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Valley of the Squinting Windows

[Pg 161] <h2>CHAPTER XX</h2> The summer was beginning to wane, August having sped to its end. The schools had given vacation, and Rebecca Kerr had gone away from the valley to Donegal. Ulick Shannon had returned to Dublin. This was the uneventful season in the valley. Mrs. Brennan, finding little to talk about, had grown quiet in herself. Ned had taken his departure to Ballinamult, where he was engaged in putting some lead upon the roof of the police-barracks. He was drinking to his heart's content, she knew, and would come home to her without a penny saved against his long spell of idleness or the coming rigors of the winter. But she was thankful for the present that he had removed himself from the presence of his son. It was not good for such a son to be compelled to look upon such a father. She had prayed for this blessing and lo! it had come. And it extended further. Ulick Shannon too was gone from the valley, and so she was no longer annoyed by seeing him in company with her son. Their friendship had progressed through the months of July and August, and she was aware that they had been seen together many times in Garradrimna. She did not know the full truth but, as on the first occasion, the lake could tell. Rebecca Kerr was gone, and so there was no need to speak of this strange girl for whom some wild feeling had enkindled a flame of hatred within her. Thus was[Pg 162] she left in loneliness and peace to dwell upon the wonder of her son. He seemed more real to her during these quiet days, nearer perhaps, than he had ever been since she had first begun to dream her great dream. Of late he had taken to his room upstairs, where he did a little study daily. "So that it won't be altogether too strange when I go back again to college," he told her on more than one occasion when she besought him not to be blinding his eyes while there was yet leisure to rest them. There were times during the long quiet day in the house when her flood of love for him would so well up within her that she would call him down for no other reason than that she might have the great pleasure of allowing her eyes to rest upon him for a short space only. She would speak no word at all, so fearful would she be of disturbing the holy peace which fell between them. In the last week of his present stay in the valley this happened so often that it became a little wearying to John, who had begun to experience a certain feeling of independence in his own mind. It pained him greatly now that his mother should love him so.... And there were many times when he longed to be back in his English college, with his books and friends, near opportunities to escape from the influences which had conspired to change him. One morning, after his mother had gazed upon him in this way, he came out of the house and leaned over the little wicket gate to take a look at the day. It was approaching Farrell McGuinness's time to be along with the post, and John expected him to have a letter from the rector of the College giving some directions as to the date of return. Yet he was not altogether so anxious[Pg 163] to return as he had been towards the ends of former vacations.... At last Farrell McGuinness appeared around the turn of the road. His blue uniform was dusty, and he carried his hard little cap in his hand. He dismounted from his red bicycle and took two letters out of his bag. He smirked obviously as he performed this action. John glanced in excitement at the letters. One was addressed in the handwriting of his friend Ulick Shannon and the other in the handwriting of a girl. It was this last one that had caused Farrell McGuinness to smirk so loudly. "'Tis you that has the times, begad!" he said to John as he mounted his red bicycle and went on up the road, fanning his hot brow with his hard cap. Mrs. Brennan came to the door to hear tidings of the letters from her son, but John was already hurrying down through the withering garden, tearing open both letters simultaneously. "Who are they from?" she called out. "From Ulick Shannon." "And th'other one?" "From a chap in the college," he shouted across his shoulder, lying boldly to her for the first time in his life. But if only she could see the confusion upon his face? She went back into the sewing-room, a feeling of annoyance showing in the deep lines about her eyes. It seemed strange that he had not rushed immediately into the house to tell her what was in the letters, strange beyond all how he had not seen his way to make that much of her. Down the garden John was reading Rebecca Kerr's[Pg 164] letter first, for it was from her that the letter from "one of the chaps in the college" had come. It told of how she was spending her holidays at a seaside village in Donegal. "It is even far quieter than Garradrimna and the valley. I go down to the sea in the mornings, but it is only to think and dream. The sea is just like one big lake, more lonely by far than the lake in the valley. This is surely the loneliest place you could imagine, but there is a certain sense of peace about it that is quite lovely. It is some distance from my home, and it is nice to be amongst people who have no immense concern for your eternal welfare. I like this, and so I have avoided making acquaintances here. But next week I am expecting a very dear friend to join me, and so, I dare say, my holidays will have a happy ending after all. I suppose you will have gone from the valley when I go back in October. And it will be the dreary place then...." She signed herself, "Yours very sincerely, Rebecca Kerr." His eyes were dancing as he turned to read Ulick Shannon's letter.... In the opening passages it treated only in a conventional way of college affairs, but suddenly he was upon certain lines which to his mind seemed so blackly emphasized: "Now I was just beginning to settle back into the routine of things when who should come along but Miss Kerr? She was looking fine. She stayed a few days here in Dublin, and I spent most of them with her. I gave her the time of her life, the poor little thing! Theaters every night, and all the rest of it. She was just lost for a bit of enjoyment. Grinding away, you know, in those cursed National Schools from year's end to[Pg 165] year's end. Do you know what it is, John? I am getting fonder and fonder of that girl. She is the best little soul in all the world. "She is spending her holidays up in some God-forsaken village in Donegal. Away from her people and by herself, you know. She has a girl friend going to see her next week. You will not be able to believe it probably—but I am the girl friend." He read them and re-read them, these two letters which bore so intimately upon one another and which, through the coincidence of their arrival together, held convincing evidence of the dramatic moment that had arrived in the adventure of those two lives. He became filled by an aching feeling that made him shiver and grow weak as if with some unknown expectation.... Yet why was he so disturbed in his mind as to this happening; what had he to do with it? He was one whose life must be directed away from such things. But the vision of Rebecca Kerr would be filling his eyes forever. And why had she written to him? Why had she so graphically pictured her condition of loneliness wherein he might enter and speak to her? His acquaintance with her was very slight, and yet he desired to know her beyond all the knowledge and beauty of the world.... And to think that it was Ulick Shannon who was now going where he longed to go. A heavy constraint came between him and his mother during the remaining days. He spoke little and moved about in meditation like one fearful of things about to happen. But she fondly fancied as always that he was immersed in contemplation of the future she had planned for him. She never saw him setting forth into the[Pg 166] autumn fields, a book in his hand, that she did not fancy the look of austere aloofness upon his face to be the expression of a priest reading his office. But thoughts of this kind were far from his mind in the fields or by the little wicket gate across which he often leaned, his eyes fixed upon the white, hard road which seemed to lead nowhere. The day of his release at last came. Now that Ned was away from her, working in Ballinamult, she had managed to scrape together the price of another motor drive to Kilaconnaghan, but it was in the misfortune of things that Charlie Clarke's car should have been engaged for the very day of John's departure by the Houlihans of Clonabroney. It worried her greatly that she could not have this piece of grandeur upon this second occasion. Her intense devotion to religious literature had made her superstitious to a distressing degree. It appeared to her as an omen across the path of John and her own magnification. But John did not seem to mind. It was notable that through his advance into contemplation he had triumphed over the power of the valley to a certain extent. So long as his mind had been altogether absorbed in thought of the priesthood he had moved about furtively, a fugitive, as it were, before the hateful looks of the people of the valley and the constant stare of the squinting windows. Now he had come into a little tranquillity and his heart was not without some happiness in the enjoyment of his larger vision.... And yet he was far from being completely at peace. As he sat driving with his mother in the ass-trap to Kilaconnaghan, on his way back to the grand college in[Pg 167] England, his doubts were assailing him although he was so quiet, to all seeming, sitting there. Those who passed them upon the road never guessed that this pale-faced young man in black was at war with his soul.... Few words passed between him and his mother, for the constraint of the past week had not yet been lifted. She was beginning to feel so lonely, and she was vexed with herself that the period of his stay in the valley had not been all she had dreamt of making it. It had been disappointing to a depressing extent, and now especially in its concluding stage. This sad excursion in the little ass-trap, without any of the pomp and circumstance which John so highly deserved, was a poor, mean ending. He was running over in his mind the different causes which had given this vacation its unusual character. First there came remembrance of his journey down from Dublin with Mr. Myles Shannon, who had then suggested the friendship with his nephew Ulick. Springing out of this thought was a very vivid impression of Garradrimna, that ugly place which he had discovered in its true colors for the first time; its vile set of drunkards and the few secret lapses it had occasioned him. Then there was his father, that fallen and besotted man whom the valley had ruined past all hope. As a more intimate recollection his own doubts of the religious life by the lakeside arose clear before him. And the lake itself seemed very near, for it had been the silent witness of all his moods and conditions, the dead thing that had gathered to itself a full record of his sojourn in the valley. But, above all, there was Rebecca Kerr, whom he had contrived to meet so often as she went from school. It was she who now brought light to all the darkened[Pg 168] places of his memory. Her letter to him the other day was the one real thing he had been given to take away from the valley. How he longed to read it again! But his mother's eyes were upon him.... At last he began to have a little thought of the part she had played. Already they had reached the railway station of Kilaconnaghan. They went together through the little waiting-room, which held sad memories for Mrs. Brennan, and out upon the platform, where a couple of porters leaned against their barrows chewing tobacco. Two or three passengers were sitting around beside their luggage waiting to take the train for Dublin. A few bank clerks from the town were standing in a little group which possessed an imaginary distinction, laughing in a genteel way at a puerile joke from some of the London weekly journals. They were wearing sporting clothes and had fresh fags in their mouths. It was an essential portion of their occupation, this perpetual delight in watching the outgoing afternoon train. "Aren't they the grand-looking young swells?" said Mrs. Brennan; "I suppose them have the great jobs now?" "Great!" replied John, quite unconscious of what he said. He spoke no other word till he took his place in the train. She kissed him through the open window and hung affectionately to his hand.... Then there fluttered in upon them the moment of parting.... Smiling wistfully and waving her hand, she watched the train until it had rounded a curve. She lingered for a moment by the advertisement for Jameson's Whiskey in the waiting-room to wipe her eyes. She began to remember[Pg 169] how she had behaved here in this very place on the day of John's home-coming, and of how he had left her standing while he talked to Myles Shannon.... He seemed to have slipped away from her now, and her present thought made her feel that the shadow of the Shannon family, stretching far across her life, had attended his going as it had attended his coming. She went out to the little waiting ass and, mounting into the trap, drove out of Kilaconnaghan into the dark forest of her fears. <hr /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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