The Pig Goes to Hog Heaven (26 page)

“Oh, Lolly. Dear Lolly. You're in luck. The pigs. They've wandered off. Where they've gone, I haven't the slightest. Maybe an accident on the road and the poor darlings all scattered, like when … well, you remember. When Aaron first came and your truck tipped into the ditch and all the pigs … Well, something like that must have happened. And just like you then, whoever they belonged to found them and drove them back to where they'd come from.” Her voice slowed, try as she might to sustain the pitch needed for her disingenuous explanation—during which time five more pigs appeared. Recovered, Kitty continued as best she could. “And took them away. From here. From the mountain. Where they … where they were when I phoned you.”

“Oh?”

“Look. Look there. The mountain. You can see. They're not there. Where they were. Do you see any pigs?”

There were now twenty-two by Kitty's count. A nervous laugh tickled her throat. All she needed was for Lolly to actually see the pigs. To assuage her fear, she repeated herself. “Any pigs? Do you see any? Any pigs?”

“It's slop time at home and I'm here and Aaron has to do the slopping all by himself. Lucky he knows what to do. From when I was … you know. When I was writing my … well, you know.”

“Then you … you don't see any pigs? Am I right?”

“I see Kitty McCloud, who should rightly be called Sweeney, trying to convince me I shouldn't be annoyed coming all this way for nothing. And Aaron having to do everything.”

Kitty had every right to inform her friend that she should no longer rightfully be called McCloud, but the time had come for Kitty to test her restraint. With effort, she passed the test and simply said, “Tell him I apologize. And I apologize to you, too. I'm the last person to cause anyone an inconvenience.”

“Oh? And when did that cosmic change come about? Must be within the last three minutes.”

“I don't blame you—”

“Thanks.”

Kitty decided she'd had enough of Lolly's sass. “Oh, Lolly, let it go. So Aaron gets to empty the swill buckets into the trough. There are enough tragedies in the world. This needn't be added. Heavens to Betsy—as they definitely did
not
say in the Bronx—what would you like me to do? Lick your face all over?”

“Please!” Lolly looked as if she might throw up.

“Please lick it? Is that what you're saying? ‘Kitty, love, lick my face all over'?” Relieved by the image she'd summoned, Kitty laughed a genuine laugh.

“Kitty—don't. Now you're going to make
me
laugh. And I'm in no mood—”

“And isn't a laugh better than a lick?”

“Stop! I can't!” Lolly laughed.

And Kitty laughed as well.

When the sounds subsided, Kitty, her normal voice restored, said, “We go away two days from today. You'll come to supper tomorrow? To make up for driving all this way. If compensation is possible after all your trouble. A grand farewell, even if we're not gone for that long.”

“I'll give it some thought.”

To Kitty's surprise, she sounded somewhat tentative. “You have other plans?”

“Plans?” Lolly hesitated, then continued, her tone even less assured. “No, of course not. What other plans could I possibly have? You know my … I mean our … our routine seldom varies. Sometimes Aaron goes off to Dockery's pub, and I … well, I find ways to … to amuse myself. So, yes, yes. Delighted. Of course we'll come. Since you'll be going away … even if it's not for that long.”

Kitty didn't like what she was hearing, her friend uncertain as she had been when she'd been practicing the art of fiction. Lolly seemed thrown off course by the simple invitation. It wasn't that extraordinary. They came to supper not infrequently, Kieran reluctant as he was to limit the achievements of his culinary gifts to his wife alone. Why the hesitation now?

An unwelcome thought came into her head. It was prompted not only by Lolly's present conduct but by what Lolly had said that day at the cliff. How eager she seemed to have Declan away. And then, talking of his grief for the boy buried in the garden, she'd said nothing would be of help. Then she'd added, “
Almost
nothing.” Kitty had sometimes wondered what “almost” meant. Several interpretations offered themselves, one so absurd it made Kitty a bit ashamed to have thought of it. But it kept recurring from time to time. Kitty did all she could to dismiss it, but with limited success. Lolly's marriage to Aaron seemed happy enough. He'd even taken an interest in her pigs. And Lolly had appreciated his indulgence during the dread days when she'd taken on the joys of being a writer.

That Lolly had residual feelings for Declan was understandable. But was she doing anything to stir up the residue? What exactly might be going on? Kitty's immediate response to this kind of thinking was a fear for Aaron. With her newfound sympathy came a determination that no harm come to her non-nephew. Kitty would never allow him to be met with any untoward difficulties. He had been sufficiently deprived to exempt him from any further deprivations. Lolly must never be, like Aaron's Kerry-born mother, “a woman of susceptibilities.”

Now a somewhat more appealing thought took precedence over all others. Maybe she could trick Lolly into revealing more than she might want—more, surely, than the mild suspicion that had already been aroused. Now could be a time of testing. It would be an unfair and despicable thing to do to her best friend—which meant that Kitty hesitated not at all and proceeded forthwith.

“And Kieran thinks Declan should be invited as well.” (Kieran had thought nothing of the kind.)

“Declan?”

“Our thanks for the thatching. It seems the least we can do. Since he's refused all payment, not even the cost of the reed.”

“Invite Declan?” Lolly seemed not to understand what Kitty was saying.

“Fine work, don't you think? And the courtyard restored to the way it's meant to be.”

“Yes. Very fine. Very.”

“Say what you will about Declan Tovey, he's a master at whatever he does, don't you agree? And now the sheds are done and he's the one did it. How can we not be grateful? Before he leaves again for who knows where or for how long, we should surely offer him a hearty meal to speed him on his way. You agree?”

“Well—”

“Oh, so we both have a history with Declan, but we've changed so much since those days. And nights. Even I. And you, too, what with Aaron your husband and all.”

“Yes, of course, but—”

“You have an objection?”

“I did presume it was to be just family … and you and Kieran going away, and the cows, too …”

“Lolly, if it embarrasses you to have him and Aaron here at the same time—”

“Oh, no, not that. Why … why would I be embarrassed when … when—”

“When it all happened so long ago and we can hardly remember?”

“Well, yes, that of course—”

“And to think how intimate we were with what we thought were his bones. Washing them and sticking them back inside his clothes, using the same hands that … well, I needn't remind
you
of all people. But you prefer I don't ask him?”

“Not if you want to. But … but …”

“Yes?”

After she'd taken a deep breath, Lolly, resigned and impatient, said, “Oh Kitty, you needn't invite even us—and you getting ready for your time away—packing, making arrangements, probably preparing for those classes, and the cows besides …”

Kitty was not quite ready to let the testing end. “Let me hear none of that. Of course it's a sacrifice. But consider for whom it's being made. Do you forget that you're the wife of Aaron, my favorite nephew? It will be a feasting none of us will ever forget. Never mind sacrifice. Remember who you are. You're Lolly McCloud.”

“I … I'll mention it to Aaron. We do have chores of our own, don't forget.”

To show her acceptance of this generous consideration, Kitty, with a muted chuckle, reached out and touched Lolly's cheek.

Lolly, in reflex, as if avoiding a contagion, withdrew, then quickly leaned forward to accept the gesture. Taking advantage of the intimacy, Kitty, her voice low to indicate confidentiality, said, “Lolly, you're not doing anything foolish these days, are you?”

Lolly slowly pulled away. “Kitty, whatever are you talking about?”

Immediately Kitty repented. She'd been too explicit. “Nothing. Really. Nothing at all.”

“Oh? It didn't sound like nothing to me. Out with it Caitlin Sweeney.” Her voice firm, she continued. “I'm standing here, waiting to learn your very own definition of ‘nothing.' ”

Dipping quickly and deeply into resources that, on more than one occasion, had rescued her from herself, Kitty, as dismissively as possible, said, “I mean … well … and you'll have to forgive me … I meant you're not writing another novel, are you? I mean … see what a foolish thing I had in mind?”

“And why on earth would I—would anyone—want to write a novel?”

“Because … because that's what one is born to do. I mean, I write a book because that's what I was born to do.” Kitty realized that now
she
was the defensive one. She had no choice but to go on. “Just as you were born to be a swineherd. Which means you don't have to write a book. You get to raise pigs. Because that's what you were born to do. And I … I withdraw the question.”

Looking directly into Kitty's eyes, Lolly, in tones that managed to sound both indifferent and menacing, said, “You can invite Declan if you want. If that would please you. I'll be there, and Aaron, too.” After holding her gaze fast for three seconds more, she turned and went to her truck, got inside, and closed the door with no more than a barely audible click. Through the open window she called out, “And I've never done a foolish thing in my entire life!” She revved the motor three times, then added, “Not like some I could name!”

She drove off.

After the truck had made the turn off the castle road, Kitty said quietly, but aloud, “I wronged her.” Silently, to herself, she continued the thought. It could very well be that Lolly, determined to send Declan off to a thatching job near Connemara, was desperate to rid herself of a temptation that was threatening to grow beyond the strength of her endurance.
That
was why she had come to the cliff, to the sea, to find him. Kitty, aloud, repeated the words, “I wronged her.”

The pigs were still on the mountain. There were now more than thirty of them.

16

T
he day of departure had arrived. Kitty and Kieran, with a questionable assist from their dog Sly, had started the cows down the far side of Crohan Mountain. The truck was parked on the road below, ready and waiting for the journey to Kieran's brother's place, south of Blarney, not far from Cork. The sun still shone on the top of the hill but would soon begin its descent down the western slope and into the sea. Kieran was anxious to get the cows away and settled in their new quarters. They had yet to be milked.

The meal the evening before, with no Declan in evidence, had been a mixed success. Kitty had phoned Lolly and apologized for her mention of Lolly doing anything foolish. It was, Kitty admitted, she who had been the fool, and Lolly must forgive her. Kitty refrained from adding “just as I've forgiven you more times than even God remembers.” Because this last was left unsaid, Lolly not only forgave but brought to the table an inordinate amount of good cheer and warm humor. Kitty at one point had begun to wonder if her leaving was the source of all this fond fellowship, but, in the interest of keeping the event celebratory, she decided not to pursue that line of thinking.

In deference to Aaron, Kieran had prepared an American meal: corned beef and cabbage, but with an Irish element—potatoes—added for local color.

Not long into the conversation, after they had given most of their talk to Kitty's coming defense of her writings in the guise of teaching, Lolly herself cheerfully introduced the subject of Declan's supposed burial and the new knowledge about the substitute skeleton put into the cabbage patch. There was, in Lolly's manner, not the least hint that talk of Declan was anything to be avoided; nor did it seem that she'd introduced it as a pretext for giving him a presence at the feast. Kitty had indeed wronged her friend. She had spoken the truth when she'd named herself the fool. The conversation proceeded with easy amusement and communal good cheer.

Soon enough they were speaking of the confessions each had made, since it had been assumed that Declan Tovey was not only dead but murdered. Each now explained the motive for his (Kieran's) and her (Kitty's and Lolly's) claim to be the perpetrator.

Because Kitty had been the first to confess on the night of the wake, she admitted she was protecting Lolly, who, she had most fervently believed, had done the deed in vengeance for Declan's earlier seduction of her, Kitty's, chaste self, a sisterly act deserving a no less sisterly sacrifice.

Kieran confessed that, in truth, it was not because Declan had called Kitty a cow-face, but that he had believed either Lolly or Kitty had committed the murder, since each was jealous of the other and more than capable and competent to perform the act. As a gentleman, he could hardly allow either of them to be called to account. They were women, and he, a man, could do no less than take it all upon himself.

Lolly, in gratitude, kissed his cheek. Kitty seemed not quite so taken with his gallantry. To ease his wife's disappointment that she alone was not the motive, he added, as something of a footnote, that he had indeed been tempted to murder the man—for the very reason given as he'd stood at the side of the coffin. Declan, he had been told,
had
called Kitty a cow-face. It was only through the direct intervention of Kieran's sainted mother in heaven that he had resisted the murderous impulses and let the man continue to live.