第89章 THREE 1929-1932 Paddy(21)

The grey eyes lifted to his face, dwelled on it almost pityingly. "Does any woman? What's a daughter? Just a reminder of the pain, a younger version of oneselfwho will do all the things one has done, cry the same tears. No, Father. I try to forget I have a daughter-if I do think of her, it is as one of my sons. It's her sons a mother remembers."

"Do you cry tears, Fee? I've only seen them once."

"You'll never see them again, for I've finished with tears forever." Her whole body quivered. "Do you know something, Father? Two days ago I discovered how much I love Paddy, but it was like all of my life too late. Too late for him, too late for me. If you knew how I wanted the chance to take him in my arms, tell him I loved him! Oh, God, I hope no other human being ever has to feel my pain!"

He turned away from that suddenly ravaged face, to give it time to don its calm, and himself time to cope with understanding the enigma who was Fee. He said, "No one else can ever feel your pain."

One corner of her mouth lifted in a stern smile. "Yes. That's a comfort, isn't it? It may not be enviable, but my pain is mine."

"Will you promise me something, Fee?"

"If you like."

"Look after Meggie, don't forget her. Make her go to the local dances, let her meet a few young men, encourage her to think of marriage and a home of her own. I saw all the young men eyeing her today. Give her the opportunity to meet them again under happier circumstances than these."

"Whatever you say, Father."

Sighing, he left her to the contemplation of her thin white hands. Meggie walked with him to the stables, where the Imperial publican's bay gelding had been stuffing itself on hay and bran and dwelling in some sort of equine heaven for two days. He flung the publican's battered saddle on its back and bent to strap the surcingle and girth while Meggie leaned against a bale of straw and watched him.

"Father, look what I found," she said as he finished and straightened. She held out her hand, in it one pale, pinkish-gray rose. "It's the only one. I found it on a bush under the tank stands, at the back. I suppose it didn't get the same heat in the fire, and it was sheltered from the rain. So I picked it for you. It's something to remember me by."

He took the half-open bloom from her, his hand not quite steady, and stood looking down at it. "Meggie, I need no reminder of you, not now, not ever. I carry you within me, you know that. There's no way I could hide it from you, is there?"

"But sometimes there's a reality about a keepsake," she insisted. "You can take it out and look at it, and remember when you see it all the things you might forget otherwise. Please take it, Father."

"My name is Ralph," he said. He opened his little sacrament case and took out the big missal which was his own property, bound in costly mother-of-pearl. His dead father had given it to him at his ordination, thirteen long years ago. The pages fell open at a great thick white ribbon; he turned over several more, laid the rose down, and shut the book upon it. "Do you want a keepsake from me, Meggie, is that it?" "Yes."

"I won't give you one. I want you to forget me, I want you to look around your world and find some good kind man, marry him, have the babies you want so much. You're a born mother. You mustn't cling to me, it isn't right. I can never leave the Church, and I'm going to be completely honest with you, for your own sake. I don't want to leave the Church, because I don't love you the way a husband will, do you understand? Forget me, Meggie!" "Won't you kiss me goodbye?"

For answer he pulled himself up on the publican's bay and walked it to the door before putting on the publican's old felt hat. His blue eyes flashed a moment, then the horse moved out into the rain and slithered reluctantly up the track toward Gilly. She did not attempt to follow him, but stayed in the gloom of the damp stable, breathing in the smells of horse dung and hay; it reminded her of the barn in New Zealand, and of Frank.

Thirty hours later Father Ralph walked into the Archbishop Papal Legate's chamber, crossed the room to kiss his master's ring, and flung himself wearily into a chair. It was only as he felt those lovely, omniscient eyes on him that he realized how peculiar he must look, why so many people had stared at him since he got off the train at Central. Without remembering the suit- case Father Watty Thomas was keeping for him at the presbytery, he had boarded the night mail with two minutes to spare and come six hundred miles in a cold train clad in shirt, breeches and boots, soaking wet, never noticing the chill. So he looked down at himself with a rueful smile, then across at the Archbishop.

"I'm sorry, Your Grace. So much has happened I didn't think how odd I must look."

"Don't apologize, Ralph." Unlike his predecessor, he preferred to call his secretary by his Christian name. "I think you look very romantic and dashing. Only a trifle too secular, don't you agree?"

"Very definitely on the secular bit, anyway. As to the romantic and dashing, Your Grace, it's just that you're not used to seeing what is customary garb in Gillanbone."