Cold Pastoral by Margaret Duley Page A

her, and what they had begun the winter would finish. They searched, almost without looking, while three days passed without a sign of the way she went. The men were ready to give up. For three days the sea had gone on by itself. Resignation came easily, and there was always the consolation of prayer.
    Josephine rose from her knees and dragged round like a lacklustre drudge. Swollen in the eyes and mouth she continued working for her husband and sons. The romance in her life was spilled, gone with the last sight of her child dancing down the slope. Her duty was left, and she prayed on her feet. Father Melchior sat in her kitchen and tendered the consolations of religion. For once Josephine had to fight unorthodoxy. Who could think of Mary Immaculate expiating in Purgatory? If she was dead, she was flying through Heaven asking the Saints and the Blessed Virgin many questions.
    Benedict was ready to give up. Already Mary Immaculate was approaching a legend. Far-sighted fishermen looked uneasily at the beach, but the police pressed them on. They wanted evidence of a hopeless search.
    The weather varied but changed without venom. The frost was light, the air damp, the wind constant but moderate and the snow dry, wet and frozen in turn. Once it blew with a snow-flurry and powdered the world with a new covering. Once it drizzled and froze, and the trees were taken in another glaze. The day was grey, and the forests rattled, steely and cold. The police were ready to bring home the body of a dead child.
    The fourth day the sun was in the sky and the snow under foot had the tread of coarse salt. Many men had gone back to the repairing of lines and twines for the coming fishery. Only Benedict went on, but his mind was back with the men.
    Molly Conway was released by relations grown weary of restraining her. Her gaolers were back on the beach, acquiescent to let things be. Mrs. Houlihan was tired telling the same story, and Mrs. Rolls was unmystically scrubbing her floor. The village wanted to be ordinary again. The rigour of living did not permit a continuation of exaltation. The time came when Benedict climbed down by the waterfall and landed in the valley with finality.
    â€œâ€™Tis useless,” he declared to his sons. “Go home and get a mug-up and go down to the fish-room.” Wordlessly they filed down the valley.
    Molly Conway stayed Benedict’s progress, but he ignored her, trying to brush past. Whimpering, she touched him and ran back a few steps towards the waterfall. Her retreat gave him an unimpeded way down the valley. He was stopped again by the approach of a police-sergeant. “It seems hopeless, Mr. Keilly. We’ve searched every point within ten miles. No child could go further.”
    â€œNo,” said Benedict, looking towards the beach.
    Molly Conway ran back and touched the sergeant. “Who is this woman, Mr. Keilly? I’ve been watching her all morning. She’s like a dog trying to draw someone away.” In sight of the sea the long range of Benedict’s blue eyes refused focus to Molly Conway. “Daft,” he said laconically.
    â€œBut what’s troubling her?” persisted the sergeant, turning to see Molly Conway beckon him on. She looked wild and distraught, with baffled blue eyes.
    â€œDeaf and dumb,” said Benedict dismissingly. “Take no notice.”
    â€œDoes she know the child is lost?”
    â€œHow could she?” asked Benedict stolidly. “Didn’t I tell you she was deaf and dumb?”
    â€œSo are animals, but they’ve got something else. I had a dog once who acted like that, and blessed if it didn’t take me to the thing I couldn’t find.”
    â€œShe’ll find nothing but a few clouts if she keeps on.”
    â€œDid she know the child? Have any contact with her? Try and think, man. It might help.”
    With his face turned to the sea Benedict screwed up his eyes.
    â€œWell, she did, now I come to think