Shall we make the most of it?
Brian grinned and lifted the bottle of whiskey out of its paper bag. My sentiments exactly, Father OShea.
What brings you here in the middle of the week? Martin asked when they were settled on chairs in the sitting room with two glasses half full of amber liquid and the bottle between them.
Caitlin Claiborne.
Ah. Martin smiled and returned his friends gaze steadily. It didnt take you two long to meet.
Her mare foaled this mornin in my stable. She was there. Brians knuckles were white around his glass. Sweet bleedin Jesus, Martin. She would have delivered the colt herself if I hadnt come in.
Martin laughed. That sounds like Caitlin, always one to throw her heart over.
Just how well do you know her?
There was a time when I knew her better than anyone alive, the priest said slowly. Caitlin and I were born on the same day.
Brians eyebrow lifted. You never mentioned that.
Martin looked surprised. Surely I must have. My mother was her godmother. We grew up together. Perhaps you forgot.
Brian doubted it but he let it stand. Tell me about her.
Martin leaned back in his chair, a fond smile on his lips. There was never a time when I didnt know Caitlin Keneally. Like it or not, everyone who lived here knew each other. It was the kind of town where the local publican ran the convenience store and the post office as well, where off-season a stranger could no more find a friendly pint on Sunday or after ten in the evening, than he could find a ride out of town.
It hasnt changed much, Brian murmured.
Martin swallowed the rest of his drink and pushed the glass aside. Is something bothering you, Brian?
Just a bit of curiosity. If you dont want to satisfy it, never mind.
Martin shook his head. Im sure Caitlin wouldnt mind. Everything I have to tell you is complimentary.
Go on then.
Caitie was Brigids last daughter, the youngest of six and by far the cleverest. She was brilliant and spirited and completely without fear. I was no match for her. I can still feel the switch against my legs for the scrapes she led us into. He closed his eyes remembering. Her disapproval was the worst. Id look at her and her face would be closed against me in that way she had of removing herself, and Id want to fling myself into the Liffy. But she never stayed angry for long. Caitlin never held grudges. She shouted at you and sulked for a while and then it was over.
Just how brilliant was she?
Martin leaned forward. Christ, Brian. Shed read more Irish history and literature than the whole Dominican order. Her O level results are still a record for the entire county.
Brian frowned. But you said she had difficulty in school.
Martin nodded. The Dominicans were the teaching order assigned to Saint Patricks Academy. They werent cruel or particularly unkind, no more than any of the orders instructing children in the Irish Republics parochial schools. The most anyone could say about them was they took their duties seriously and that discipline was carried out regularly and indiscriminately. But their lessons were uninspired, mostly rote memorization and rules of grammar. And they were teaching Caitlin Keneally.
Still, Brian broke in, they were educators. Why didnt they appreciate her mind?
Ego probably. Caitlin skipped school more than she attended.
Brian laughed. What did her mother say?
Martin shrugged. The poor woman was besieged with the responsibilities of a pub, a convenience store, a post office, and six children. When she learned that Caitlin wasnt falling behind in academics, she left it alone. He thought for a minute. I recall that everyone did a great deal of leaving Caitlin alone. The end result was that nothing changed. She was Brigids last child and she managed her mother with very little effort. Even with her poor attendance habits, she was the most gifted student in her class and, I think, completely without remorse. The situation was similar to one of those underground volcanoes with pressure building,
Brian grinned and lifted the bottle of whiskey out of its paper bag. My sentiments exactly, Father OShea.
What brings you here in the middle of the week? Martin asked when they were settled on chairs in the sitting room with two glasses half full of amber liquid and the bottle between them.
Caitlin Claiborne.
Ah. Martin smiled and returned his friends gaze steadily. It didnt take you two long to meet.
Her mare foaled this mornin in my stable. She was there. Brians knuckles were white around his glass. Sweet bleedin Jesus, Martin. She would have delivered the colt herself if I hadnt come in.
Martin laughed. That sounds like Caitlin, always one to throw her heart over.
Just how well do you know her?
There was a time when I knew her better than anyone alive, the priest said slowly. Caitlin and I were born on the same day.
Brians eyebrow lifted. You never mentioned that.
Martin looked surprised. Surely I must have. My mother was her godmother. We grew up together. Perhaps you forgot.
Brian doubted it but he let it stand. Tell me about her.
Martin leaned back in his chair, a fond smile on his lips. There was never a time when I didnt know Caitlin Keneally. Like it or not, everyone who lived here knew each other. It was the kind of town where the local publican ran the convenience store and the post office as well, where off-season a stranger could no more find a friendly pint on Sunday or after ten in the evening, than he could find a ride out of town.
It hasnt changed much, Brian murmured.
Martin swallowed the rest of his drink and pushed the glass aside. Is something bothering you, Brian?
Just a bit of curiosity. If you dont want to satisfy it, never mind.
Martin shook his head. Im sure Caitlin wouldnt mind. Everything I have to tell you is complimentary.
Go on then.
Caitie was Brigids last daughter, the youngest of six and by far the cleverest. She was brilliant and spirited and completely without fear. I was no match for her. I can still feel the switch against my legs for the scrapes she led us into. He closed his eyes remembering. Her disapproval was the worst. Id look at her and her face would be closed against me in that way she had of removing herself, and Id want to fling myself into the Liffy. But she never stayed angry for long. Caitlin never held grudges. She shouted at you and sulked for a while and then it was over.
Just how brilliant was she?
Martin leaned forward. Christ, Brian. Shed read more Irish history and literature than the whole Dominican order. Her O level results are still a record for the entire county.
Brian frowned. But you said she had difficulty in school.
Martin nodded. The Dominicans were the teaching order assigned to Saint Patricks Academy. They werent cruel or particularly unkind, no more than any of the orders instructing children in the Irish Republics parochial schools. The most anyone could say about them was they took their duties seriously and that discipline was carried out regularly and indiscriminately. But their lessons were uninspired, mostly rote memorization and rules of grammar. And they were teaching Caitlin Keneally.
Still, Brian broke in, they were educators. Why didnt they appreciate her mind?
Ego probably. Caitlin skipped school more than she attended.
Brian laughed. What did her mother say?
Martin shrugged. The poor woman was besieged with the responsibilities of a pub, a convenience store, a post office, and six children. When she learned that Caitlin wasnt falling behind in academics, she left it alone. He thought for a minute. I recall that everyone did a great deal of leaving Caitlin alone. The end result was that nothing changed. She was Brigids last child and she managed her mother with very little effort. Even with her poor attendance habits, she was the most gifted student in her class and, I think, completely without remorse. The situation was similar to one of those underground volcanoes with pressure building,
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