Where Old Ghosts Meet - Kate Evans [88]
“Come in the house now and we’ll get you squared away,” he said. Picking up the bags, they headed towards the back door. “Bride’s got a job for the summer. She starts Monday,” he called over his shoulder.
“Them few things should be dry by suppertime if the rain holds off. Maybe you could empty that water for me, Pat. Soon as I get clear of this, we’ll have a cup of tea.” It was as if she hadn’t heard him.
Peg sat down. Her arms, heavy with exhaustion, rested on the table top.
“You can’t continue like this,” he said, beginning to clear up the remains of the washing. “He needs to see a doctor and so do you.”
As he spoke, the back door opened and Matt Molloy stood there, the wet laundry clutched in his arms. He took a few steps into the kitchen, stumbled on a loose end, quickly flipped the dirty straggling end over his shoulder and furtively searched the room. He paid no attention to the two sets of incredulous eyes watching his every move. A few quick steps and he was across the room, the white sheet trailing the floor behind him. One last look around and he disappeared into his bedroom.
“Christ Almighty!” Pat said. “He’s gone in the head.”
Peg was on her feet, her open hand thrust forward, blocking what he was about to say. “Leave this to me. I know what to do.”
She hurried towards Matt’s bedroom door, knocked once and entered.
“But they’re mine.”The whiny voice came from behind the door.
“Yes, Matt, they’re yours but we must dry them first. We’ll hang them on the line in the sunshine and we’ll dry them and then you can have them back.”
There was a lengthy silence. Pat stood ready, tense.
“Let’s see. What about … ” Peg’s voice was soft and cajoling. “Friends, Romans, countrymen … That’s a good one. You remember that one?”
“Lend me your ears. I come to bury Caesar not to praise him.” The words were running off his tongue, strong at first and then petering off to a mumble.
Peg came through the door, the laundry in her arms. “Put that on the line for me, Pat. It’s all right now.”
“They’re dirty.”
“No matter, just get them on the line.”
The mumbling continued from beyond the door.
Pat took the wet sheets in his arms. “Aunt Peg, he’s not right in the top story. You know that, don’t you?”
“He’s sick, Pat, I know that. He just needs carin’ for, that’s all.”
“That’s not all, Aunt Peg, and you knows it. He needs a hospital. He needs puttin’ away.”
“Yes, into that hospital in St. John’s!That’s where they’d put him. I won’t have it, Pat.”
Behind the closed door they could hear him pacing the floorboards, back and forth, back and forth, his mumbling punctuated by the odd shout.
Peg had seen the hospital in St John’s. The Waterford Hospital they called it. She had walked by there once. It was just down the road from the sanatorium. In the spring of the year, when she was on the mend, oftentimes she’d go for walks to build up her strength to make ready for goin’ home. It was a grim-looking place, she remembered. High brick walls with empty windows and not a soul to be seen about the place. “That’s the loontic.” Annie Walsh had grabbed her arm and steered her across the road. “It’s where they puts them loontics to. Locks them up in the basement, they does. We’d best hang on to our wits, girl, or that’s where we’ll end up, too.”
“It’s you I’m concerned for, not him.” Pat’s voice startled her. “You’re out here in the middle of nowhere.” He dropped his voice. “Livin’ with a friggin’ lunatic.”
She looked across at her nephew’s dear earnest face. She loved Pat to pieces but she wished he wouldn’t use that word. That was Annie Walsh’s word and she didn’t like it.
“Well, it’s Matt I’m concerned with. I’ll never allow them to take him away. Never! So don’t keep on about it.” She rubbed at the back of her hand. “I knows how to handle him. I’m gettin’ better all the time and Mary Anne Casey, she–”
“Sh, sh, sh.” Matt poked his head around the kitchen door, his finger to his lips. “Sh, sh, sh.”
“Sh, sh.” Peg brought her finger to her lip.
Quickly he darted to the big chair and sat down, quiet