuddy’s presentiment
and asked, “Is the trail into the Sinks easily found?”
“Nay, not easily found. But it’s a trail an Irish mum could walk,
it’s that broad. Only there’s not an
Irish mum in
“Two are better than one for accomplishing
all things,” replied Gilly in rebuttal.
“’Tis what our dear mother always told us. It’s the wisdom for us staying together all these
years. When one of us is down, the
other’s up. We’ve made a better showing
that way. King Solomon’s proverb says,
‘A threefold cord might never be broken.’
So faith man! There’s you and me
and the good Lord—a fine threefold cord.
We two can fight the flesh and He can fight the spirit. So what more do we need than that? He’s leading the way and we’re just
a’following. That’s as innocent as can
be. Harm should pass us by. ‘Tho’ ye walk through the valley of deep
shadow.’ Remember the words, Cuddy? Do ye think they have no real meaning? No real power? Come now,
Cuddy was quiet and had hung his head, half
ashamed. “You’re right, Gilly. I’m glad our own darlin’ mother isn’t here to
see my fearful set. But faith is a gift,
Gilly. I always felt you were more
deeply imbued with it than I.”
Gilly blushed with pleasurable pride. “I did always take a heap of store by the
Book, didn’t I?”
“Aye, you did.”
The boys continued their hike long until
evening shadows were slinking darkened cat’s paws over and around the rocks and
knarled stumps that passed for trees in this
land of ancient lore.
“Looking Glass
“McGillicuddy,” consoled McGillvery, “perhaps
we’ll have one of those trout on the way back from our journey.”
Cuddy grimaced. “If we make it back, Gilly.”
“Now, Cuddy, faith,” warned McGillvery.
“Ahem, faith,” repeated Cuddy.
Gilly sat on a stump along the highland trail
they’d been following and looked around.
“This seems as good a place as any to be making our camp seein’s how the
moon’s past full already. We’re needin’
to catch the evening light early.”
Cuddy agreed and set his pack on the ground while
Gilly pulled out one of Dearbháil’s baked potatoes. He grimaced as he accepted the half cold
potato from Gilly. But after several
diligent movements of his jaw, remarked, “Did you ever notice how much finer
the potatoes from the middle of
“Aye.
It’s that black soil and the mineral springs they waters their gardens
with. Gives ’em body and taste.”
“Ye know, Gilly,” said Cuddy stretching
himself comfortably alongside their sleeping rolls, “It was a fine piece of hospitality
Dearbháil set before us the last three days.”
“Mmmm,” sighed Gilly. “I’m wishing we could be going to sack with a
piece of her soda bread fresh and hot from oven and Tamara’s apple jelly in our
middle sections. The young lassie’s got
a way with the jellies.”
“It’s a more comfortable life they lead
that’s for sure. T’would be a good thing
for us to stay rather than leave them.”
“Dearbháil’s a self-sufficient lassie. I’m not sure she’s needin’ a tinker or two
staying.”
Cuddy lowered his head and said, “There’s
such a thing as a man so foolish that ’e’s no sense to know when good comes to
him. Seems like the most good we’ve had
in many a day came to us this week when we decided to turn in at Dearbháil’s. Would be an imprudent thing not to recognize
the good and find a way to make ourselves a part of it.”
Gilly pictured Dearbháil’s hair—red flamin’
like an Atlantic sunset. “I’m not one to
speak ill, especially when I’m lovin’ to see Dearbháil any time of the
year. But I’ll be reminding you there’s
many a good to be found besides a good meal in the evening, Brother. Forgive my lack of charity and I’m
apologizing for the outspoken thought before I’m saying it, but I’m thinking
her tongue could be a mite spiteful without half trying. Somehow whenever I’m around her I think of
Mother saying, ‘If a man’s wantin’ praise, he’d best die; if he’s wantin’
blame, he’d best marry.’”
McGillicuddy grinned. “Aye.
I see it, sure. I’m not foolin’
myself. In the spark of her eye and the
way she sets her mouth firm-like when a turnip won’t come out of the ground on
the first pull is a definite sign of strong will. But a fine, self-sufficient woman like that
is somewhat of a comfort to a man.”
“You sure don’t want to be the turnip Dearbháil’s
pullin’,” observed McGillvery dryly.
“Nor pushing either,” grinned
McGillicuddy. “Only a successful man
could keep those firm lines melted into softness on Dearbháil’s sweet lips.”
“Maybe she might want a successful man to be
a mite more successful and then a
mite more successful, Cuddy. Then you would be right back where you
started from with her.”
“Maybe.
But money can cushion things, Gilly. If anything, a man can be away on
business from time to time.”
“You can do that in your tinker’s wagon.”
“Aye, but Dearbháil isn’t a woman to have her
man gone all the time and there’s Tamara to think of, too. Dearbháil’s got larger plans for her sister
than inheriting a tinker’s trade.”
McGillvery was silent. Dearbháil was pretty in the morning and when
laughing had the trill of a lark in her voice, but when those green eyes
flashed—no—not for him. He’d take a
brown-eyed lassie like his own mother any day.
A contented, amiable female was a jewel which maybe didn’t flash with
the fire of Dearbháil, but was still a worthy treasure. Satisfied with that easy thought, Gilly soon
drowsed into a deep slumber followed shortly by his brother’s peaceful and
regular breathing.
Long before daybreak, Cuddy was rousing McGillvery. “I don’t want to be walking into the Sinks in
the evening, Gilly. So, up with you
now. It’s bad enough we didn’t travel as
far as the Looking Glass on the yesterday.”
They ate their potatoes along the way and
long before noon passed the lake and stood at last on the edge of
“It’s a picture,” breathed McGillvery.
“Aye.
Only here is the Emerald Isle truly blue, Gilly.”
“Who’d of thought it? Blue as the willow on Mum’s teapot.”
“That’s why they call it the
“’Tis an odd name—the Sinks. Why’d they call them the Sinks?” asked Gilly
while tightening and securing his pack.
“Some things are best left in misty dreams of
long ago,” hesitantly answered Cuddy.
“Nay.
We both need be prepared for what comes, Cuddy. Tell me the story,” urged Gilly.
Cuddy replied, “Maybe as far back a time as
when the large stones were laid along the sea is the age of the tale. In those far away days, a ship of raiders
landed on western shores. It was an
unexpected thing and many a village lost.
But good men rallied and sent their most courageous warriors to help
their brothers along the sea. Fierce
fighters they were and successfully saved many a village from the
marauders. But on the way home the
heroes were that anxious to be home for seeing their wives and families that
they took a shorter way.”
“The Sinks?” queried McGillvery.
“The Sinks,” acknowledged McGillicuddy. “You can still see the path they took into
the Sinks, but no path coming out.”
This was the second time McGillicuddy had
spoken of the path they were to travel in such a manner. “How can there be a path in and no path out,
Cuddy?” asked Gilly with a bit of irritation.
“That’s cat-e-cornered talk if I ever heard and a fine beginning of a
fanciful leprechaun tale for smallish children!”
“No, no,” hastily assured Cuddy. “The footprints are still there. You’ll see them soon.”
Gilly pondered this piece of information for
a moment and then asked, “An’ the warriors never came home?”
“They never came home.”
For the first time in this adventure, McGillvery’s
heart quavered a bit. For, after all,
the desire for gold must be intense to cause any man to go forward when it would
be easier and more comfortable to stay in familiar territory.
In truth, the brothers’ lot in life was not
much different from the majority of men the world over. A good wife can make strong beginnings toward
mending much of the comforts a man sorely lacks with her sewing, milking, and
gardening ways. Both boys, however,
could not bear the thought of coming home some years down the road to a reproachful
look from an ageing wife as he delivered no coin for many days labor at
tinkering. This vision of an imaginary
feminine face full of utmost sadness had made them thrust aside all thoughts of
marriage for many a year and now this same face made McGillvery throw aside his
momentary hesitation and fear. His chin
came up with an air of determination.
“Well, then, they must have been fairly silly
to have wandered round and round in a smallish place like that and couldn’t
even find the path they originally walked on when even today it is as plain for
any to see.”
“Or maybe ’tis only a path in and no path
out,” repeated McGillicuddy again quietly.
Gilly hesitated in his step,
“It was the old sheepherder who told you the tale, Cuddy? You never heard the tale from another?”
“Never heard the story anywhere
else. He had me lead the way down the
path and told me afterward he wanted to see if I felt the same about the path
into the Sinks as he.”
“’An you did?” asked Gilly, wanting to hear the story once again.
“I turned and ran clear over the top of the ole’ man without a ‘Please,
get out of my way’ before we were twenty meters down the trail.”
“Did you go that far down onto the path, then?”
“Aye, but in truth it’s jus’ a little way. The trail seems long as if it extends into
forever.”
Gilly strode forward albeit more slowly and
less willingly than before.
It was Cuddy who finally turned and urged
him, “Come now,
Gilly looked ahead and saw a wide patch of
clouds just skimming along the ground.
“It looks like I could near walk on top o’ them,” he wonderingly mused.
Cuddy was scanning the ground carefully while
walking around the edge of the lovely white expanse floating inconsequentially
alongside the edge of mountain grasses.
Finally, Cuddy motioned with his hand. “Here.
It’s not changed. This is the
place, Gilly. See, the stone path
leading down into the clouds.”
“I can see why ye were afraid, Cuddy. It would be hard seeing where to put one’s
foot in all that cloud. A body would be
fearful of falling off the path into a deep valley or miry place where ’e
couldn’t ever be found again.”
“Nay.
’Tis not so. As soon as ye step
into the cloud, it vanishes.”
“That’s not likely, Cuddy.”
“Follow me and I’ll show you the reality of
the matter. But,” and he held his hand out
to Gilly, “you must know, Gilly, you will be overpowered with the desire to
return from whence you came.”
Gilly noted Cuddy’s serious blue eyes and
nodded. “Let’s make a pledge we’ll not
turn back, Cuddy. We’ve got to claim our
fortune. The Word promised it would be
found in a place such as this.”
Cuddy lowered his eyes and clasped his hands. “I’ve no words to tell you how it will
be. These many years later I still feel
it. Ye’ll just have to experience it for
yourself. But, I’ll go ahead as long as
you will follow. Our dear Lord protect
us and bless us, his simple men.”
Gilly’s eyes moistened a bit. Unlike Cuddy, this was the most adventure he had
ever undertaken. It was requiring more
courage than he had ever needed in his entire life. “Thank you for going first, Cuddy. You being a military man and more bold
than I. If you lead, I’ll do my best to
follow and may God bless the head and the tail of this most earnest party.”
Cuddy nodded, turned toward the path, and instantly
disappeared. Gilly quickly followed and
true to Cuddy’s word, above them was a ceiling of brightly lit cloud and in
front of them was a broad, stone path with the record of myriads of feet
permanently set in stone. The footprints
descended. No footprints came back.
As the boys progressed down the path an increasing
tightness gripped their chests while every hair on their bodies raised as does
the hair on a dog when it is alerted of extreme danger.
Finally, Gilly gasped, “Cuddy!”
“I can’t turn ‘round, Gilly, for if I do I’ll
jump right over you and run all the way to the top of the Blue Mountains.”
Gilly breathed heavily. A profuse sweating broke on his body. He felt like a man sitting in the fiercely
hot radium pots of the Southern Irish shores.
“I don’t seem to get my breath, Cuddy.”
“It’s the Dread on you, Gilly. You need to think of the words, Gilly, or
we’ll never make it beyond this point.”
“Be…of…good...courage…little flock…,”
whispered Gilly. “Fear…not…I have
approved of…giving you…the kingdom.”
“Every perfect…present…comes…from above,”
struggled Cuddy.
“Ask…of the Father…for wisdom…for He
gives…generously…to all.”
And so the brothers marched deeper and deeper,
past where no animals dared wander, following the petrified footprints of a
band of long ago warriors into the black stillness of the Sinks—a place where
no breeze played, no bird sang, no vulture or eagle drifted. The trees and flowers melted away and the
earth became nothing but hardened, glassy-like rock—slippery, sharp, and
treacherous.
As suddenly as the brothers stood on the
floor of the smooth rock, the Dread lifted.
Gilly breathed deeply and wiped his perspiring brow. “We made it, Cuddy. We must say a thank you prayer for our dear
Lord’s provision for our lives.”
After a short prayer, the boys looked around
the unearthly landscape, and Cuddy asked, “What now?”
Chapter 5
Peculiar Places
Everywhere the boys looked, glassy, volcanic
lava lay in smooth shaven shards. Gilly
shivered a bit while wondering aloud at the time of day. “It seems midday with the bright cloud for
sky. Not knowing how the light sets in
this peculiar place, perhaps we’d best be making our way to a safe place for
night’s camp, Cuddy.”
Cuddy nodded. It had occurred to
him that the bright light on the path had dimmed to quite a degree at the
bottom of the Sinks. “I’ve not been
seeing where the band of good men went, Gilly.
Their footprints have quite disappeared.”
Gilly looked everywhere in astonishment. “It’s almost as if they walked into thinnish
air, Cuddy.”
“Aye.
Perhaps it would be best if we could make a nest high like a bird for
this evening’s rest. Are ye seeing a
ledge anywhere we might climb to for safety?”
Gilly looked carefully along the sheer face
of the black cliff in front of them.
“Nay. We’d best navigate the base
of this dark mountain for a bit. Perhaps
we’ll find such a place as ye’re lookin’ for.”
Cuddy’s military training cautioned him to
mark the trail out of the Sinks with a large pile of rock. While Gilly had made fun of the silliness of
the band of warriors losing their way in the Sinks, neither he nor Cuddy
thought they would be any luckier than those legendary heroes when they wished
to leave.
“After all,” reasoned Cuddy, “if two heads
are better’n one, hundreds of minds working on a puzzle should have been that
much more effective in unraveling difficult problems. At first glance it seems their many minds
were ineffectual in resolving their dilemma.”
As an added precaution, he pulled his
mother’s locket from his side pocket and hung its silver strand atop their
stone pile. “She always loved us, Gilly,
and she’ll lead us back should we have any trouble.”
“The Good Lord will do the leading,” corrected
Gilly and then smiled. “But it’s a good
idea. See how it gleams against the
black rock. We’ll sure not miss it when
passing this way again.”
No sooner had the boys set out along the
bottom’s edge of the cliff then that quick Cuddy hollered, “There. See. A
smallish cave midway up the cliff’s face.
An’ a few handholds for us to make it with ease. If we can reach that, Gilly, we’ve a safe
night’s sleep and can viewpoint this bottomland. There may be water near the center of the
Sinks or some other useful item for our adventure.”
The cave was smallish with enough room for a
tall man to stand in. Ten men might
comfortably sleep on the floor which was made of the same material as the
Sink’s base—smooth, glassy-black rock. Surprisingly,
a pool of clear water bubbled in the extreme back of the cave. The boys stood marveling at that small
wonder.
“It bubbles, but puts forth no stream,
Cuddy,” observed Gilly.
“A phenomenon I’ve never seen quite the like
of in any of my travels, Gilly,” agreed Cuddy.
“Is it a slight popping noise the bubbles are
making?” asked Gilly.
“Aye.
I’ve heard of such waters in Normandy.
Sparkling waters. They are sought for strong ability to restore
health. Some call them life-giving
waters.”
Gilly turned to walk toward the cave’s
entrance for the purpose of surveying the Sinks, but a soft Irish mist had
risen from the nape of the cliff to envelop all they might have seen.
“It’s odd how with fresh water and an Irish
mist there’s no greenery or bluery here,” commented Gilly. “I’ve half a notion not to drink the
water. Maybe it boils up from some
poisonous recess deep within the earth.”
“An’ maybe it’s as pure as can be. For what could grow on this black glass,
Gilly?” inquired Cuddy.
“Our Irish moss could grow anywhere there’s a
mist, Cuddy, and you don’ see it growin’ now, do ye?”
“No, I don’t.
But we may discover reason enough by the morrow. For now, let’s eat our potatoes and sleep off
the Dread of the Sinks.”
While they ate, the mist raised to the level
of the cave’s entrance. It looked thick
enough to walk on.
“’Tis a beautiful thing, Gilly,” said Cuddy.
“An’ sure ’tis. Makes a fellow properly sleepy. I’ll be saying my evening prayers and wishing
you a good night, Cuddy.”
“Good night, Gilly.”
Both boys rolled into their blankets—the mist
at their feet, the bubbling spring at their heads.
It must have been along toward morning when
Gilly had the oddest dream of the earth shaking, groaning, and cracking. The cave’s floor split open to reveal stair
steps just neatly carved with the bubbling spring cascading down them like a
regularly paced waterfall. He seemed to
feel Cuddy shaking him, telling him to get up, and look.
Their voices echoed oddly as they engaged in
a hurried conference over the open stair steps.
“Where did they come from?”
“I’m sure not knowing. It seems an otherworldly invitation.”
“If we accept the invitation, we may not have
the power to retreat should we decide the party wasn’t one to our liking,” said
Gilly fearfully. “You spoke of the Land
of the Gone Forever. This may be it.”
“We’ve come this far,” reasoned Cuddy. “An invitation requests either a yes or a no
for an answer. There is not a between response.”
“What will happen should we say no?”
questioned Gilly. “We are not in the
safe keeping of our own county to know the rules and ways of saying no.”
“’Tis a good point, Gilly. In our own land, ‘Yes’ is usually the best
answer when invited. It bespeaks of
graciousness,” thoughtfully spoke Cuddy.
“Then, let’s hope graciousness is a valuable
quality in this land,” said Gilly as he reached a hand toward Cuddy for the
beginning of a walk into depths unknown.
They joined hands and began the treacherous
walk down the steps to see what was at the bottom. The water made the steps uncommonly slippery. The brothers soon released their grip in
order to grope slowly and carefully along the walls toward an ever increasing
brightness until at last they were in a room so bright it seemed nothing could
be distinguished except light. With
time’s passing the brothers became aware of shimmering yellow colors within the
white light. They strained their eyes to
focus and found they were trying to see mountains of golden nuggets as
abundantly present as the acres of harvested grapes in Normandy.
Gilly dropped to his knees and scooped
handful after handful of the golden clusters into his cupped hands, letting
them fall easily into glistening, rounded mounds.
Cuddy whispered, “By the Saints, Gilly, we’ve
become the successful men.”
“It’s an answer to prayer given from true
men’s hearts to a good Lord with ears to hear and a loving disposition to show
where to be finding a future. It’d be a
fittin’ time to give thanks, Cuddy.”
“Nay,” objected Cuddy suddenly. “That’s like saying your thanks before your
meal instead of after, Gilly. How can
you give thanks for something ye haven’t yet received? Better to eat it and then give thanks. That’s the proper way. We’re not home with this gold yet. Have you thought, a man can only pack so much
gold because of its heaviness? We didn’t
bring a little one wheeled cart nor anything stronger than our knapsacks in
which to haul our treasure, Gilly.”
Gilly stopped running his fingers through the
golden nuggets for a moment. “It seems
we didn’t plan well, Cuddy. If we had
truly believed our Lord, we would have brought the tools necessary to take up
what He promised. I’m that much sorry
for my lack of faithful planning.” He
stood upright and surveyed the room.
“Ah! Here’s what we’re needin’—two rucksacks of uncommon durability.”
Cuddy admitted these bags were well made for
the job and, appropriating one to himself, began to fill it brimful. It was barely all a stout man could carry,
but it would do.
Gilly did the same. “’Tis a very great shame to leave so much
behind, Cuddy.”
“Aye, ’tis.
But now this will do and there’s no saying we won’t be able to come
again. What’s this now? Seems a bit quieter in the room.” Cuddy turned to look and said, “I’m wondering
where the water went that was cascading down the steps?”
True enough the water was no longer
there. In its place a white cat of
tremendous stature was slinking down the stairs as evenly and smoothly as the
water had flowed before.
There were no cats to match the like of this
cat in all Ireland, of that Gilly and Cuddy were certain. But, this was the Blue Mountains beyond the
“Scat, puss.
Scat. Begone with ye. We’re two Irish lads a leavin’ this county
for our own.”
The Cat stood erect on his hindmost feet and
struck through the air with extended claws as sharp as the talons of
eagles. Cuddy had once seen a rabbit
clutched in such claws. He shivered at
the thought—for he and Gilly were in proportionate size to the Cat as prey to
the hunter. Gilly was so very close to
the Cat that he was looking under it’s chin and there saw a necklace of gold
round its neck with a queer kind of writing engraved on the nameplate. The room suddenly shook with a roaring sound
louder than a multitude of waterfalls. Gilly found himself gazing into the
pinkish depths of that white carnivore.
Past the rows of pearly sharp teeth, he saw a tongue so rough it seemed
as the scales of a salmon roughed all backwards.
“Perhaps scat was not the appropriate term,
Gilly,” whispered Cuddy.
The shock of looking so close and so far down
the throat of the creature quite addled Gilly’s brain for thinking what else to
say.
Cuddy looked steadily at the Cat and began
humming a consoling tune, “Here now, pussy.
Be a nice pussy. Purr a little
song, pussy,” to no effect. The Cat
merely swished its tail, roared again, and leapt over the boys’ heads to the
far side of the room. It began pacing
back and forth, watching both boys with yellow, glittering eyes—eyes not unlike
the gold it seemed to guard.
The situation the boys found themselves in,
tightened its severity when the water
resumed its quiet flow over the steps assuring an ascent out of the
cavern would be treacherous business loaded as they were with golden clusters
of their future.
“What’ll we do, Cuddy?” whispered Gilly.
“We could start backing toward the steps and
retreat slowly and carefully one by one until we’ve reached the cave’s mouth
and continue a retreat to the path out of the Sinks. Never show fear you know. The proper sort of attitude can quite save the
day in the face of danger.”
Because Gilly greatly admired Cuddy’s
tactical expertise he naturally and promptly agreed it was quite the
proper thing to do.
They began a backward two-step to the
stairway never taking their gaze from the eyes of the Cat. Suddenly, with the rush of a stiff breeze,
the room filled with one word.
“Thieves.”
Gilly stopped. “Who said that? Who said ‘Thieves’?” For even in the face of such uncertainty it
was inconceivable that anyone should accuse the two brothers of such a base
condition as thief.
“Tinkering thieves,” the voice repeated.
“Nay, not thieves and never thieves,”
disagreed Gilly.
“And what’s your definition of thieves,
McGillvery?” a husky voice whispered.
“’E knows me name, Cuddy,” whispered Gilly in
astonishment. Peculiar as that would seem in the natural order of their Irish
world, in a dream it could be quite proper for a cat to know such things.
“’Tis not the primary issue here,” whispered
Cuddy.
Gilly nodded in agreement. This cat had leveled a bitter charge against
McGillvery’s character and, worse yet, on the spotless reputation of
McGillicuddy. Of course, that was
uncalled for in the real world or in the Sinks.
One’s name before others is more valuable than any earthly
treasure. Once sullied, a name is often
in a state of dishonor for one’s entire life and therefore must be guarded and
defended assiduously.
So, Gilly drew himself to his full meter and
a half height, straightened his hat, and looked the Cat straight in the eye as
only a man of good conscience can.
“A man can only be charged with thievery if
he’s taken something not rightfully his.
And ye can see we’ve only the clothes on our backs and these rucksacks.”
“But what’s IN those rucksacks?” spat the Cat.
“Nary a thing but the gold from this room,” truthfully
spoke McGillvery.
The Cat leapt across half the room toward the
brothers. He stood on his hindermost
legs as bears sometimes do when ready to fight and began speaking as if
standing in a court of law delivering the final charges before the judge gives
sentence.
“You don’t belong here. You’ve no right to the gold. I’ve no Passport of Entrance for you. You passed the Dread without legal
permission. I’ve no Certificate of Duty
Free Export for two rucksacks of gold for a McGillvery or a McGillicuddy. Without the appropriate documentation, it is
obvious to me you are both thieves and not only thieves but liars as well. The Supreme Punishment is in order.”
Such a long charge of infractions of the
Rules of the Sinks quite silenced Gilly.
But Cuddy, having been in the military and knowin’ all about infractions
of rules, countered with, “Ye know as well as I that paperwork sometimes gets
lost in the jungly maze of paper handlers.
The Passport of Entrance may have delayed in processing. We gave the proper words to the Dread for we
entered, didn’t we? And as for Certificate
of Duty Free Export, who is to say whether you yourself properly recognized
it? It may have been misfiled, mislaid,
misjudged, or misread.”
The Cat narrowed its yellowish eyes and began
a swishy twitching of its tail. Gilly
had seen his mother’s own tabby do quite the same before pouncing on
unfortunate quarry.
“Even if you had all the proper
documentation,” the Cat accused slowly, “you’ll both be found guilty for you’ve
broken the Ultimate Law.”
At this, Gilly more than found his tongue,
spluttering at the indignity of the accusation,
“Broken the Ultimate Law? And
name me this law, dear Cat.”
“You’ve broken the Ultimate Law of Plenteous
Possession,” solemnly announced the Cat.
“We’re great admirers of all law,” protested
Gilly. “We’re understanding the
importance of law in society. We read
our mother’s Book regularly to keep from breaking the laws peculiar to our
Lord. What are the specifics of this law
you are accusing us of breaking?”
“The Law says those who do not work, shall
not eat. It also says, ‘Go to the ant,
you lazy idler and observe his ways.’”
“We’ve always worked for our food and idle
bread we’ve never eaten,” remonstrated Cuddy hastily.
“But you’ve not earned this gold,” purred the
Cat, creamy and velvety soft words spoken with a sucking twist of satisfaction. “Gold shall not go with the man who has not
worked for it.”
Gilly looked at Cuddy and Cuddy looked at
Gilly. No more words came to them. For
an Irishman whose very tongue is linked to celestial inspiration this meant only
one thing—a departure of words meant the Cat could pronounce sentence and
execute judgment.
“Pray, Cuddy, pray,” whispered Gilly. “If a loosening of our tongue doesn’t come,
we’re to perish amidst all these riches without ever tasting the Earl’s sweet
wine and with no one ever to miss us.”
Cuddy thought of Dearbháil and Tamara. Nay, not even Dearbháil would often wonder
what had happened to the two tinkers, McGillvery and McGillicuddy. Suddenly, help from a place far and yet near
came, and Cuddy had masterful resolution grip his heart and mind. He must have the gold to be sure, but more
importantly, he had to leave this land whole and alive for he intended to
obtain a place in the world where at least one person would cry over his
passing. And with that determined
resolve, his tongue was loosened.
“Wait, Cat.
You charge us with not earning the gold, but now we’ve done something a
bit better. We’ve asked. ’Tis that same thing
if you’ve a rich Uncle and you ask and he gives you some of the gold, you
see. We asked the Owner of all the gold.”
Gilly looked in amazement at Cuddy. How well he spoke! It was true.
They’d asked the Owner of all the gold in the material universe for some
of His gold. Gilly sighed a deep
sigh. How true it was—two heads were
better than one.
But the Cat advanced toward them extending
one talon and then another reminding Cuddy all for the world like a first
sergeant he once knew who flexed his fingers before announcing a particularly
punishing march.
“Asked, did you?” sneered the Cat, seeming to
smile. “And what did the Owner of the
gold say? I’ll warrant He didn’t answer
you, yea or nay. For I know all matters
must go through proper channels. The
paperwork must be done correctly and little unimportant tinkers like yourselves
do not have access to The Owner of the Gold.”
The Cat licked his lips, “I think you’re
presumptuous. That’s what you’ll be—two
Irish crocks full of presumption a’walking on two legs and if that weren’t
enough, you’re greedy, voracious, and audacious. You know what those evil passions cause old
men, young men, kings, and peasants—a peck of troubles and an untimely
death. That’s what it’ll lead to boys—a premature
and unholy demise. Now leave the
rucksacks and back up the steps. I’ll
turn and let this all be a misunderstanding.
Forgive and forget I will if you’ll set for home.”
Gilly hitched his rucksack a little higher on
his back and whispered to Cuddy, “If we set the gold down now, we’d be
admitting the Cat was right in all its accusations. But we’re honest lads who came all this way
on faith, belief, and hope in our hearts.
We took leave of our business to do this business and we’re duty bound
to finish this business. Besides, Cuddy,
we made it past the Dread.”
Cuddy was half listening to Gilly, all the
while watching the Cat, but he seemed to come alive at Gilly’s last words,
“That’s right! We made it past the
Dread. The fact we made it is a kind of
passport and we’re a’standing in this room, Gilly, and that’s a kind of passport
and I’m thinking maybe some of the things happening to us right now are a kind
of test, Gilly.”
Cuddy stood as still as stone, then leapt at
the Cat and shouted, “Boo!”
The Cat screeched like a tabby with its tail
run over by a cart and vanished into thin air.
“Why, Cuddy!” Gilly marveled. “However did you know what to do?”
Cuddy grinned. “I remembered a little sergeant who was all
the time huffing and puffing while accusing folks of this and accusing folks of
that. One day a young woman, half his
size, shook her finger in his face and told him he ought to be ashamed of the
way he was carrying on. Somehow I seemed
to see that sergeant’s face on that cat and I remembered how that sergeant
melted right into the floor as easily as ice on summer day when that tiny woman
took him to task. That cat was all meow,
Gilly. I guess our way has been cleared
of all obstacles.” He looked around him
wistfully. “My, how I hate to leave all o’ this.”
“Seems to me we’re not leaving it, Cuddy,” observed
Gilly. “We’re the only lads in the whole
world who know where the Lord’s gold is.
We’re just leavin’ it in His keepin’ until we’re needin’ more of it.”
Cuddy surveyed the room. “Aye,” he said thoughtfully. “If we could take it all, we would get the
indigestion just trying to keep it from thieves and predators outside the
Sinks.”
Gilly smiled.
“Perhaps the Dread won’t be so fearsome the next time we endeavor to
pass.”
“An’ maybe the Dread won’t even be showing
himself since we vanquished him so squarely.”
“Maybe so.
At all points of view, this here’s a secure place in which to leave our
inheritance.”
“Then, we’ve need to be going home, Gilly,”
said Cuddy and then corrected himself. “Or
to a place we’d like to call home for the rest of our days.”
The brothers climbed the stairs to the cave’s
floor, gathered their bedrolls, and quickly clambered down the face of the
cliff with the Irish mist lowering its table in perfect harmony with their
descent. They followed round the base of
the cliff until they arrived at the place where they were sure they had marked
the trail out of the Sinks. After a
diligent search, they stopped with great consternation showing on their faces.
“Sure ’twas here,” spoke Gilly.
“Nay, the silver locket would be shining atop
the pile of rocks we made. I’m seeing no
trail,” contradicted Cuddy.
“Perhaps was a bit further on,” said a voice.
Startled, the boys turned to see a Father
most properly dressed in black robes with a hint of rosary beads hanging from
his pocket.
“Why, Father!” exclaimed Cuddy aghast. “An’ I
was thinking we were alone and here we are with a materialization of profound
spiritual guidance in front of our innocent eyes. Now, did ye come down the same path we came
in on, then?”
The Father ignored Cuddy’s question. “Ye seem to have a heavy load to carry,
boys. Are ye needing some help with it?”
Cuddy and Gilly sat their packs on the
volcanic glass and said, “No,” in unison.
The Father stepped forward quickly and lightly
kicked the rucksacks. “An’ what would ye
be wanting to be taking from this land to the land above the clouds? Are ye involved in an undertakin’ not to our
Lord’s liking? Perhaps taking something
not rightfully yours?”
“We’ve always been lads of the church and do
truly love our Lord in common,” protested Cuddy. “We’ve paid for what’s in those bags with
faith, dear Father, and not a smallish bit of it neither.”
“Aye,” joined Gilly. “This whole undertaking should be most to our
Lord’s liking for it was a prayed for thing and a worked for thing. It cost us our tinker’s inheritance to make
this journey. McGillicuddy,” he
encouraged, “let’s be showing hospitality to our guest—share a potato with the
dear Father.”
McGillicuddy reached into his pocket and
carefully cut a potato into three pieces being sure to noticeably offer the
Father the larger share. The Father
moved forward and sat down on the two bags biting into the cold potato with a
grimace. “I’ve come to give ye good
advice which I hope you’ll take, Brothers.
Gold was never made for man. Many
more a curse has gone with a pot of gold than a blessing.”
“An’ why would ye be saying such a thing,
Father?” incredulously asked Gilly.
“We’re well knowing what a blessing a pot of gold could be for fellows
such as we.”
“An’ are ye asking the question from your
heart due to not really knowing, Gilly?”
Gilly was quite surprised to find the Father
knew his name, but answered truthfully, “Aye, from a pure heart. We’re not able to see how gold could ever be
anything but a blessing.”
“Then I’ll answer so’s you’re understanding
well. You see, not many a man’s so
careful and disciplined of his actions that he’ll procure blessings for his
soul while in the presence of opulent abundance. In fact, boys, did ye know now that many a
wealthy man has said, ‘great wealth is a curse rather than a blessing’?”
McGillvery answered, “In the company we walk
in, dear Father, no one’s ever had the opportunity to find out for themselves
whether that be true or not.”
“Believe me, lads, it’s true, it’s true,”
said the old one shaking his head sadly.
“Ahhh! But how little prepared be a man for the handling of so
much fiscal responsibility as ye both are carting away here. Much evil has occurred when wealth was gotten
and this,” he indicated the bags, “ill-gotten—all at once. Fellows, money’s a thing you need to be
growing into, little by little. ’Tis
always the best way.”
McGillvery had on his forehead a wrinkle or
two of deep concern. “Father, never
would McGillicuddy nor I wish to compromise our standards of trueness and fair
dealin’ with other folks just because we was more prosperous. It would be an unthinkable thing on our part
to return evil to anyone when ’tis in our power to do good. With the gold, seems like we’d be better set
up to do good than other folks would be.
And as far as coming into prosperity all of a sudden-like, well, we’ve
been un-prosperous for many a year now.
In fact by most standards I suppose even when we were wee little ones,
prosperity walked around the corner from us and never bothered casting a glance
behind. So we’ve had many a year to
prepare for this day.”
The Father listened quietly and said, “Don’t
be overmuch righteous, lads. What ye
think ye plan to do before ye’re sprinkled with gold dust and what ye actually
do after being sprinkled with the
dust…well…let me tell you about Gingus McQuee.”
And the Father began a story which would jerk the tear out of the
hardest eye.
“Gingus McQuee had a digging up on the high
side of a mountain. He’d dug and he’d
scraped for many a year with no such luck as
The ancient Father looked intently at
McGillvery. “Now what do you think
happened?”
McGillvery beamed. “Providence provided good fortune twice so
must have been an honest mistake on the part of Gingus McQuee—not being wise to
the wiles of the world, he naturally could have fallen the first time, but the
second time—not ever Father.”
The Father looked at McGillvery for a long
moment. McGillicuddy, who had also been listening
to this great moral lesson, gave a start of surprise. What was it he saw on the old man’s
face? There was something there that
reminded him of someone. He felt a touch
of uneasiness—that indescribable feeling that begins in your middle as a churning
and spreads to your outer parts causing goose bumps to rise. McGillvery, however, totally lost in the spiritual
oneness he felt with the Father was urging, “Go on. What really did happen?”
“It’s so sad I don’t know quite if I can
finish the story.”
“Oh,” replied a saddened Gilly. “Gingus did not resist the temptations of evil?”
“He did not,” spoke the Father.
“And what about poor Ellen alone on the
hillside waiting for her red dress?”
“She waited for one month, two months
quietly, but long into the third month the roses began to leave her cheeks and
the brightness of her eyes became as the dullness of the earth she worked in.”
“And?” queried Gilly.
“The poor lass in weakness of a deeply hurt
spirit took to her bed not eating or drinking and at last died…alone…of a
pitiably broken heart. For she realized
you see, she had loved her all for someone who loved not her.” The Father paused for a long moment and then
quietly added, “Dear Ellen’s goodness was so pure that even to her last breath
she did not call upon the Saints to curse Gingus McQuee. Not a sigh of reproach passed those sweet
lips.” The Father clasped his hands and
slightly bowed his head at the finish of his tale.
McGillvery spoke out in a rage,“This Gingus
McQuee should have been stripped and hung by his thumbs for to let
The Father waited just a bit allowing Gilly
to calm so he would be sure and hear the lesson of the story. “But Gilly, the real point of the story is:
It could be you.”
“Not ever, Father!” exclaimed Gilly in
horror. “Be ye cursing me now? Not ever would I do such a thing.” Gilly turned to Cuddy, “Speak up,
Cuddy raised a hand, “Hush, Gilly. We’ve no wife or children. We’ve only ourselves. The story’s no application to our
situation. Quit your sad stories now,
Father.”
“I know.
I know,” placated the Father.
“But it is something to wonder about now isn’t it? How would Gingus McQuee ever explain to the
Most High Judge above when he’s standing before the Great Judgment seat and the
High Judge shows sweet Ellen’s tears, the darkest circles under her pale
eyes—eyes of famine, Gilly.”
Now Cuddy, who had been watching the Father,
said, “Father, I see a lovely silver strand ’round your neck. Would you bring it out now and we’ll be saying
a prayer for God’s good graces to be extended unto our souls and for a special
saint to be sent as a watch-guard against an unholy heart. Then with your blessing, and a point in the
right direction, we’ll be taking our leave.”
The Father ignored McGillicuddy and spoke
directly to McGillvery, “Sons, leave it be.
I plead with you. Only evil can
possibly come of it—even the good teacher said to be content with each day’s
sustenance.”
McGillvery, eyes moistened with tears, turned
to McGillicuddy, “It’s true. Often I’ve
read it in the Book, Cuddy. Perhaps it’s
best to leave the bags now—for why should we bring evil down on our heads?”
“Why, now McGillvery,” countered McGillicuddy,
“the Book says the Lord owns all the silver and the gold. Isn’t He a fair friend of ours? Then He wouldn’t be a’mindin’ if we took our
fair share.”
The Father moved a bit to catch McGillvery’s
eye, “The Book says money is the root of all evil.”
McGillicuddy spoke quickly, “It also says,
McGillvery, that wealth is a stronghold in a day of distress and in those bags
is our stronghold. The good Lord has
seen us this far and we’d better not be disappointing Him by leaving our gold
behind—t’would mean all His help thus far went to a couple of spineless fellows
who don’t know how to carry through on a plan.
Now we’ve never been that sort, Gilly.
Let’s have the dear Father take the silver strand from around his neck
and pronounce a blessing, Gilly. After
all, one can look for the doom, gloom, and evil in every situation. But we’re at the bottom of the stairs and
this Father’s doing a fair job of telling us there’s no use trying to climb
them because we’ll fail and fall to the bottom in a heap again. It’s a true story that we may fail at certain
points and not be all we should be in every situation. For a time we may even be too proud with all
our gold. But Gilly, we’ve got to at
least try. Wasn’t that one of the reasons
we loved the Book’s story of old King David?
He sinned a mighty, mighty sin when he was wealthy; but when he realized
what he’d done, he begged forgiveness, got forgiveness, and didn’t repeat the
action again. Why couldn’t we be like
King David, Gilly? An error is an error
whether one’s rich or poor.”
“Tsk, tsk, Gilly,” spoke the Father. “What your Cuddy doesn’t realize is that
wealth gives you much more latitude to error.
You can affect many more people and do ever so much more harm. Now if you’d been born to it, you’d have had
the training, my son, and would handle the responsibility in a much more worthy
manner.”
Cuddy was growing red round his neck. “What
you’re saying, Father, is that all rich men were rich forever back to the
beginning of time. But I’m a’telling you the lines of those ‘born and trained
to it’ all began with someone who
wasn’t born and trained to it. Someone
had to start out just like Gilly and me—poor and of no account, no education,
no potato on their plate—and they had to go asking the good Lord for a favor
and the Lord had to put his ear down and listen and show them a way. That’s how those lines got started. This very day Gilly and I are getting ready
to start our line of future prosperous progeny ‘born to it’ with these two bags. So, Father,” and Cuddy stepped up to the old
man, “I’ll be taking this and taking your blessing, too.”
McGillicuddy tore the silver strand from
around the old man’s neck as McGillvery began to protest. “No! Cuddy! Mind your…,” and stopped. In McGillicuddy’s hands was their own
mother’s silver locket.
“He’s a fraud, Gilly—just like the Cat. He was sent here to persuade us we were not
worthy of the gold, but we ARE,
Gilly—as much as anyone else and we have to believe we’ll do the right thing,
Gilly, ’cause just as belief in the good Lord is important, belief in oneself
is important, too. And,” he said turning
to the Father, “if ye’ll be stepping away from our gold, Father, I’m betting
the path with our stones marking the way leaving the Sinks will appear behind
you. I think, Father, you cast a maze
upon us and we would be walking right past the exit and wasting our energies on
foolish meanderings if your purposes were to succeed.”
The Father scowled. “Ye’ll not be free yet to enjoy the gold. You know not what you bit into lads. In those two bags are ulcers, jealousy, and murder. You’re liable to meet with all three and be
glad to cast those bags away and go back to being the tinkers ye are and ever
shall be. Whoever heard of a tinker
raising himself in the world?” he sneered.
“It can’t be done.”
McGillicuddy hoisted McGillvery’s pack onto
Gilly’s back and helped himself into his.
“Nothin’s impossible with the Lord and He’s a loyal one to help His
friends. We’ll be bidding you good day,
Father.”
The piles of rocks were behind the ancient priest.
McGillicuddy and McGillvery began the long ascent out of the Sinks not
noticing the permanent prints they were leaving behind. But the old Father noticed and frantically
began scuffing at the prints, trying to obliterate the fact that two persons
had not only come into the Sinks but were successfully leaving the Sinks.
Chapter 6
McGillicuddy and McGillvery weren’t long out
of hearing range when the Father cried, “Cat!
Come quickly. Look what’s
happening. Their footprints leaving have become as permanent as the
ancient band of warriors’ footprints coming. Oh, Cat,” he moaned, “others will find this
place and when they see someone, and two someones at that, went down and came back,
they’ll gather the courage to follow and soon Cat, all our gold will be
gone. There’ll be none left, Cat. We’ll no longer be Keepers of the Treasure
for the treasure will be nonexistent. O’
Cat, DO something!”
The Cat looked at the old Father. “There’s not much I can do. Didn’t you see what bags they carried the
gold in?”
“No.”
“The Ever Filling Bags from the treasury
room.”
“What does it mean?”
“It means whenever McGillvery and
McGillicuddy come to the bottom of their sacks, they will magically refill to the
top again. They’ll never be out of gold,
old one.”
“And the gold comes from…?”
“From our treasury rooms,” spoke the Cat
grimly.
The Cat was facing a twofold dilemma. First, it is natural for man, once in possession
of gold, to increase consumption to match income. Over time, the Cat could foresee exceedingly
large piles of treasure transferring into circulation in the land above the
Sinks via McGillvery and McGillicuddy’s efforts to live comfortably and do well. The Ever Filling Bags made steady depletion
of the treasury rooms that much easier for the two brothers.
The second dilemma was McGillvery and
McGillicuddy’s successful entrance and exit into the Sinks could be duplicated
by other humans. It was conceivable that
the ancient treasury rooms would be completely depleted to the point of
emptiness as others found the means to enter and leave the Sinks.
The Cat padded softly back and forth
analyzing its problem before deciding upon action. It seemed the second problem was not the immediate
threat. He knew the ways of men. It is true that an obstacle—such as the
Sinks—becomes much easier for humans to surmount and to conquer once one of the
species has accomplished the difficult task.
Humans are, after all, great imitators.
But the Cat understood at a primal level a great deal about the queer chemistry
of heaven’s potion for success. All
successful action depends on the exercise of faith, hope, courage, and
love. Like tinctures of medicine in
small bottles lined in tidy rows in heaven’s pharmaceutical shop, these four
elements combine infinitely to form prescriptions unique for each seeking
individual. The precise recipe necessary
for the situation at hand can be difficult to find indeed. It is usually revealed in stages—quietly and
obtusely appearing and disappearing through many years of diligent searching.
The Cat knew future adventurers must journey
into arenas at the edge of material realities.
The journey requires groping into the unknown while maintaining firm
ties to dogged endurance, courage, and hope.
The hope must never fail even in the face of impossible circumstances
and the courage is often difficult to accumulate in the necessary large
doses. The adventurer must steadily step
forward into the unknown even when seeming to be in possession of courage less
than the measure needed for the situation at hand. Within the unknown are large enemies needing
to be vanquished. These enemies are not
those of flesh and blood; but of the mind—flooding streams of doubt and of unanswerable
questions. The traveler must meet the
enemy with humility. It is the only way
to conquer.
Such struggling souls are few. The Cat understood the human masses, even
with a wealthy McGillvery and McGillicuddy in their midst, would wish, want,
and dream their lives away without actually doing something to reproduce the
actions that turn desire into reality.
Some would envy the boys while imagining themselves in the brothers’
shoes. Only a few would decide yes—“It
will be me”—and do it.
After such thoughts the Cat gently lay aside
the second problem of those who would follow to concentrate on the first
problem. It was very real and at hand. McGillvery and McGillicuddy had its personal
refilling bags with unlimited access to the treasury rooms. The Cat knew the farther up the trail Gilly
and Cuddy went—the nearer the goal they got—the more assured and confident the
boys would become. That confidence alone
would be more difficult to deal with.
The Cat needed to make another attempt to dissuade them.
The Cat paced back and forth switching its
tail. “Fear did not work. The Power of the Word did not work. What else can one use on mortal man?”
“If I may suggest, Cat, punishment works
quite well.”
The Cat paused, turning golden-glitter eyes toward
the Father. “Punishment? It’s against
the rules to kill or to physically harm them.
We can do neither.”
“True, but a sort of pain can be inflicted on
man. If you think a bit, you’ll realize
how little man likes sustained effort.
He’s not very good at it and some are so poor at it that their mortality
rate is greatly increased when under the strain of consistent, persistent
effort.”
“What are you plotting, Ancient Man?”
“It crossed my mind that we’ve little and few
ways to stop McGillvery and McGillicuddy from reaching the top of the
“Speak on, wise one,” urged the Cat.
The old priest laid out a devious scheme
which caused the white Cat to roll over and over on the black glass chortling
his extreme pleasure. “How wise old one!
We’ve sure a hand at success!” And to himself he promised, “And I’ve a little something
extra to add to the old one’s plan.”
All this while, McGillicuddy and McGillvery
labored up the hill. When they finally
crested the top, McGillvery panted, “Let’s take a bit of rest here, Cuddy. I’m wondering so at your wisdom. How was it ye knew the Father was after our
gold? He spoke right fair words, Cuddy.”
“I watched him while you listened,
Gilly. I got a feeling there was a
conniving cat behind those eyes. I knew
he’d outcat us if we’d not be most careful.
And…,” McGillicuddy started. “What’s
this now—speaking of cats, Gilly.”
Before the two brothers had appeared the
white Cat. It wasn’t threatening as
before and seemed to hum, but somehow the vibrations didn’t seem pleasurable,
soothing, or comforting as a sweet tabby’s purr should.
McGillvery stood and McGillicuddy also, each
placing a foot firmly on their golden packs.
“None of your sassy ways, Cat.
We’ll buy none of the foolishness about returning the gold.”
“Oh?” asked the Cat in surprise. “I’d no intention of asking you to return it. Once you’ve gone this far, there’s really no
turning back. I’ve come only to give you
a final word or two, then ye both shall be on your way.”
“Careful, Cat, about that word or two. It may not be a word or two we’d be wanting,”
said Cuddy.
“But a word you’ll be needin’.”
“Usually when folks say you need something
its them that needs it,” observed Cuddy.
“You’ve made a grave error in coming to my
country,” purred the Cat.
“We’ll let the Lord be the judge o’ that,”
countered Gilly. “He’s brought us out of
a terrible drama with nary a scratch.”
The Cat’s talons extended a mite as if
willing to share a scratch with Gilly, but remembering anger is best kept
simmering when one speaks one’s mind, the Cat merely said, “That may or may not
be, McGillvery, but I do have the right as Keeper of the Treasure to speak a
word over it. I’ll speak it now. The gold is going with you, to be sure; but
it will only stay with you if you spend all that is in the bags by evening’s
fall each day. In the morning the bags
will be full again, completely replenished; but again, you must spend it in one
day by evening’s fall. If there’s just
one round nugget left in the bottom of one of the bags, then bags and gold
shall return to their rightful keeper.”
McGillvery and McGillicuddy quickly inhaled
their breath at this fantastic revelation of unbelievably good fortune. It was like being given a lifetime of rooms
full of golden nuggets. They were about
to speak, when the Cat warned, “But, mark my words, ye’ll never have it long
for no mortal is wise enough to have gold and the happiness meant to go with
it. For ’tis a great secret none can
find,” and the Cat began rumbling a little purring tune. “While in their eyes the golden glint gleams
and in their hands the lustrous metal sheens, a slave they’ll be to a ruler
cold, for few shall govern as well as Gold.”
The Cat narrowed his eyes and sneered, “And,
I’ll be reminding ye both this ruler is a sovereign who changes its slaves as
easily as ye change your clothing.”
McGillvery had heard nothing past the fact
that their bags would be forever replenished.
Enthralled to the core of his soul and with face aglow he was about to
say “Thank You!” when McGillicuddy put a finger to his lips.
Without another word, the Cat disappeared.
“Be careful to whom ye say thank you. I think the Cat meant those words as a curse
not a blessing.”
“A curse?
However can that be?” sputtered Gilly.
“Why Cuddy! The Saints have smiled on us today. The bags are to refill whenever they are
empty. Our only obligation is to spend
the gold! After a lifetime of lack and
ill-fortune! What a glorious end to our
sad story! How good our Lord is!”
“Ye may think so, Gilly. But it seemed an ominous speech rather than a
blessing speech to me. Did ye not hear
all the words? We’re a long way from
anywhere to spend our gold this day and have ye looked at the sun’s positioning
in the sky?”
Gilly looked overhead and his heart sank like
a ship with all its masts broken at stormy seas. “Cuddy,” he whispered, “however can we spend
the gold in time? It took a whole day
and part of another to come here and we’ve not hardly a day to go home and
spend the gold.” He held his head
despairingly in his hands. “What a cruel
joke, Cuddy. After all we’ve been
through.”
Cuddy looked thoughtfully at Gilly for a
moment. “Ye remember the story in the
Book about a man who cursed good people whom God had decided to bless? Every time the curses turned to
blessings. It may be this situation
could spin the same. We’ve God’s blessings
on our efforts. He evidently has chosen
to see us as worthy men for He has allowed us to be successful up to this
point. Despite the Cat’s words, I
believe we should stay by our Lord’s words.
He raises lowly men to high positions.
We’ll have to sit and think awhile before taking action, Gilly.”
Gilly didn’t believe they had time to think
with the sun’s position being so far gone into the day. But he was a loyal brother and dutifully sat
and thought. Suddenly, he sat upright, “Here
we’re thinking about spending the gold because the Cat told us we must. What if it lied to us, Cuddy? What if the spending of the gold will not
replenish the gold at all? Wouldn’t it
be like the Cat to have us spend our hard-earned gold and the bags never refill
at all?”
Cuddy nodded.
“This could be. It is a very
devious cat.” He rested his head in his
hands for a moment and then said, “One takes action in life by believing words
one chooses to believe. We must decide
what we shall believe—either the Cat told the truth about the everlasting
refilling of the bags or it spoke a trick and once spent, the bags shall never
refill.”
“This is a most perplexing problem,” worried
Gilly.
“Maybe not,” asserted Cuddy. “If we do not believe it, we do not spend the
gold. If it spoke the truth, we will
lose all the gold at sunset including the gold in the present sacks and we will
have nothing for our efforts. If we chose
to believe it, we will have spent the gold and at sunset will at least have
something in hand even if the bags refuse to refill. So you see, a simple solution has presented
itself. We shall spend the gold.”
“Well,” marveled Gilly, “however did you reason that out so cleverly?”
Cuddy, just as surprised, answered, “I don’t
know myself. It was quite a masterful
piece of thinking now wasn’t it?”
Gilly agreed and said, “If we should fail in
spending the gold this day, not from lack of trying mind you, and the Cat’s
words prove true, t’will be all right anyway, won’t it, Brother? For we can return to the treasury rooms and
fight for our chance at success again, can’t we?”
Cuddy shuddered queerly. “When we were at the bottom of the Sinks it
was easy to imagine going back. But now
we’re at the top o’ the mountain…well…even though we’ve done it once, somehow
I’m thinking it will be harder next time or…,” Cuddy groped for the words
before continuing. “Everything the Lord
does proceeds in precisely defined orders and rhythms. We’ve often marveled at the regularity of His
seasons and the timing of the lands’ and the seas’ cycles. When we were in the Sinks we may have been
standing in Fortuitous Time—a special time that does not often occur for lads
such as we be. The stairs in the Sinks
may open only once for a singular instant—a sole opportunity presented to the seeking
man to become more than he is. If one
doesn’t slip through the opened door with faith and sure action, the door may
never present itself again.”
Gilly shivered unexpectedly, “Then we may not
have a second opportunity should this one be lost.”
Cuddy wrinkled his forehead in deep thought,
“Or, it may be some time before we’re given another opportunity…maybe when we
are old men near to die.”
“O! Cuddy!” Gilly cried, “If we lose these bags,
we’ll have lost the whole world and our lives will be sadder than ever before.”
“Careful, lad. This is a situation where we need place our
feet carefully now. Even our Lord
rejected the whole world. That’s a tempting dangle from the other side and we’re
too smart to be nibbling in those fishing waters, aren’t we?”
Gilly nodded in humble acquiescence and began
thinking seriously about the Cat’s last words.
“I think ye’re correct that the Cat was cursing rather than blessing our
dear efforts. It t’would be near
impossible to spend all the gold every day.
It’s a frantic pace that’s been set.
’Tis apparent a goodly, stout man could die trying to spend this much
gold every single day for the rest of his life.”
“That may have been the Cat’s plan all along,”
agreed Cuddy. “We’ll just have to trust the Lord is more powerful than any
scheming that may be done against his true friends. The Book says good ideas are stored up for
those who fear Him. I’ll reckon the Cat
doesn’t understand how our Father, and I’m not meaning the one in the black
robe, can give us an overflowing of good ideas so that spending the gold will
be no trickier than eating our daily potato.”
Gilly nodded quietly. “Two men praying are a powerful tonic,
Cuddy. An’ ye’re right, of course. It would be best to take a deepish breath and
do a bit more thinkin’.”
“Yes,” solemnly noted Cuddy. “The facts are: We know we’ve no chance to be making it back
to an Irish village on our side of the mountain by evening. Even if we did—we’ve not been gone three days
and had bare enough to trade bonny Dearbháil for potatoes when we left. A woman like Dearbháil is too quick with the
questions, being of a highly suspicious mind as she is. She’d be wantin’ to know how we come by
properties and valuables so sudden that we are buying a whole village and of
course that could lead to all kinds of troubles from her more jealous and
covetous neighbors like the Earl, for instance.
However, if we was gone for a whole half year, say, and then come home
as wealthy gentlemen, we could excuse it as a bit of Irish luck in trading, now
couldn’t we? An’ only a few questions
asked and we could be about our business without all the hubbub. Gold rushes are started from men who wish
riches in three days, but rarely are they started from riches resulting from
many months and years of labor.”
Cuddy paused and added thoughtfully, “I’m
remembering a village on the western side of this mountain from many years
back. I’m thinking we could easily walk
into its fair lanes before evening falls.”
McGillvery, half listening to Cuddy’s soliloquy,
perked up immediately. “There’s a plan
then. Is there enough in the village to
spend two whole bags of gold?”
“It’s a hard town to sell, Gilly. Those hard to sell are usually most happy to
sell to you. They like the jingle of
gold in their own pockets, you see.”
“Not willing to part with it, but more than
willin’ to get it. Mother always said
two heads are better than one and well you’ve proved her right this day,
Cuddy. It sounds a good strategy to me.”
Once agreed, the brothers immediately hoisted
their packs to their backs and set a brisk pace for
“More’n likely it will spend easy enough,”
agreed Cuddy. “I’ve never had a piece of
gold that ever liked to stick around the likes o’ me for very long. Seems any I got developed run-away feet and
fled every which way here ’n there.”
“Aye, it’s been a sad story to tell, Cuddy,”
sighed Gilly.
Before Cuddy could agree, the two brothers
heard a flute playing a lively, tuneful melody that is accompanied by the
bleating of a thousand sheep. Around the
corner of their trail came a young lad of ruddy cheek and honest eye.
Chapter 7
Black Eyes and Puppies
Fortuitous circumstances have a way of
finding those possessing sweet hearts. McGillvery
and McGillicuddy were presented with an opportunity to overcome the Cat’s curse
in a most handy and ready manner.
“Ho! Lad!” hailed Gilly.
“Ho! To you,” cheerfully responded the boy.
“Where do ye be coming from and where do ye
be headed?”
“I’m coming from my father’s pastures and I’m
heading for the grazing at the top of this mountain.”
Cuddy looked at the sun’s distance from the
horizon, squinted his eye and whispered to Gilly, “Do ye think this might be
our opportunity, Gilly?”
“P’rhaps so.
But you’ll not be able to dicker with the lad.”
“And is your father bringing up the rear,
lad?”
“Aye, he is.”
The brothers grinned their thanks and hurried
up the high side of the path. Presently
they spied a short, bow-legged, middle-aged man hollering and pointing his
crook for the dogs to edge the flock forward.
“May we follow along with you a bit?”
The man looked at them from under bushy
brows. “Just so you be up to good and
not harm.”
“Harmless men. We be interested in doing a bit of business.”
“Speak.”
“Would ye be interested in selling your flock
now?”
“Selling? It’s me bread and butter. I’d be ashamed to sell—why, what would I do
with me days? What would I have to pass
on to my son? What would I tell my poor
wife when I got home—that I’d sold our living out from under us?”
McGillvery quite taken aback at the man’s
quick and odd reply, followed along quietly by his side for several
minutes. He, as every good salesman
should, gave some thought to the fellow’s objections and after some moments received
delivery of a bit of celestial inspiration.
“Nay. We’re
not here to buy your living out from underneath you. Now listen a bit. We’ve a proposition for you and your
bounteous family, may God bless them all.
We would like to buy your flock at the best prices. You’ll have your
price in advance, you see. You can
continue to herd it, care for it, and do as you’ve always done. At the end of the year we’ll take half the
profits and you can have the other half.”
The man stopped and looked at them. “Are ye daft or are ye highway robbers? Now why would I want half the profits for the
rest of me life when I get all of the profits now?”
“But ye’ll be getting two bags of gold, man.”
“Two bags of gold that’ll be gone in a twelve
month and then I’ll be left with one half the profits on my sheep to carry me
through me old age. Ye scamps, begone
with ye. Ye’re thieves an’ robbers
trying to take what my father and my father’s father before him toiled and
built for those to follow.”
The man shook his crook at Gilly and
Cuddy. “Hey, dogs,” he called.
McGillvery looked alarmed. “No need for that, Sir. We’re on our way. May our Lord prosper and bless you.”
But the dogs were already on the way. By the glint of the man’s eye, both boys knew
he wouldn’t call the dogs back before he’d seen blood.
There was no tinker’s wagon seat to hop to
and the bags of gold were a cumbersome burden, but McGillvery and McGillicuddy
had had much experience in games of this sort and ran like runners for the
ancient kings of a long ago Ireland.
When they’d rounded the bend, they heard the man call for the dogs’
retreat and they allowed themselves to regain a brisk walk.
“Now then, that took some time now. I say, we didn’t handle that very well,
Gilly,” panted Cuddy.
“Cuddy, that man’s one who’ll never see
opportunity when it’s hit him smack in the face,” gasped Gilly. “Why, a man would be addled in the mind to
refuse such an opportunity. He could
have bought another thousand sheep with the bags of gold and managed our
thousand for fifty per cent of the profit.
He’d have had one hundred fifty per cent profit for the rest of his life
and his son’s life. It was an
opportunity to grow his wealth that will not soon come again. A small mind, Cuddy. A verrry small mind not able to see the
blessings coming his way.”
“I wish you had rehearsed those facts to our
man,” observed Cuddy. “Sometimes its only one small bit of information that may
sell the reluctant customer. Salesmen
that we are, you know it’s important to point all the angles to a prospective
buyer of the goods.”
McGillvery shook his head in disbelief. “Who would have thought you’d have to be selling to get rid of two bags of
gold? Seems everyone would be as
interested in receiving it as we were to get it.”
“Mmmm…maybe we’ve a bit more of the
privileged world to learn about, Gilly.
Wouldn’t it be funny now if a wealthy man’s plight was more severe than
a poor man’s blight?”
“We’ll know the answer to that question soon
because we’re wealthy lads with money to spend,” observed Gilly dryly. “Perhaps the village will reinstate our faith
in golden sheen’s ability to expend.”
Cuddy looked at the sun’s positioning in the
sky. “We’d best be setting a marching
pace to the village. We’ll walk fifty
paces and run fifty paces, Gilly.”
“’Tis a good idea. In the event we’ve no easy takers of our
gold, t’will give us a bit more time to look over our best opportunities.”
At last the brothers reached the final
winding road into the seashore town of
“In time, Cuddy,” said a puffing Gilly.
“In time,” gasped a profusely sweating Cuddy. “We’d best head for the pub and see if we’ve
any takers for our gold.”
The boys quickly surveyed the smallish, quiet
village sitting on the curve of a wide bay.
One building alone displayed the activity one should expect of an
inviting pub. It lay closest to the ships in harbor and it
was toward its door the brothers quickly hurried. The wooden signature declared the pub’s name—The
Bay of MacKenay. Such a hubbub of Irish
laughter was coming out of the inn that even McGillvery’s heart was uplifted. “The best time of day, too,” he whispered to
Cuddy. “They’ll be in a mood to bargain
for what we’ve got. Say your prayers for
a blessing.”
The boys stopped for a moment, spit on their
hands, clasped them, wished for all the luck in the world, and solemnly marched
into the pub of MacKenay on the Shore.
These were fishing men mostly—bronzed,
muscularly built, and loving a good brawl or a rowdy laugh equally well. They were not the farming folk McGillvery and
McGillicuddy were most used to selling; but business is business, so shoulders
were squared, and they marched up to the bar.
Cuddy pounded on the waxed surface. “We’ve need of your attention. We’ve some gold to spend and lookin’ for land
to buy.”
There was a sudden hush in the room as all
eyes turned toward McGillvery and McGillicuddy.
“That’s right, men. We’ve gold to
spend and looking for land to buy.”
A few sniggers were heard in the back of the
room and suddenly a man was pushed to the center of the floor. “McDougal’s got
property. Now haven’t ye, McDougal?”
“Now, boys, leave me alone,” the man
protested. “Ye know I’ve got property
all right.”
“Then, be talkin’ to the strange gents about
cutting a sweet trade,” suggested a mirthful voice at the front of the room.
An ‘Aye’ all around caused the young man’s
face to redden considerably.
“I’ve got property all right,” stubbornly
insisted the young man with a lowering of his neck into his shoulders as does a
bull before getting ready to fight.
“Ye mean ye’re wife’s got property,” merrily shouted
a red-haired, middle-aged man in the back.
The whole roomful of men roared gleefully.
McDougal’s face reddened to the color of a
coastal, red sky at morning tide.
Another voice hollered, “McDougal’ll assist
you, boys, soon as he can wean his dearie from her father’s sage advice.”
McDougal was not one to hang his head in
shame as McGillvery and McGillicuddy could see by his swelling neck and bulging
eyes. Gilly thought this McDougal looked
like Dearbháil’s youngest bull before the ring was placed in his nose.
“There’s sure to be a fight,” whispered
Gilly.
“Not to our advantage,” agreed Cuddy looking
worriedly toward the window’s framing of a setting sun.
Gilly stepped forward, “Now, now,
Gentlemen. It’s forever
McDougal’s fighting posture did not change,
but he was pushed and shoved by the good-natured shoulders of his friends as
they surged forward to claim Gilly’s offer of a free drink.
McDougal’s eyes sought Gilly’s. In a loud voice reminding one of the roar of
a enraged bull, he said, “Ye’re a stranger here. It seems in front of all me friends ye’ve
accused me of being less than a man.”
Gilly quickly shook his head, “Nay, nay. No such thing. Remember it was only a piece of land I was
asking to buy.” He opened his mouth to
reason peaceably with the young fellow but found himself at the end of
McDougal’s arm, feet dangling several centimeters from the floor.
McDougal was shaking his head slowly back and
forth. “Nay, but you did make me little
in front of me countrymen.”
McGillvery’s eyes, a pale blue of innocence,
swept to the ceiling in an earnest unspoken prayer for heavenly
assistance. A man jostled the elbow of
McDougal and McDougal grabbed the man by the kerchief around his neck. “Don’t jostle me when I’ve an important
matter to be discussing with my friend here.”
The man on his third pint of McGillvery and
McGillicuddy’s generosity answered with a tongue not inclined toward
peace. McGillvery found himself thrown
across the crowd as McDougal released him and took a masculine swing at the
jostler’s face. McGillvery landed square
on the pub’s bar splashing ale and spirits on all persons pressed there for refreshment. A free-for-all ensued with mugs and short
glasses hurling through the air as freely as fists and kicks.
McGillicuddy had ducked behind the bar and
was sitting on his bag of gold, hands covering his head in a protective manner
while waiting for the brawl to subside.
And, fierce fighters that these men were, it took no time for the scrap
to have simmered to a few groans and moans.
As suddenly as the fight stopped, someone
cried, “It’s those two strangers what has done this to friends all together. Throw them out!”
The boys barely managed to gather their bags
before finding themselves seat first on the dusty road which passed before the
pub.
The pub’s keeper, a man with portly belly,
came out wiping hands on an apron much in need of washing, and said, “In Ireland, there are three things about
the nip—to tipple it well, to hold it better, and to pay for it before the day
is done.” He reached down and emptied
one of the bags of gold into his own satchel and tossed the empty bag to McGillicuddy.
McGillicuddy, shocked at the quick disposal
of his fortune, was only able to gasp, “May God maintain the bounty of your
heart always.”
The pub keeper checked Cuddy closely, “Are ye
being cheeky with me lad? Let me give
you a piece of advice fine, Sirs. ‘Distant
hills are green, but the home fireplace is the best fireplace.’ I’d suggest you be looking for your own
fireplace. MacKenay on the Shore doesn’t
need folks like you.”
Gilly opened his mouth and shut it promptly
at Cuddy’s quick nudge to his bruised ribs.
“Sure ’tis a fine piece of wisdom you’ve
given and one we’re sure to heed,” agreed Cuddy in careful mildness.
The innkeeper hesitated, looking for a note
of scorn in Cuddy’s voice or face. Cuddy
looked as innocent as the Christ child despite his rapidly swelling eye. Satisfied, the portly innkeeper returned to
his customers and neighbors.
Gilly picked himself up, groaning. “Life doesn’t get easier, Cuddy.”
Cuddy agreed.
“I’m feeling older than the Hag of Beare right now, Gilly.” He looked down at the empty sack in his hand
and grinned wryly. “However, one bag is
neatly spent.”
“That much gold could rebuild the entire
town, Cuddy. Not that I’d be questioning
the man’s judgment about the cost of the damage to his pub,” hastily assured
Gilly as he ruefully felt his chin. “It
seems McDougal got off a most masculine shot despite property and wife being
controlled by a father-in-law.”
Cuddy gingerly felt his eye while agreeing.
“Not saying it was the most noble way to spend it either, Gilly.”
“Aye, an’ I’m that much glad we’ve not a Mum
to go home for explaining ourselves this night.
Would be a hard effort that. And,”
he pointed to the ocean before them, “There’s that ball of flame setting to
hurl itself over the edge in under ten minutes. The Lord better be seeing the predicament
we’re in, Cuddy. Our fortune’s just been
halved. We’ve not one thing to show for
it. If the Cat lied, we’ll not be seeing
that bag again.”
“Hush now and keep your eyes open. We’ll stick to our plan and spend the
gold. Look for a business transaction we
can initiate and finish on the spot.”
About that time a lad with freckled face and
engaging smile came into the street with arms wrapped tightly around a sack
filled to the brim with a fat brown puppy of dubious lineage.
Gilly leapt at the single show of opportunity
in this most quiet and eventless town.
“Say laddie, would you like to sell your puppy?”
The smallish boy looked at Gilly with solemn,
earth-brown eyes. “I was taking him to
the pub to do just that, Sir.”
“Well, then, ye’ll not need travel any
further. We will buy your puppy on the
spot.”
The lad had evidently rehearsed the sales
talk he felt he would need to sell the dog and immediately launched into all
the reasons why this particular puppy was a bargain at any price. “This pup is out of my father’s dog,
Aishling—she’s famous hereabouts—my father’s finest dog. This pup’s special because it is the largest
and friendliest of the litter. We don’t
know who the father is but it should be no account anyways ’cause Aishling’s so
fine. My father’s figgering to drown ’em
all. But I figure one half Aishling is one half famous. So the puppies, and especially this one,” he
assured the brothers while holding it high for them to see, “should be worth
something now.”
McGillvery looked at Cuddy and McGillicuddy
looked at Gilly.
“Son, you are entirely correct. We will buy Aishling’s fine puppy,” said
McGillvery. He reached down and took the puppy out of the boy’s sack and
quickly poured their last rucksack of gold into the boy’s bag. The lad drew a sharp breath at sight of the
gold. “Sure thing, Mister. Aishling’s got ten more. For all this, I’ll bring the rest in under
’alf an hour.”
Gilly waved his hand, “No, laddie. This one’s all we’ve a use for. Just enjoy your good fortune.”
“Yes, Sir.”
A freckly face burst into a toothless grin. “Yes, Sir.”
He turned, dragging the load—much too heavy for a small boy—slowly, an
inch at a time, up the street.
Frequently stopping to rest, he finally succeeded in struggling around
the last bend in the village road with his bag of fortune. Cuddy looked at the sun. The last tip was just setting itself into the
ocean for its evening bath.
He shook his head sadly and slung his empty
sack over his shoulder. “Well, we did it
and in time, too.”
“Surely not the best trading we’ve ever
done,” said Gilly wryly.
“And not the worst either,” noted Cuddy.
“I’m not seeing how ye’ve reached that conclusion,”
replied Gilly.
“’Tis not like we’ve no gain at all. I’m countin’ one very outstanding black eye,
a puppy one half famous hereabouts, and a story to tell around every fireside
in
“An’ a cat a’laughing itself silly at the joke
it’s played if these bags do not refill,” noted Gilly sourly, refusing to be
beguiled into humor so easily. “Don’t
forget that part of this whole affair.”
“When things go wrong whether in the use of
time or money one can always think of it as tithe to the Lord. Who’s knowin’? Perhaps the pub keeper has a child who’s been
kissed by an angel and the Lord’s intending its keep with our gold. The smallish lad may have a mother or sister
needin’ medicines and our gift ensured her life. We’ll keep our peace by
sending our blessings on both bags and ask that the best be done in both
instances with the gold. It’s the only
way to be free of the matter. After all,
the circumstances were not of our choosing, Gilly.”
“A tithe as large as that should buy a lifetime
of Irish luck of the best sort,” observed Gilly dourly.
“Aye.
’An who’s not needin’ all the luck ’e can get?” asked Cuddy peacefully. “’Tis the only way we can think and be done
so there’s no regrets. At the least
we’ll get a whole night’s rest tonight and many nights after. And now I find
I’m hungry enough to eat an entire flank of sheep.”
“Let’s find a sheep and eat then,” agreed a
resigned Gilly.
The boys had no sooner turned their steps in
the direction of the inn than they stopped.
“Cuddy….”
“Don’t say it, Brother,” woefully returned
Cuddy. He pulled out his empty bag. “Mine is empty down to the cording. Did you not save one gold piece?”
“Nay, not one.”
“Hunger is a good sauce,” philosophically spoke
Cuddy.
Gilly sighed, “Best be casting our eyes
toward humble lodgings for this night, Cuddy.”
Chapter 8
Small Portions
They soon found the stable and the grain bags
kept for the horses. Gilly dipped his
hand into the sack and apportioned a small handful to Cuddy. “Small portions are tasty,” he encouraged.
A disappointed Cuddy replied, “T’was good
enough for our Lord.”
On slightly empty stomachs they began to
settle in for the night, read their mother’s Book, and dutifully say their prayers. Sleep came quickly, gently.
When the moon passed between clouds and the
night birds took wing, an angry man came stomping down the mountain to the door
of the stable, the door was thrust open, and McGillvery and McGillicuddy
roughly torn from their beds.
“Corrupters
of children and instigators of malice between neighbors! I’ve heard all about ye and have come to
punish ye for your ungodliness.”
McGillvery still mostly asleep and partly in
dream cried, “Sir, we’ve surely slept in heaven tonight and are ye telling us we
should have been in hell?”
From an enormous height the man reached giant
sized fists to shake the boys. “Are you or are you not the men who purchased a
worthless puppy of no good breeding for an unholy sum of money from my son?”
The puppy whimpered from the manger where
Gilly had placed him earlier in the evening.
McGillvery looked nervously in the direction of the dog. “We did indeed buy a puppy from a small boy
heading for the pub earlier in the evening.
But sure we meant no harm by the payment of gold to the child.”
“No harm?!
That much money the MacKenay’s themselves do not pay for the wages of a
hundred men for an entire year. No
harm? I swear by St. Patrick I will beat
you both into a St. Paddy’s mash unfit for walking thru
McGillvery fought bravely but half-heartedly,
having always believed in turning the other cheek, while McGillicuddy, a stalwart
champion of fairness in all things, politely waited his turn feeling slightly
embarrassed that the man would be fighting him while not fresh. Neither brother offered much resistance and
therefore received a sound beating for the second time in MacKenay on the
Shore.
The last thing the man did was fling down the
bag of gold, “There’s your filthy lucre.
May it stick to you as the cockleburs in MacKenay’s Meadows!”
McGillvery looked unbelievingly at the pile
of glistening gold. “Nay, Mister, we can
not keep it. You must take it back. We are honorable men, you see. We have your puppy and we must pay for it.”
“The puppy goes for the beating,” the man
snarled and left as quickly as he’d come.
A glumness settled over McGillvery far deeper
than his bruises and cuts. “Cuddy,” said he, “what is it about this gold? Is that why rich men stay rich? They can’t get rid of their gold? Could it be now that gold acts differently
when there is plenty compared to when one is scrapping for it every day of
one’s life? Perhaps with poor men it
develops feet and runs away but with rich men it clings like sticky paper to a
cottage wall.” He raised despairing eyes
to McGillicuddy.
McGillicuddy, one eye swollen completely
shut, his garments strewn with hay, a bleeding cut at his hair line dribbling
life’s own blood and drying about the region of his nose, shook a perplexed
head. “I’ve never seen anything like it,
Gilly. We seem to be visiting a knot
headed land if ever there was.”
“If the bags refill, we’ve three bags to
carry around,” noted McGillvery. “If
this keeps happening, we’ll be drowning in our own treasury rooms.”
“It won’t happen,” purred a voice behind
them.
McGillvery and McGillicuddy jumped in
fright. It was the Cat.
“It won’t happen because you’ve not followed
the rules. You were to dispose of two
bags of gold every day before sunset and I see,” it said, smacking its lips as
if over a succulent oiled cod, “I see…,” it continued, “a pile of glistening
gold at your feet.”
McGillvery stuttered, “See here, Cat, we did
spend the gold. We spent it fairly and
squarely. It just came back to us,
that’s all.”
“Nevertheless there should be no bags of gold
in this stable tonight with two lads named McGillvery and McGillicuddy.”
McGillicuddy, praying fervently, took a step
forward in the Cat’s direction. “Cat,”
said he. “We cannot help the Lord’s
generosity. He gives his loved ones the
same in sleep as others receive in great toil.
It’s a fact that some can toil and labor all the day and receive a tenth
of their dues while others can trod lightly the grapes and receive barrels of
financial rewards. You need to
understand lads such as we have had our fortunes greatly changed and we belong
in that category of lightly treading the grapes. We did abide by the rules. I cannot help it if the good Lord decided to
pour back into our laps the gold and more for our efforts. You would not try to put rules upon the
Lord’s bounty now would you?”
The Cat spat a loud, “Phhht!” He reared onto his hind paws. “I will not cross the lines of the Supreme
Owner of the gold if that be the case. I
will check the proper channels to see if that was the Owner’s intention.”
“Oh, no need to do that,” spoke a reawakened
Gilly’s tongue. “The proof is right here. Why else would we have the gold if it had not
been authorized? Even you can be as wise
as that. The fact of it lies in front of
your whiskers, Cat.”
The Cat screeched a howl of midnight fury as
it vanished into the darkness.
“Sometimes I wonder at its white color,
Cuddy,” spoke Gilly. “Seems its devious
nature would leak through its very fur to give it quite another color. Seems not fittin’ that it appropriated the
pure color of the Lord’s own angels.”
“The
white outside surely covers a heart as black as the coals which fuel hell,”
agreed Cuddy.
In the morning McGillvery and McGillicuddy
were overjoyed to find, in addition to the returned gold, two additional sacks
of gold replenished to over-brimming.
“Ah, ’tis a fine life we lead, Cuddy,” smiled
Gilly. “We’d best be appropriating a one
wheeled cart for all our abundance.”
“Hungry chaps for supper, but a full belly
for breakfast,” grinned Cuddy.
The boys purchased a small barrow for the
three bags of wealth they now possessed and headed for the Molly B’s with Gilly
towing the puppy along on a long string.
“Mmmm. I can taste it now, Cuddy. A bit of Irish brown bread with honey jam, a pint
o’ buttermilk, a herring to the side, and a steaming pot of tea.”
“Two pots, Gilly,” murmured Cuddy.
Gilly tied the pup to a short bush. The boys pushed open the door to the eatery
and sat themselves quietly at tables near the window. They had a fine view of morning over the
A smallish woman, dressed in gray dress and
permanently pursed lips, came to wait on them.
Hair tightly pulled back from a forehead too high, an apron starched too
carefully, little wrinkle lines making long-lasting settlements around a mouth
puckered in a rather judgmental way—somehow she reminded Cuddy of an old
farmer’s wife who would at a moment’s provocation grab a scythe and cut a
fellow’s breeches off at the knee. His
eye wandered to the beckoning promise of plenty that the swelling ocean seemed
to proclaim and waited for Gilly to complete his order.
“And the same for me except a bit o’ peas with
my herring and if ye’d be havin’ a little cabbage, too.”
The woman looked sharp at Cuddy and returned
abruptly to the kitchen.
Cuddy spent the next half hour admiring the
dishes hung on the walls, tracing the pattern on the linen cloths at the table,
and noting the cobwebs in the ceiling corners.
When at last their meal was set, Cuddy looked
up in surprise. “Seems a sparse table
you set, Ma’m.”
The pursed lips parted just a bit and the
gray dressed woman said, “Small portions are tasty,” and departed for the
kitchen.
Gilly looked in astonishment at his half
piece of brown bread thinly sliced, the half pint of buttermilk. “Cuddy, she’s served us our herring with the
head end. Why, the tail end’s gone!”
“And as bold as a pig she served that!” gasped
Cuddy.
The woman did not reappear, so Gilly looked
at Cuddy and said, “’Tis better than we had last night.”
“Our portions have been rather small as of
late. Small bellies relish small portions,” agreed Cuddy.
“’Tis quite true heavy eating dulls the brain
and we’ve important work to be about today for disposing of the gold by evening.”
“Righto, Gilly,” agreed Cuddy, holding a fork
with a goodly portion of cod attached to its tines. “Here’s to a brain with plenteous ideas due
to the wisdom of lads not overfilling the stomach. Eat up then and thank the good Lord for our
bounteous blessings.”
The boys ate quickly and heartily as if the
meal were plenteous, paid the woman, and walked into the sunshine, easier able
to wheel their cart. Gilly tossed a
piece of herring to the pup while Cuddy looked toward the harbor for ships that
may have just docked with wares for sale.
Three ships lay anchored with their sails furled to the spars and
yardarms. Cuddy motioned to Gilly, he
nodded, handed the pup to Cuddy, and bent to the barrow. Looking east and then west, they took a step
in the direction of the harbor while wondering at the quietness of the village
on this early morning. At this moment a
small, raggedy child came mincing down the street. She was oddly shaped, thin, almond-eyed, and
seemed quite uncomfortable walking. Both
Gilly and Cuddy were immediately absorbed in this misshapen figure’s approach.
“Such a furtive look, Gilly.”
Cuddy whispered, “Aye, but not mean, Cuddy.”
He looked a bit closer at her narrowly
fashioned face, “No. Definitely not mean.”
“Be ye the lads with gold to spend, now?”
“Aye, that we be.”
“I’ve a place where ye can spend all ye have
an’ more.”
Gilly looked at Cuddy and Cuddy looked at
Gilly in astonishment. “Perhaps that would be a fine thing—but what are ye
selling child?”
“Oh, ’tis not me that’s selling,” she hastily
assured them. “’Tis not me!” Then she giggled at the seeming absurdity
that she would have any possession whatsoever to sell. “Mairin’s got nothing, Mister. But I knows someone what has plenty, Mister,
and is plenteously looking for more.”
She looked at Gilly and Cuddy a bit queerly,
“There’s folks who has you see and whoever has, gets. That’s the way of it. But poor Mairin, no, now never has and never
gets.”
Gilly raised his eyebrows in wonderment while
Mairin motioned for them to follow.
Cuddy shrugged. They’d no better
idea for the day’s business. This might be just the lead they’d looked
for. They turned to follow the
child. She pointed a small, thin finger
and said, “Not with that.”
Cuddy looked to where the finger was
pointing. It was directed at the small
pup. “We’ve not a place to leave ’im,” he protested.
“The Madam doesn’t like ’em,” the child
stated flatly.
Cuddy shrugged and raised questioning eyes to
Gilly.
“Perhaps we could leave him at the Molly
B’s.”
“’E would starve to death before noon at that
woman’s place,” protested Gilly.
“Then, perhaps the pub,” suggested Cuddy.
“’An ye didn’t get enough of the beatings
last evening so ye’re wanting to go back for more?”
“Nay, not much,” remarked Cuddy wryly.
Gilly looked at the small child before them and
said, “We’ve truly not a place to leave
the pup.” He added, “We’re new to this
locality, you see.”
The child stood firm. “Madam does not like ’em.”
The brothers looked toward the ships in the
bay.
“Sometimes a captain is in need of a good pup
for the ship,” suggested Gilly.
“If ye’ll wait here with the child, I’ll take
the pup down and ask around,” said Cuddy.
Within a few moments, Cuddy came back with a
look of wonderment on his face. “T’was
the easiest thing done ever,” he said.
“The young lad came out from one of the alleys and asked if we still
wanted the pup. I told him we didn’t
feel right about keeping it since we hadn’t paid for it. The laddie said he didn’t want us to have the
bad conscience and took the pup just that easily.”
“Well, was a stroke of luck for us, Cuddy,”
Gilly said.
Cuddy shouldered one bag, Gilly barrowed the
other two, and they slowly began following Mairin. She led them down the road and along a broad
path which followed the tops of the sea cliffs.
Soon a black, foreboding castle came into view. Mairin pointed to the castle and said,
“MacKenay. It’s MacKenay.”
Mairin ran straight through the main gates,
up the castle steps, motioned for them to hurry, opened the massive entrance
doors, and waved them triumphantly into the rooms beyond.
McGillvery and McGillicuddy cautiously peered
around the last door into the interior chambers and were astonished to see a
very old woman sitting upright in a chair fashioned as the old
“Come in, come in,” she said
imperiously. She turned to Mairin. “Be gone now.
Ye’ve done your business. Be at
your work.”
Mairin curtsied and vanished from the room.
The old woman was stroking the silk coverings
lining her regal chair and motioned Gilly and Cuddy to sit.
“I hear you’ve gold to spend.”
“Aye,” admitted Cuddy.
“And what are you looking to buy?”
“Land.”
“Land?” she asked.
“To be sure.
’Tis a good way to spend one’s money.”
“There’s only so much land, Sir,” she
objected. “What good is land to you if
it is all stone and won’t grow anything else?
Where is the investment sense in land?”
McGillvery quickly divining the conversation may reveal knowledge of great value to themselves, pretended to think for just a second before saying,