Betwixt

Chapter Five

"I'll get some glasses from the dresser," he said, opening the top cupboard and producing two whiskey tumblers.

"How did you know where the glasses were?" she asked.

"I have had occasion to partake of a glass of whiskey in this cottage before," he said, a smile creasing his eyes.  "It was a great house for the céilí.   All the chairs would be pushed back against the wall and the dancing would start here in the middle of the room," he explained. When nostalgia threatened to overcome him,he cleared his throat self-consciously and changed the subject.    "Now, you were going to tell me about your first visit to Hollowbrook," he said, clinking his glass with hers and sitting back comfortably.

"Oh yes, well I suppose I was trying to impress Nathan at the time," she said, thinking back and pulling her ankles up onto the sofa. "We had only been together for a couple of months and I remembered him mentioning that he used to go fly fishing with his brother. Of course I knew nothing about fly fishing or any other kind of fishing, but he spoke with such fondness of the time they spent together on the river, that I felt sure we would enjoy doing it together. So I found Hollowbrook with the river running right through the back field and I knew it would be perfect. As soon as we arrived here, everything seemed to go wrong," she laughed at the memory. "The weather was terrible; cold and wet like today, except it was June!"

"Sure that's perfect weather for fishing," said the Sergeant, sounding just like her late husband.

"Precisely Nathan's thoughts. So out we went, in our galoshes and our rain jackets to catch our dinner. Four hours later, I'm soaked through, hungry and miserable!" Catherine could feel the whiskey loosening her tongue and softening her limbs. She hadn't realised how tightly she had been holding her muscles, like a defenseless nation under constant attack. It felt good to let go, to enjoy her memories for once instead of hiding from them.

"But Nathan, he seemed just as content as if we had caught the salmon of knowledge," she giggled. "All I did was complain about the pointlessness of the exercise. 'How could anyone call this a hobby?' I cried. He just laughed and said 'That's why it's called fishing, not catching.'"

"He sounds like someone I would have enjoyed fishing with," the Sergeant said, after a long silence.

"Yes," she agreed, taking a large gulp of the powerful whiskey, "he was the best person to go fishing with."

The antique clock above the fireplace marked the passing of the minutes and the hours, oblivious to the strangers passing through. Who knew how many different voices, different stories it had witnessed over the years? Some moments however, travel through time and cannot be measured by clocks.

Catherine used the tongs to put a few more sods of turf on the fire. Perhaps it was being here in the cold of late October, but she didn't mind the smell this time. On the contrary; the earthy smokiness was comforting and lulled her gently into a peaceful place.

"I feel like all I've done is talk about me. Tell me Sergeant, what were you doing out walking the highways and byways on such a bad night?"

"Andrew, please call me Andrew," he began and then took a very deep breath. He directed his gaze back to the flames and began to tell his story.

"I had to return, even though they warned me not to. You see, we're not exactly welcome around these parts now. They think we took sides against the Catholic Church, but it was never about religion. We were fighting for democracy and if we hadn't stood up for that, where would the rest of Europe be then?" he addressed his question to no-one in particular, and Catherine sorely lacked the political knowledge to answer him. "Still, I had to come, for her."

"For who? I mean, if you don't mind me asking," she added.

"My Sarah," he said, his demeanour suddenly changing to that of a shy schoolboy. "I made a promise when I left her here with her grandmother that I would come back and we'd elope to London. I knew we could never settle here, not after the war set neighbour against neighbour."

"And where is Sarah? Does her Grandmother live near here?"

"In this very house," he said, looking confused again. For such a capable-looking man, his mind did seem to wander when he talked about the past, which caused Catherine fierce pangs of guilt.

"Maybe they had to move – I know Mrs. Donnelly owned this place when we first came to stay. How long have you been gone?"

"It feels like an eternity," he said, leaning forward and rubbing the back of his neck. "I've been wandering these roads, trying to get here, but I never seem to find her."

Catherine felt her heart ache for him. He seemed like such a lost soul and for the first time since Nathan died, she felt the capacity within her to care for someone else in their time of need.

She pulled a woollen throw out of a blanket box by the fireside and placed it around him.

"It's late, why don't you kick off your boots and rest here for the night."

"No, I couldn't, it wouldn't be right," he argued, but the whiskey and the heat from the fire had made him weary.

"I think our reputations will survive the scandal," she said, heaving herself off the couch and searching the small hot press for a spare pillow and blanket.  "I'm not a great sleeper anyway and this way, I can keep an eye on you.  It's my civic duty," she added conscientiously. "Then in the morning, we can search for Sarah together." She hoped that would put his mind at ease.

"Would you do that? You'd help me to find her?" He gripped her arm with a ferocity that almost frightened her.

"Of course, I mean she's probably still in the area. I could ask Mrs. Donnelly for starters; what she doesn't know isn't worth remembering," she prattled on sounding like a woman from another era. "But you have to get some rest first, and that means staying put."

After a few more refusals, the Sergeant finally gave in to Catherine and to sleep. She tip-toed quietly up the ladder to the mezzanine, where she had an eagle-eye view of the living room, in case he needed her. Since Nathan's death, she had always dreaded the nighttime. Sleep was a destination that always moved just beyond her grasp, but that night, her eyelids felt so heavy. She lay sideways on the bed and looked down at the Sergeant who was now sleeping soundly. The house fell still and quiet; even the wind had retired for the night and it wasn't long before Catherine was dreaming about fishing on the river beside her husband.

***

Catherine sat bolt upright, feeling both alert and rested. She couldn't believe she had not only fallen asleep, but judging by the light coming through the mezzanine window, had slept late. It took a moment for the previous nights' events to slot into their proper places in her mind and when they did, she called out to him.

"Andrew? Are you awake?"

When there was no response, she leaned over the edge of the bed and saw that the chair was empty. Gingerly, she made her way down the ladder to search for him in the kitchen and then the bathroom. There was nowhere else to search. The blanket was left folded neatly on the armchair, but that was the only sign that he had ever been there. She continued to look around the cottage in vain, finding it hard to believe that he would just leave without saying goodbye. And what about Sarah? He had seemed so pleased that she had agreed to help him find her. She slumped on the sofa, staring at the grey ashes in the grate. It was almost as if the previous night had never happened. The cottage felt so empty. She suddenly wanted to be back home. The thought caught her by surprise. After all, she had come here to escape, but it somehow felt as though whatever it was she came here searching for was now found. Her weekend bag was still in the car; there hadn't been time to unpack last night. So she just washed her face with the brown mountain water, grabbed her jacket and locked the red wooden door behind her.