Redemption - Leon Uris [19]
Probably the greatest part of his mourning when his dadied was the fact he’d never see Ballyutogue Station in New Zealand. The game was on to get his mom, Finola, to take the trip to New Zealand and with damned better accommodations than had been the case with him. She’d swoon from the sight of the place and go back to Ireland and spend her life bragging about Squire Liam to the respectful and awed neighbors.
Getting Finola to move out of Ballyutogue, except for the occasional county fair or the pilgrimage up Mount Patrick, took some years of convincing. By the time she agreed to come for a visit, she had gotten too old and, like Tomas, never saw the place.
Somehow, this grated on Liam almost more than anything in this life, almost more than Rory’s behavior.
It hurt too much so he once again shifted images to Mildred, Madge, and Spring in the chapel, on their knees lamenting the death of Conor with his photograph bathed in candlelight. Tommy was nowhere, doing nothing. Tommy was like Liam had been in Ireland, doing nothing but mending harnesses or pitching horseshoes.
In another day the women would have spent the first cannonburst of grief and he’d come down. There was no use going sooner, even for another bottle of poteen. Liam knew he’d be somewhat less than nothing around three wailing females.
Liam thought of Millie. “What a horrible time to think of my wife laying naked in bed,” he blushed aloud. Back in Ireland when a girl went up the pole and the guilty young man was shuffled in shame to the altar, it signaled the end of his dreams, the ultimate life sentence, the closing of the door to the outside world, adventures, the rover’s itchy feet. Passion that ended bachelorhood had its dire consequences. Thank God for Millie, he had said a million times, thank God she defied her parents and had guided him through killer turbulence to land, to a homestead, to acceptance as one of the mighty.…Sheep Baron. By God, aristocracy, in a manner of speaking.…All fears of inadequacies, either on the land or with his woman, were vanquished.
The deliberate predating of Rory’s birth to make him seem months younger was done mostly to preserve Mildred’s honor. There were snickers and whispers, probably emanating from Bert and Edna Hargrove, but time would take care of it.
Or would it?
Try as he might there was a flicker of guilt every time he looked at Wee Rory, a trait that seemed to continue on through Rory’s boyhood. The first time he saw the baby at Mildred’s breast, he felt the infant had invaded their love. He never had the same problem in sharing Spring, Madge, and, particularly, Tommy when they nursed.
Rory was his son, all right, but it was Tommy who solidified the Larkin name in New Zealand. Tommy was named after someone from the old country. In a strange way, Tommy had more legitimacy.
What the hell! Rory didn’t know, even at this time! Or did he, and did he take his rage inward? At one point, Mildred suggested they tell Rory about his early birth and their dire situation at the time, but Liam would not hear of it. Too much honor was involved, too much of his deepest Catholic beliefs had been willfully ignored by his lust.
Rory sensed friction from the start. Liam always went out of his way to give the boy a paternal pat on the shoulder or even a rumple of the hair. Something about it was always forced.
Affection was mainly for Mildred and