A Fragile Design (25 page)

Hugh nodded. ‘‘Then I think you should be happy.’’

Matthew ran an appreciative hand over a portion of the intricate stonework. ‘‘This design is truly outstanding, Liam,’’ he complimented before turning back toward Hugh. ‘‘Could we return to our earlier discussion, Hugh? I need to report to the Associates within the week regarding the progress on the church. We’re attempting to schedule the dedication service. Mr. Boott and I visited with Bishop Fenwick when we traveled to Boston, and the three of us began making preparations for the dedication. Bishop Fenwick is available the first week in September. Does that seem a good date for you, Hugh? And what about you, Liam? Will your work be completed by then?’’

‘‘I’ll be meetin’ my finish date—never missed one yet,’’ Liam replied.

Hugh nodded. ‘‘September sounds fine to me. The building should be completed by then.’’

‘‘Good! And since I know the diocese is furnishing funds for any of the materials you haven’t been able to wangle out of Mr. Boott, I’m going to go ahead and report that they’re also paying Liam’s wages. We both know that J. P. will make Liam’s craftsmanship a topic of discussion; the subject of wages is bound to arise. I want to answer truthfully, Hugh, but if you’ll not give me a direct answer I’ll take your silence as an affirmative reply.’’

Hugh gave a hearty laugh. ‘‘I thought we left the matter of Liam’s wages in the dust, but it appears as if Mr. Boott has trained you well, Matthew. You may report that Liam’s wages are being paid by the diocese—but please do so only should the topic arise. I’m certain that if some of those tightfisted Associates find out the diocese agreed to pay Liam’s wages, they’ll think the church should have paid for the land instead of asking the Corporation to donate it.’’

Matthew smiled and nodded. ‘‘I’d say you’re likely correct about that assumption. You have my word. I won’t volunteer the information unless asked—except to Mr. Boott, of course.’’

Hugh grinned. ‘‘Of course. And if you’d like to complete your inspection, we can move along and Liam can get back to his work.’’

Matthew offered his hand to Liam. ‘‘A pleasure meeting you. I hope we’ll have an opportunity to visit in the future. Especially about those religious issues you mentioned.’’

‘‘We’ll see, Mr. Cheever—I’m not one to get into discussions dealin’ with religion. Seems that even those folks who are usually even-tempered get themselves all heated up when they start talkin’ religion.’’

Matthew nodded. ‘‘You’re right about that, Liam. Perhaps I should have phrased my invitation a little differently. Instead of talking about religion or religious issues, why don’t we get together and talk about God—not how folks choose to worship or what church they attend, but how a man goes about seeking and building a bond with his Maker.’’

Liam hesitated, mulling over Matthew’s suggestion—a bizarre concept, indeed. Yet his pulse quickened at the notion of mankind being drawn into some sort of personal connection with Almighty God. ‘‘Ya’ve captured my interest with yar words, Mr. Cheever, but I doubt we’ll be frequentin’ many of the same places,’’ Liam replied, giving Matthew a broad grin.

‘‘Who knows? Some barriers are more easily overcome than we think,’’ Matthew replied as he turned and began following Hugh.

Liam filled his trowel with mortar and began spreading it between two smooth pieces of Italian stone. A wry smile creased his face. The thought of Matthew Cheever wanting to discuss God with him was reason for more than a grin—it was a laugh-out-loud event. Why would a Yank, especially an important one, want to talk to a lowly Irishman about anything except his ability to lay stone? It made no sense. Why, if they were ever seen together, the good people of Lowell would certainly wonder about such a liaison. The barriers between Irish and Yanks in Lowell would not be so easily overcome. Certainly Liam and Matthew could meet in the Acre and discuss God, but barriers would remain intact. The Yanks would stay in their part of town, and the Irish would stay in the Acre.

Carefully smoothing the mortar, Liam continued filling the crevices between each stone. Attempting to push Matthew Cheever’s words from his mind, he studied the stones piled before him and concentrated on his choices before picking up a beautifully formed stone. He rubbed his thumb across the intricate pattern of the rock, mesmerized by the beauty created in a simple stone that had been pulled from the ground. Why was he thinking about the creation of a rock? He’d never had such thoughts before. And then another question came to mind—when Matthew spoke of a barrier, was he talking about the difficulty between the Irish and the Yanks or the break between man and God? And who had caused this break by declaring God unapproachable? Was it man or God? Surely it must have been God, because the concept of God desiring to associate himself with a lowly Irishman was almost as improbable as Matthew Cheever ever reappearing to discuss the multitude of questions exploding in Liam’s mind.

The bell tower clanged in the distance, hushing Liam’s thoughts as the workday came to an end. Packing up his tools, he placed them in the wooden box and then headed off, stopping to visit with several fellow workers. Turning at a fork in the narrow, dusty path, Liam remembered Hugh’s news of another living arrangement. Anxious though he was to depart from Noreen’s squalid house, he dreaded telling her of his plan to move. He decided her degree of sobriety would control the level of tongue-lashing hurled in his direction. Dinner at the pub seemed a better option, he decided as he turned back in the direction from which he’d come. If he waited long enough, Noreen would be passed out in a drunken stupor when he returned home, and if he arose early enough the next morning, he could avoid her entirely. His rent was paid for three more days; he wasn’t about to ask for a refund. Instead, he would leave her a note stating he had terminated his tenancy. Liam was seeking the path of least resistance, and a simple letter of explanation prudently placed on Noreen’s kitchen table appeared to be his answer.

The pub was nearing a capacity crowd when Liam arrived. Several men who regularly worked at the church called out to him. Waiting until his eyes adjusted to the semidarkness of the room, he wove his way through the groups of drinking, joking workmen who were enjoying a tankard along with the company of one another before returning home for the night. Squeezing between two men who worked at the church, he seated himself and soon joined in the laughter and conversation, now certain that he’d made the correct decision. The camaraderie in the pub far surpassed being harangued by Noreen Gallagher.

The men surrounding the table were prodding each other to buy another ale when shouts at the rear of the pub captured their attention. Liam and several others leaned back from the table and looked toward the back of the room, where the talk continued to grow louder and more heated.

‘‘You mark my words—if you don’t go after those uppity townsfolk first, they’ll be storming and ransacking that church you’re building,’’ a man yelled.

Liam squinted his eyes until an obviously drunk William Thurston came into focus. The Yank was spouting his opinion for all to hear.

‘‘I know you think I don’t know what I’m talking about, but the Yanks aren’t going to tolerate losing jobs to the likes of you,’’ Thurston yelled, waving an arm about the room. ‘‘They know you’re planning to take over the town and steal their mills, thinking you’ll have a ready-made place to bring in more and more of your kinfolk from Ireland. Do you really think they’re so stupid they don’t know what you’re up to? They’ll be down here in the Acre stealing both your money and rifles out of that church building before you have a chance to finish building up your arsenal of weapons. If you’re smart, you’ll take what weapons you’ve got and make the first move. Take them by surprise!’’ he yelled, the words a slurred, shrieking command. He was obviously hoping to provoke the crowd into action. Instead, he passed out and fell to the floor.

The men turned back to their conversation, ignoring the Yank in his fancy suit except to occasionally step over him as they made their way back and forth to the bar.

‘‘You think there’s anythin’ to what he was saying about the Yanks stormin’ the church?’’ Liam asked.

One of the men took a long swig of ale and then leaned across the table, his dark eyes sparkling in the candlelight. ‘‘Why? Are you scared of gettin’ a bit o’ blood on yar hands?’’ he asked before emitting a rancorous guffaw.

Liam met his stare. ‘‘I never fight when a disagreement can be settled another way,’’ Liam replied. ‘‘Just wonderin’ if and when you thought this battle might occur.’’

‘‘Don’ know if it ever will. Then again, might happen before mornin’. Can’t tell what them Yanks is thinkin’. And that one,’’ he said, nodding his head toward Thurston, ‘‘nothin’ he says or does can be trusted. I wish he’d stay outta the Acre and mingle with ’is own kind.’’

‘‘I ain’t heard nothin’ about the Yanks comin’ this direction to take over the church, and I sure ain’t heard nothin’ about the Irish taking over the town. Not that it wouldn’t be a pleasant enough thing to see ’appen. Right, McGruder?’’ another asked, poking an elbow into his friend’s side.

‘‘Right ya are on that one,’’ McGruder replied. ‘‘But I ain’t got time for this all-important conversation ya’re having—got to get home to my missus afore she throws my stew to the dogs,’’ he said, rising from the table.

‘‘I best be getting home, too,’’ another man agreed until soon all of the men except Liam had risen and left the tavern.

It was much too early to head back to Noreen’s—she’d still be awake. He moved to a corner and sat by himself, thinking about William Thurston’s remarks. The man had been drunk when he’d begun his ranting, but given Noreen’s comments about William Thurston, perhaps the only time he spoke the truth was when he’d had one too many. What if the Yanks were planning to storm the church? His belongings were stored there. As soon as he left Noreen’s in the morning, he’d go to the church and remove his satchel. He couldn’t take a chance on losing the money he’d worked so hard to save. If he was going to bring his parents from Ireland, he needed those coins. Perhaps he could leave his satchel at his new lodging without concern of theft. He would make that determination once he moved into the house.

Remaining in the corner for the balance of the evening, Liam ate a bowl of fish chowder and then borrowed pen and ink from the barkeep, who was willing to oblige. He penned a short note to Noreen, choosing his words carefully, thanking her for making space available when he desperately needed a place to live. Asking her to please keep the balance of his rent as well as the extra dollar beside his note, he went on to explain he’d been successful in finding a private room to rent. The Acre, after all, was small; he didn’t want to make enemies.

Before the bell pealed the next morning, Liam left the shanty, his money and handwritten note awaiting either Noreen’s delight or wrath, depending upon her mood when she awakened. A dog barked in the distance as he tripped on some unknown object and then stepped on something that squished underfoot. The cloudy moonless night withheld its light and caused Liam to slow his step. It seemed he’d taken forever to walk the short distance to the church. He found the stub of candle and a short time later, satchel in hand, sat down to await Hugh Cummiskey’s arrival.

Liam spotted Hugh’s outline in the semidarkness as the sturdily built Irishman approached, his arm extended in a wave. ‘‘Appears you’re anxious to go and meet Mrs. Flynn,’’ he said. ‘‘How long have you been waiting?’’

‘‘An hour or so,’’ Liam replied.

Hugh gave a loud guffaw, breaking the quietness of the morning. ‘‘Noreen send ya packing when she found out you were moving?’’

‘‘No. I didn’t get home until after she was asleep last night. I left a note on the table this mornin’. She was still asleep when I left,’’ he added.

Hugh slapped him on the back as he continued to laugh. ‘‘You’re scared of that feisty little Irishwoman, aren’t ya?’’

Liam gave Hugh a sheepish grin. ‘‘For sure, I didn’t see any need to be upsettin’ her and everyone else last night. Figured the letter and an extra coin or two would be the easiest—’’

‘‘Escape?’’ Hugh interrupted. ‘‘It’s all right, my boy. I understand. Noreen’s a handful and that’s a fact. ’Course, she can’t read,’’ he said, once again bursting into boisterous laughter.

Liam stopped in his tracks, staring at Hugh. ‘‘She can’t read?’’

‘‘I doubt it—but rest assured she’ll find someone who can decipher your note before day’s end.’’

They walked a bit farther before Hugh pointed toward a small shanty.

Liam’s hopes plummeted as he looked at the shack. ‘‘This one?’’ he asked, unable to hide his despair.

Hugh gave Liam a grin as he knocked on the door. ‘‘Trust me, Liam.’’

A cheerful dumpling of a woman greeted them at the door. ‘‘Good mornin’, Mr. Cummiskey. And you must be Mr. Donohue,’’ she said, giving Liam a wide smile that plumped her cheeks into two rosy orbs. ‘‘Come in, come in,’’ she offered, stepping aside to clear the entrance.

They stepped inside the hovel and then followed Mrs. Flynn into a large room that obviously served as the main living area in the house. ‘‘Liam, this is Mrs. Flynn,’’ Hugh said.

Liam nodded, his gaze flashing about the room. ‘‘Pleased to meet you. Mr. Cummiskey tells me ya’ve an opening for a boarder.’’

‘‘Is that what he told ya, now?’’ she questioned, turning a merry smile in Hugh’s direction. ‘‘He stretched the truth just a wee bit, Mr. Donohue. Truth is, I’ve never rented space in my house to anyone, but after a pitcher of ale, Hugh convinced the mister he was missing out on a good opportunity.’’

Liam’s cheeks heated with embarrassment. The woman didn’t appear upset over his arrival, yet it sounded as though Hugh and her husband had forced her into taking him in as a boarder. He didn’t want to be an intruder in this kind woman’s home, but once inside, he knew he couldn’t return to Noreen’s. Mrs. Flynn’s home was neat and clean; this was a place where he could be comfortable.

‘‘Now look what you’ve done. You’ve gone and embarrassed him,’’ Hugh said, returning Mrs. Flynn’s smile. ‘‘You’d best be tellin’ him the whole truth, or he’ll be headin’ back to Noreen’s.’’