Chapter 21
On the Sunday following the picnic, Mick dragged Grandpa Chauncey's old surrey out of the barn and drove us to Saint James for Mass. Mick has been so busy, I was surprised he took time, but was grateful for it, as I was getting heavier by the day, and never would have been able to walk so far. It made up a bit for his grumpy mood. I didn't want to miss Mass. Few women have trouble these days, but I'd rather play it safe and be right with God before I go into labor.
Walking up the hill was a struggle, but I leaned on Packey, and he went slow and patient with me. We went through the cemetery and past the ushers tolling the church bells and into the church.
Saint James is small but 'tis lovely. The men of the parish built it, and it was the first church in these parts, that replaced the old log cabin. The men who had property donated property, and those who had supplies donated supplies, and those with nothin' donated their labor. Only recently we put on the finishing touches, the lovely stained windows and the steeple. Light now streamed through the Eye of God window above the altar. The window was well named, a thing of great beauty and mystery like God.
Our priest is Father Fitzpatrick, a big strong man like my Packey, although from the looks of his great girth he hasn't been pushing back from his supper table soon enough. He came to Saint James ten years ago with grand ideas and started remodeling the church and building the rectory and parish hall right away. Some think he isn't right for our wee parish because he's forever planning something new and you can't never hold him back. In my opinion he has grand ideas but makes us work too much.
But I must admit he has done many good things. We didn't have the summer bazaar before he started it, and that surely is a grand event, when the entire parish gets together on Sundays for six whole weeks to display and sell our goods and all. People come from Lemont and all over, even from Chicago. 'Tis great fun and we make extra money, some for ourselves and some for the parish, and extra money is surely welcome these hard days.
Father Fitzpatrick didn't come from another Irish parish in Chicago or from any big city, like most of our priests. No, he was a chaplain in the Army, and he served in the War Between the States, and helped men on the battlefield. 'Tis said he was a hero and received a medal for all he did. He knows little about farm families, but he knows hardship and he knows kindness and comfort. Perhaps he's not so bad after all.
I do think he gives a grand homily, though some say he's opinionated. I don't mind if he's opinionated as I generally agree with his opinions. Today during the homily he asked the men to come tonight to discuss how the church is to be maintained. All that building we did will be put to waste if we don't take proper care of it, he said. He pointed out a stain on the ceiling where a leak in the roof was fixed. It looks shameful, it does. There's not enough money for repairs, and the rest of the property is showing neglect too. The men need to provide labor, and will make a list of the work each man can do, how to get materials, and many other details. Father asked for a show of hands, who will come tonight, and Packey raised his hand, along with about a dozen other men.
I wasn't all that keen about Packey going to the meeting. Although I was proud of his generosity, I hoped he wouldn't be away long, as my time to have this babe is near. I was being a tad selfish for his attention. I wished Father wouldn't ask so much of the men, but I tried not to be irritated.
When we left the church, one of the men who raised his hand for the meeting tipped his hat to me and motioned to Packey to step aside to chat. They didn't talk long, but Packey looked surprised at what the man said, and then he frowned, waved his hand at the man like he wanted him to go away, and strode to catch up with me, and he was wearing his angry face.
"Who is that man, an' what did he want with you?" I asked, taking Packey's arm and watching his face.
"Just a man I know from town," he answered. He seemed distracted, but the red color in his face was fading, and he gave me a great smile. I wasn't fooled, as I sensed he was trying to throw me off.
"It seems he made you angry," I observed.
"Oh, no, 'tis just a matter we'll talk about tonight, as we don't see eye to eye. 'Tis not important-don't worry your wee head," he assured me. He reached his arm around and gave me a hug. I was getting hard to reach around.
---
Everyone was quiet on the ride home after Mass. Mick and Packey both stared at the road, each considering his own thoughts, I s'pose. To make things worse, Sally said she wasn't feeling well. So I couldn't have any conversation at all, with no one willing to talk.
When we got to the farm, Sally went right to her room. I heard her throwing up in the chamber pot, and I went to her door to ask if she wanted help. She begged me not to come in; in case she started a fever she didn't want me or the babe to catch sick. There is always fear of the cholera, the typhoid, the small pox, or the influenza, and so it was best to be cautious.
So once again it was left to me to make the supper, although I wanted nothing more than to lay down on the porch swing in the shade, as I was mighty wore out these hot days and found the easiest tasks tiring.
Packey washed up the supper things, which was unusual, and I wondered if he felt guilty about leaving me to go to the church this evening.
Before I set down, I lumbered upstairs to Sally's door and called to her through it. She said she felt feverish now, and she was coughing and her bowels were loose. The rest of us weren't sick, so perhaps it was something bad she ate, but I feared something worse. I thought it wouldn't be the typhoid though, which starts slow, not sudden. Sally wanted to sleep, so I went downstairs.
I went out on the porch, where it was cooler. Mick was in the barn checking on the cow, which was ready to drop her calf. Seems I wasn't the only one about to give birth on this farm. Packey sat with me and sipped a cool glass of water. A breeze started and the sun moved down the sky. It was lovely on the porch.
Packey held my hand, and it felt good, it did, us sitting there alone together, but something was bothering me. I picked this time to talk to Packey about it.
"Packey, 'tis grand that you won the prizefight at the picnic, but will you still be fightin' after the babe is born?" I asked, gazing off down our lane instead of at Packey.
I sensed that he turned to me, but still I did not look at him, worried what I would see.
"Oh Darlin', I know ye're not fond of the fightin'," he admitted, "but 'tis something I grew up with, in the Auld Country, an' I'm a verra good boxer. 'Tis also an important thing for the men for me to win. They have so little to feel good about these days, an' they depend on me to be their champion, ya know."
"They keep puttin' you up against men who are harder to knock down, an' you come home with your lovely face all cut an' battered. I can hardly bear to see it." I turned to him now so he could see the earnest look on my face.
Packey squeezed my hand. "That's what fightin' is all about, Darlin', to face a fierce opponent," he said. "Surely 'twould not be excitin' otherwise. My face heals just fine, ya know it does. The men put up their hard-earned money expectin' me to knock the opponent down, an' it would not be fair to deprive them of their fun, or their money, as they have so little of both. I always win, Darlin'. The men would be fair disappointed if I didn't fight."
I knew Packey was proud of his fighting, and I wanted him to feel good about himself, but was torn between that and the danger of the sport. Not wanting him to see my confusion, I looked away again. "So what if the coppers come then? What you're doin' isn't legal, you know."
"Oh, the coppers don't bother with us. 'Tis all taken care of. The men must have some fun an' all." He gave a great laugh, as was his way.
I pulled my gaze back to him and accused, "Someday you will fight someone you cannot beat. Or maybe a man will cheat or get a lucky punch."
He laughed heartily again, and I was sure he was thinking I could not comprehend this fighting business, and he was right. I did not know, as I would never let myself watch him fight.
"Now who would it be could take me out that way?" he teased.
"Maybe that Gentleman Jim Corbett who was here last fall," I suggested.
Packey leaned back in his chair and smiled, and I knew he was remembering the evening the famous Gentleman Jim Corbett came to Sag for the big match. Every barge on the canal came loaded with men from Bridgeport and other places along the way, and crowded around the ring to see the famous boxer. After the fight the townsmen insisted Jim meet their local favorite, Packey, and the two of them spent hours in one of the saloons, talking about their experiences.
"Ah, Gentleman Jim...." Packey reminisced, his gaze drifting unfocused toward our lane. "That would be a fight, it would. I would be honored to try my fists against such as Gentleman Jim. But fine enough it was to watch the match an' to toss down a beer or two with him after the fight. An' I must tell you, Darlin', Gentleman was an apt name for the likes of the great man."
"Yes, Packey, you did tell me, don't you remember?" Truly, I had heard him tell about that night many times, and not only me but anyone who would listen.
"Well now, all you say about needin' to fight may be true, but 'tis also true you enjoy it," I accused.
"Darlin', it's in me blood," he explained, looking at me with a shrug.
I let out a long slow breath in resignation. "So I guess there is no hope of stoppin' you. When do you think you may quit the fightin' then?"
I could see Packey struggling to make the right decision. It seemed to take a long time, but at last he looked in my eyes, and he must have seen my concern and fear there, for he said gently, "Darlin', you an' the babe are more dear to me than any fight. If it means so much to you, then I will fight no more after the babe comes."
I pulled myself up clumsily and managed to balance my great weight on his knee and wrap my arms around him. I nuzzled my face against his neck and murmured, "I love you so much Packey. I wish I didn't feel so about your fightin', but I fear it will come to no good."
He rubbed my back and promised, "There are three fights already scheduled, an' the bettin' has started. I'll tell the men they will need to find a new champion after that."
Nice as it was on Packey's knee, my big body would not let me stay there in comfort for long, so I squeezed back into my chair. We sat a spell, thinking and watching the wildlife gather for their evening browse. The killdeer were running through the fields with their strident cries, picking around for food and protecting their nests in the ground. We tried to follow the swallows darting through the air catching insects, but they flew so fast we caught only their motion.
"I don't see rabbits," I said. "Shouldn't rabbits be out now?"
"Perhaps it's wolves that are catchin' the rabbits, like they were sayin' at the picnic," he said. "I haven't seen one, but did you hear the howlin' last night?"
"I did hear it, an' 'tis a mournful sound, but beautiful an' mysterious at the same time," I said.
Packey pointed to a deer emerging to graze at the edge of our field, and we watched her for a while.
"I wish you would just sit with me tonight and enjoy the lovely evenin'," I implored, although I knew he would never go back on his word to Father Fitzpatrick. "This evening will be no fun at all. I will be alone, with you gone, an' Sally sick, an' the Good Lord knows what's the matter with Mick of late, he's so grumpy an' makin' himself scarce every chance."
"I wish I could stay, Darlin'," he said, "but I canna disappoint Father. He doesn't think the men work so well if I'm not there. Every man will try to be his own boss, an' they will fight among themselves. Father says I have the gift of gab and of directin' work without lettin' on that it's orders the men are gettin', so each man thinks it's his own idea to be doin' such a thing."
"I'm sure you do just that. You will make the men happy by fightin' an' then you won't disappoint Father either. I wish that priest wouldn't ask so much, an' would leave the men alone for a while instead of dragging them away from what little time they have with their families. I'm truly upset with him, I declare. Well, I guess my day is comin' soon," I said. I could feel my face growing red and blinked quickly to hide the moisture gathering in my eyes. I had won my way about the boxing, but I was still peeved with Father, and feeling a wee bit hurt.
"Now Darlin'...," Packey began.
But I didn't let him finish. Just as sudden I realized I was thinking only of myself. "That was just malarkey, Packey, an' I'm sorry for it. I didn't mean to sound so spiteful."
Packey looked like he didn't know whether to believe me or not, so I went on.
"But that man will be there," I said, and this time I watched his eyes, as I sensed he didn't want to tell me something.
"What man would that be?" He avoided my gaze, and I'm sure he knew what man I meant.
"The man who chatted with you after Mass. The one who made you angry."
"Oh, don't think I was angry at all. He just sees things a different way, an' I canna agree with his way. We will work it out tonight, niver fear your pretty head." He shifted his weight restlessly, and scratched at his leg.
"I didn't like him," I said, and I tossed my head and lifted my chin. "I don't know why, but I didn't like him. Is he new in town? I haven't seen him before."
"No. He's been here some months, but seems he just now got around to joinin' Saint James."
"Then I wonder why he volunteered right off. Don't you think that's strange?"
Packey turned to me at last. "Oh, surely he's interested in makin' the right impression on the priest an' the other men. Don't you think that may be so?"
"Maybe it 'tis. But how do you know him then? An' why did he talk to you in private?"
He turned his gaze toward the farmyard again, and folded his arms across his chest. "I met him in town. He works at one of the quarries down by Lemont, and 'tis rumored he fires the men up with labor complaints."
"Ah-I see then. You would have no patience for that rabble-rousin'."
"You're right. I have no use for the likes of that," he agreed, nodding.
"Is that what he talked to you about then, about wages or some such thing at the quarry? Was he lookin' to include you in his nasty business then?" I pressed.
"No, 'twas another matter entirely," Packey said, avoiding my eyes again.
"And what was that other matter then?" I wouldn't give up.
Packey looked uneasy, and stood up. "Come now, Darlin'. None of that," he said. He pulled me from my chair and drew me to him, smiling warmly at me as he brushed a stray strand of hair from my cheek. "Darlin', I really have to be leavin' now, 'tis getting close to meetin' time. I promise I will tell you all about it when I get home, an' 'twill be all resolved then, I know. 'Tis no great matter in any case."
Packey hugged me for a long moment, and I nestled my face into the warm space on his neck. He rubbed his cheek against my hair and then sought my lips for a long gentle kiss. He stroked my cheek once fondly, then placed his cap on his head and headed out for the church, whistling in his merry way as he walked jauntily between the trees that lined our lane. I watched him fade into the gathering dusk, the sound of his whistle growing softer until I could no longer hear it.
As I stood at the porch rail and watched him stride off down the road and out of sight, I had a feeling of uneasiness. But I trusted my Packey, and I know no man better able to care for himself. Sure and if he rode his bicycle it would get him there faster, but it would be dangerous to ride home after nightfall, and hard to ride carrying a lantern. I shook off my misgivings and turned my mind to other matters.
Mick had not come back from the barn, so I figured the cow still needed tending, as all the other chores were likely done by now. Or perhaps he found some other task after all. There was always some task that needed doing on a farm. It was no big thing, as he wasn't happy company lately anyway.
I maneuvered myself back into my chair and sat alone, watching the sun go down, thinking about my talk with Packey and wondering about the new man, who he was and what he was up to. Then I thought about my Darlin' baby girl again, and it was not long before I found myself wanting to nod off. I went into the house and took out my journal, to make a note in it before going to our room. Soon I would be a busy mam, and there would be little time for journals and such.