Galore - Michael Crummey [131]
—You don’t seem old enough to have lived that much, Val Woundy said.
—All my living’s yet to come, Coaker said. —This is the life I was meant for.
Val turned off to his house at the foot of the Tolt and the two men carried on past Mary Tryphena’s. There was a light in Eli’s window across the garden and as they drew closer they could see Hannah sitting up at the kitchen table, her lap full of crochet cotton. —Your wife, Coaker said, nodding ahead.
—My wife.
—And what else, Eli Devine. You haven’t offered a word about yourself. You must have Scandinavian blood to get a shock of hair as white as that.
Eli shook his head.
—Well, your accent says Irish.
—We’re neither fish nor fowl, our crowd, Eli said and he looked away across the cove. —We could walk on a little ways, he said. —Unless you’re ready to call it a night.
They went as far as Kerrivan’s Tree and stood among the silvered branches while Eli made a maze of Tryphie’s scalding and his youthful obsession with America, his mother’s family garden and James Woundy’s mermaid and Hannah’s webbed fingers, of Judah and his whale, of Levi Sellers and Patrick Devine’s library and Obediah’s crooked limbs at the foot of the cathedral. —Abel was christened in this very tree, Eli said. He’d never been called upon to set his story in order for a stranger and could not lay his hand on a straight line. It confirmed his suspicion he’d made a royal mess of his life. He leaned his forearms on a tree branch to get that much closer to Coaker, to the notion that all his living might be ahead of him. —All I ever wanted was to get the hell away from here.
—I thought about leaving myself, Coaker said. —Years ago.
—And what is it kept you?
—I figured I could change myself, he said, or change the country that made me.
Coaker reached to take Eli’s scarred hand, running a thumb across the childhood injury a moment. There was a doctor’s practiced ease in the gesture, as if he was simply evaluating how well the wound had healed. —Let each man have his own, he said. —Would you stay for as much, Eli? If all you wanted was here to be had?
Eli drew his hand away and tucked it under his arm. He said, Have you really got a thousand men signed on to this union?
—You aren’t having second thoughts already, Mr. Devine.
—Levi Sellers is a hard man, is all I mean. He won’t just sit back and watch.
—You’re afraid of Levi, is it?
—He burnt Matthew Strapp’s barn years ago, to keep him out of Shambler’s way.
Coaker nodded. —I don’t think that’s what scares you, he said.
Eli smiled to hide his confusion. —What is it scares me then?
—You think you’re meant for something different than what you’ve got.
—It might be.
—But you’re afraid to look a fool reaching for it, Coaker said. —That’s what scares you.
Eli straightened and looked out at the black water of the cove. He could feel the blood in his face and was grateful for the darkness. To hell with you, William Coaker, he was thinking, but couldn’t manage to speak it aloud.
—Perhaps we should get back, the union man suggested. —Your wife will be wondering where you’ve got to.
Hannah was half-asleep in her chair when they arrived. —We’ve got a stray for the night, Eli said though he seemed altogether poisoned by the man’s presence. She set Coaker up in Abel’s room and then went on to bed herself. Eli hadn’t slept in the same room with her since Reverend Violet’s visit and he lay on the daybed near the stove. He was up hours before light to fix himself a cold breakfast and was about to douse the lamp on his way out when he heard footsteps on the stairs. —Early to be up yet, Mr. Coaker, he said.
—I’m not much for sleep, Eli.
—There’s bread and a few capelin in the pantry, help yourself.
Coaker had his jacket across his arm, his suspenders hanging loose at his sides. —I wanted to say, he said. —If I overstepped yesterday night.
—You were right about me, Eli told him. —About everything.
They watched one another and Coaker nodded encouragement. —Then I’ll see you at the meeting tonight.
—Please God, I’ll be there.