Together, the two old men blew the pleasant smell of their tobacco all about until they were wreathed like a pair of old dragons in their own smoke.
“So, Gallen,” Seamus said, “rumor has it that you’ll be staying here in Clere now.” He didn’t finish the sentence, now that your father has died, leaving your frail mother a widow.
“Aye,” Gallen said. “I’ll not be roaming far from home, nowadays.”
“How will you keep yourself, then?” Seamus asked. “Have you thought about it?”
Gallen shrugged. “I’ve been looking about, and I’ve got a bit in savings. It should last awhile. I’ve thought about taking up fishing, but I can’t imagine any woman ever learning to love the smell of a fisherman.”
“Sure, the blacksmith is looking for an apprentice,” Father Heany offered.
“I saw him just today,” Gallen said, remembering how the smith would pick up the horse’s back foot, leaning his shoulders up against the horse’s sweaty rump, “and to tell the truth, I’d rather be a horse’s ass than work with my head so close to a horse’s fertilizing region.” Seamus and Orick the bear laughed, and Father Heany nodded wisely.
“Sure,” Heany admitted, “a smart man can always find a job that will let him keep himself unsoiled.” He frowned as if thinking furiously, then said, “There’s the priesthood.”
“A fine vocation,” Orick cut in with his deep voice. The bear was sitting on the floor, paws on the table, licking out of a bowl. Some milk still stuck to his muzzle. “I’ve been thinking of joining myself, but Gallen here makes light of God and his servants.”
“I’ll not make light of God,” Gallen responded, “but I’ve no respect for some who call themselves his servants. I’ve been thinking on it. Your Bible says God created man in his own image, and it says God is perfect, but then he only made man ‘Good,’ as in good enough? Like maybe he was lazing about. It seems to me that God could have done better with us, considering that we’re his crowning creation: for instance, a day-old fawn can jump a four-foot fence-so why can’t a day-old child?”
“Ah, and to be sure, Gallen O’Day-” Father Heany said with a fiery twinkle in his eye “-if God had had you looking over his shoulder on the day of creation to give him a little advice, we would have all been better off!”
Orick lapped at the bowl of milk on the table, and the bear had a reflective look in his dark eyes. “You know, Gallen,” Orick grumbled soberly, “God only gave man weaknesses to keep him humble. The Bible says ‘man is just a little lower than the angels.’ Surely you see that it’s true. You may not live as long as a tortoise, but you’ll live longer than me. Your mind is far quicker than any bear’s. And with your houses and ships and dreams, your people are richer than us bears will ever be.”
Spoken like a true priest, Gallen thought. Few bears ever entered the priesthood, but Gallen wondered if perhaps Orick wasn’t a natural for it.
“I’m not one for the priesthood,” Gallen assured Father Heany. “I still love the road too much. I’m looking to buy some property, then lease it out. Other than that, I plan to continue my work as an escort. There are plenty of short routes hereabouts. I can take some work and still care for my mother.” He said it mildly, but it was not the short roads Gallen wanted to travel. He wanted to someday head south to Gort Ard and look on Saint Kelly’s likeness of the face of God, or head east and search for hidden treasures. But now he would be stuck here in County Morgan, never more than a couple of days from home.
“Heavens, boy!” Father Heany said. “Why, your reputation has already traveled farther than your foot ever wandered. Every highwayman in the county will clear out in a week, and no one will need escorts anymore! Why, you’re your own worst enemy!”
Seamus nudged the priest with an elbow, cleared his throat. “Ah, don’t give the boy a fat head. He’s not that good!” He turned to Gallen. “But, to tell the truth, Gallen, I do want to contract your services. My son’s gone ahead to tell Biddy that I’ll be home later, but I’m not half as drunk right now as I want to be in an hour, and I’ll pay you two shillings if you get me home alive.”
“Two shillings?” Gallen asked. It was a low price for a bodyguard, but then it was late of the night-too late and too rainy for robbers to be about. Gallen would only have to escort Seamus over the hills from Clere to the village of An Cochan, a distance of four miles, making certain that Seamus didn’t fall off his horse. “Give me four and it’s a deal.”
Seamus grimaced as if he were passing a kidney stone. “What? Why you’ve got an inflated notion of your own worth! You’re so hot to become a landlord, you’re already evicting imaginary tenants!”
“Five shillings,” Gallen said. “Four for my services, and one for insulting me.”
“Three!” Seamus said with finality.
Gallen held his eye a moment, nodded agreement. The only sound was the wind howling outside and the paddles in the butter churn. The scullery maid, a sweet sixteen-year-old girl named Maggie Flynn, normally churned fresh butter every dawn, but with the stormy night and so many travelers passing through town, she was trying to get a head start. She had dark red hair and darker eyes, a patina of perspiration on her brow. She caught Gallen looking at her and shot him a fetching smile.
Seamus winked at Father Heany and said, “Ah, Father, it doesn’t get any better than this, does it? Lazing about after a fine dinner.”
“No,” Father Heany agreed. “Not much.”
“No, not much better at all-unless,” Seamus said, exhaling a cloud of blue smoke, “you were in your own house with your own sweet wife sitting on your lap while you were smoking your pipe, and your dear wee children all tucked into bed.” Seamus cocked an eye at the priest, as if daring him to disagree-what with the priest being celibate-but Father Heany just sucked on his pipe thoughtfully, seeming to take a cue from Seamus.
“Ah yes, a wife.” Father Heany sighed. “‘Tis a fine thing, I’m sure.”
“Now, if I were a young man like Gallen,” Seamus said, “just moving back to town, getting ready to settle down, I’d be looking for a wife. In fact, I’d almost think it my duty to find some fine County Morgan girl and marry her.” Gallen wondered what Seamus was hinting at. Seamus had a couple of young daughters out on his farm, but the oldest was only fourteen. And while it wasn’t unheard of for a girl to marry so young, Gallen couldn’t imagine that Seamus would be talking about “duty”-unless some boy had filled one of his daughters with a child and then run off into the yonder and now Seamus was desperate to find the girl a husband.
Father Heany must also have been trying to fathom where Seamus was leading, for he said, “Now that you speak of it, there’s that Mary Gill down in Gort Obhiann whose husband got kicked by a horse last summer, leaving her with three strapping little boys, all of them fatherless. If I were looking for a wife, I’d certainly pay a visit to Mary. A beautiful girl! Beautiful! And she’s guaranteed not to leave you childless.”
“Ah, she’s pretty enough all right,” Seamus agreed. “But dumb as a pine cone, I hear. Like as not, she’ll fall in a well or catch a cold from standing in the rain too much, then leave her husband a widower.”
“Hmmm?” Father Heany asked, cocking a brow.
“Now, there is Gwen Alice O’Rourke-smart as a bee’s sting, and a hardworking girl, too.”
“Nooo, no!” Father Heany threw up his hands as if to ward off a blow. “You can’t go trying to unload your ugly niece onto the boy,” the priest said. “That would be a sin. She’s a nice enough girl, but with those buck teeth-”
“You don’t say!” Seamus frowned in mock horror. “You daren’t talk about my niece that way!”
“I will,” the priest said. “God agrees with me on this point, I’m sure. The girl has tusks as dangerous as any wild boar’s. Now, if Gallen is looking for a nice young woman, I’m sure others could be found.”
Maggie got up from her churn. The cream had hardened to butter, and she could no longer turn the crank. Her face and arms were covered with perspiration. Gallen figured it must be midnight, yet she’d been working since before sunrise. She stood wearily, put a heavy log into the fire, then sat at a nearby table with a sigh that said, “Ah, to hell with it.”