Under the Lake

24

“Hallooo.”

Howell put down his razor and listened.

“Halloooo. Anybody home in there? Halloooo.”

He got into some jeans and grabbed a towel.

“Hallooooo!”

It was nearly a howl, now, echoing around the lake. He came out onto the deck to find a priest standing down by the water. The same priest he had seen in town early in his stay at the lake, a tiny man, very old.

“Good morning, Father,” he said, wiping soap from his face. “I’m sorry I didn’t hear you sooner.”

“Ah, now,” the priest called back. “I’ve come at a bad time, have I? Would another time be more convenient?”

“No, indeed. Please come on up and have some coffee.”

The priest climbed the stairs, and at the top, offered Howell his hand. “I’m Father Riordan,” he said, “called by most, Father Harry. I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr. Howell.”

“Call me John, please, Father Harry. Can I get you some coffee?” he asked, leading the way into the cabin.

“Would you have a bit of tea, now?”

“I think so, if you don’t mind a teabag.”

“Ah, that’s fine, fine, lad.”

Howell made tea for both of them and took the pot out onto the deck. The sun was high; it was nearly noon. Howell poured the tea and made to sit down.

Father Harry cleared his throat. Howell stopped. “Was there something else I could get you father? Some toast…”

“Ah, do you think you might have a drop…”

“Of course, Father, but I don’t have any of Irish.”

“Whatever will be fine,” the priest said.

Jesus, he was starting early, Howell thought. He broke the seal on a bottle of brandy, walked back onto the deck and poured a generous slug into the priest’s tea.

“Ah, that’s lovely,” the man said, sipping it noisily. “Will you join me, now?”

What the hell, Howell thought, and poured some into his own cup.

“It’s a grand place you’ve got, here,” the priest said, waving a hand at the view.

“I’m afraid it’s only borrowed, Father. Belongs to my brother-in-law.

“Ah, yes, young White. I used to see him about. Not met him.” There seemed to be a note of disapproval of Denham White in his voice.

“Well, now, Father, what brings you up this way? Just out for a stroll?” The priest seemed to have something on his mind. Howell wanted to make it as easy as possible for him.

He looked directly, but sympathetically at Howell. “I understood I might be of some service to you, lad.”

Howell was nonplussed. He started to speak but didn’t know what to say.

“Oh, I understand now. Forgive me, my boy; I was up to see Lorna Kelly, and she said you might need a word with me. I can see you weren’t expecting me, but Lorna has a way with her… she sometimes knows these things just a bit before the rest of us.”

“How is Mama Kelly?” Howell asked, to give himself time to think.

“Not well at all,” the priest replied. “In fact, I don’t know how she holds on. She seems to be waiting for something; I don’t know what.”

Howell wanted to immediately ask about the O’Coineens but stopped himself. “Well, I don’t feel any special need for spiritual help just at the moment, but I am interested in the history of this area. Have you been here for some time?”

“Oh, fifty-two years, it is, now, since I’m back. I’m eighty-one, you see.” He looked at Howell as if he wanted to be told he didn’t look it.

Howell thought he looked ninety if he looked a day. “Well, you certainly don’t look it, Father,” he said.

The priest accepted the compliment as his due. “Yes, it was nineteen hundred and twenty-three I was ordained at Maynooth, and I left Dublin on a steamer, eventually winding up at Savannah, as my fathers did.”

“Your fathers?” Howell was puzzled. “I’m sorry…”

“Oh, I was born right here in the valley.” The priest pointed out over the lake. “A fine view this spot has, then and now.”

“So you went back to Ireland to enter the seminary, then?”

“I did. I was chosen to do that.” The priest half reached for the bottle. “May I?”

“Of course, Father,” Howell replied, reaching for the bottle, but the priest was already pouring for both of them.

“You were chosen?”

“I’m getting a bit ahead of myself, I can see,” the priest chuckled. “I should begin at the beginning.” He resettled himself in the deck chair. “You see, our people first came up here from Savannah in the 1840s to work on the railroads.”

“I’d heard that, but not much more.”

“Well, not all at once and all together, but the Irish among the workers had a way of gathering, and some of them took their earnings and bought land here; others joined them from the old country, and by about 1850, there was a thriving farm community in the valley – maybe forty families. And they needed a priest. There were not then, as now, a great many Roman Catholics in this corner of the earth.”

“So I understand. The Church sent them a priest, then?”

“No, the community was too small to be sent a priest, so a lad from among the families went back to Ireland to the seminary. It was a long wait, but after a time, the valley had a priest from among its own. The tradition continued, and I was the fourth in the line.”

“Did the community grow a lot over the years, then?” Howell reckoned that forty Irish families could grow practically into a nation in a century and a quarter.

“No, I’m afraid it didn’t,” the priest said, sadly. “It seemed that every time things were moving well in that direction, something happened. Nearly all the men in the community fought in the Civil War, and most of them didn’t survive it. It took a great many years before the valley began to recover from that blow. Then, in ‘89,I believe it was, there was a smallpox epidemic that hit us particularly hard.”

“I see.”

“Oh, they were a hardy lot and couldn’t be kept down. But there was the Great War, you know, and then a good many of the lads fought in Ireland after 1916. We recovered again, though, and after my return to the valley, things… well, things started to look up.”

“Then came World War II?”

The priest nodded and took a large gulp of his tea, now mostly brandy. “Exactly. Most disheartening, it was.”

“And then what?”

Father Harry looked at John, then waved his hand. “Then… there were… other problems.”

“Other problems?”

“Then came the lake. Eric Sutherland’s lake.” The old man’s voice was bitter and sad as he spoke the words. He poured himself another drink without asking.

“Tell me about Donal O’Coineen and his family,” Howell said, softly.

“Ah, Donal,” the priest said, smiling a little. “Donal was the best of us. If we’d all hung on like Donal… ” He let the phrase drop.

“What was he like?” Howell asked.

“A handsome lad; strong, industrious. He was always the hardest worker, the most successful. Married the prettiest girl, made the most money, had the most beautiful daughters.”

“Joyce and Kathleen?”

“Yes, yes,” the priest smiled, “and there’d have been more if there’d been the time.” The brandy seemed to be getting to him, now. God knew it was getting to Howell. “Joyce lost her sight when only a young thing. She was the artist of the family, the musician. Sweet, kind, virginal girl.”

Howell leaned forward. This was very important, somehow. “And Kathleen?”

A streak of pain flashed across the old priest’s face. Howell thought for a moment he was ill, but he continued. “She was the most beautiful creature I ever saw,” Father Harry said, softly. “A tiny thing, but strong, tough, even. There was something in her I could never…” His voice trailed off.

Howell searched for something to say to keep the old man’s train of thought going. “I understand Donal pulled her out of school when the pressure about the land got bad.”

The priest shot him a scornful glance. “Nothing to do with the land, sir. You see… ” He was fading again.

“Why did he take them out of school, then, if it wasn’t because of the fight over the land?”

“She was only twelve,” the old priest said. “It was awful. Her father loved her so.” He seemed on the verge of tears. “I thought it would kill him.”

“What happened to Kathleen? Did she die?”

“It might have been more merciful if she had,” Father Harry said. He was nodding now, with the brandy.

Howell struggled with his own load of brandy to keep the conversation going. The priest’s eyes were closing, now, his chin dropping to his chest. “Do you ever hear from them any more? Donal O’Coineen and his family?”

Father Harry’s eyes half opened for a moment. He looked confused. “Hear from them? Faith, lad, they’re under the lake these many years.“ Then his chin dropped onto his chest again, and he began to snore.

Howell stood up unsteadily and went into the living room. He could make no sense of all this. He dropped onto the sofa and laid his head back, just for a moment.

When he awoke, the sun was low in the sky, and the old priest was gone.