Selina’s House except in King-me’s company, had never heard him string together more than three words. Even if the match wasn’t impossible, the priest thought, little Mary Tryphena would eat Absalom alive.
The King was on his feet again, goading the revelers into one more song and he was waltzing Absalom about the kitchen now, the boy stiff as a broomstick. —Horse Chops, the King whistled hoarsely. His voice was ruined by the hours of speaking as he inhaled and it was almost impossible to make him out anymore. —This boy, he said, still waltzing Absalom in a tight circle. —Is he in love?
Horse Chops clapped his jaw once and the mummers gave a half-hearted cheer.
—In love he is, the King said. A rabid blush colored Absalom’s face and he tried to pull away but the King held him tight. —Tell us Horse Chops, is his love true?
Clap.
—A true love, bless you and amen.
Horse Chops shuffled up close to the dancing couple and clapped his jaws wildly into the King’s ear.
—Don’t be talking so much foolishness, Horse Chops, the King said. The jaws clapped awhile again. —That can’t be true, Horse Chops.
—What did he say? Father Phelan asked when it was clear Absalom wasn’t willing to take the bait.
The King stepped away from Absalom though he kept hold of the boy’s arms. —He claims young Ab here is in love with his cousin.
The mummers offered their chorus of feigned disbelief.
—Is that true? the King asked. —Are ye in love with your cousin?
Absalom pulled to get clear of the King. —I don’t have a cousin, he said, stuttering fiercely.
—Do you hear, Horse Chops? He says he has no c-c-cousin to fall in love with.
Clap, clap clap, clap clap clap clap.
The King went still then, staring at the youngster through his veil. —Oh but Horse Chops here says you do, Absalom. You have two cousins in the Gut, he says.
Clap clap clap, clap clap, clap clap clap.
—Little Lazarus Devine, the King said.
—No, Absalom whispered.
—And Mary Tryphena Devine, your intended. A child of your own aunt. Lizzie Devine is your grandfather’s daughter, Absalom.
The boy tore his arms free finally and left them there, his feet on the naked wooden stairs echoing down to them in the kitchen. The mummers sat in a drunken silence awhile afterwards and some of them removed their brin veils and hats to allow their faces the open air for the first time in hours. The details of the room beginning to rise to the day’s first light. The King sat heavily in a chair and Horse Chops settled his rump into the King’s lap, leaning on the stick that held the horse’s head. —Well that’s that, I suppose, the King said.
Callum pushed his head free of Horse Chops’s blanket and scrubbed at his sweaty face with his hand. —I expect so, he said, speaking aloud for the first time. He smiled forlornly across the kitchen at the priest. —Morning Father, he said.
The King raised and lowered his knees under Callum like he was bouncing a child. —And how are you feeling now, Callum? he asked.
—Like a horse’s arse is how I feel, Jabez Trim.
—As is right and proper, the King said and he nodded under his bushy crown.
The Feast of the Epiphany was the end of the Christmas season and Father Phelan wandered off to another of his ghost parishes on the island within the week. People settled in for the coldest months of the winter, rarely leaving the narrow border of their own tilts and outbuildings.
The first vessel into Paradise Deep that spring made harbor when the ice cleared off in April, a Spurriers ship freighted with salt and hard tack and twine and barrels of nails. When she shipped out a week later, Absalom Sellers was aboard and bound for England. No one laid eyes on him again for the better part of five years.
{ 2 }
B Y THE TIME M ARY T RYPHENA was fourteen years of age she’d endured a dozen offers of marriage, serious proposals from men on the shore who courted through her parents,
The King was on his feet again, goading the revelers into one more song and he was waltzing Absalom about the kitchen now, the boy stiff as a broomstick. —Horse Chops, the King whistled hoarsely. His voice was ruined by the hours of speaking as he inhaled and it was almost impossible to make him out anymore. —This boy, he said, still waltzing Absalom in a tight circle. —Is he in love?
Horse Chops clapped his jaw once and the mummers gave a half-hearted cheer.
—In love he is, the King said. A rabid blush colored Absalom’s face and he tried to pull away but the King held him tight. —Tell us Horse Chops, is his love true?
Clap.
—A true love, bless you and amen.
Horse Chops shuffled up close to the dancing couple and clapped his jaws wildly into the King’s ear.
—Don’t be talking so much foolishness, Horse Chops, the King said. The jaws clapped awhile again. —That can’t be true, Horse Chops.
—What did he say? Father Phelan asked when it was clear Absalom wasn’t willing to take the bait.
The King stepped away from Absalom though he kept hold of the boy’s arms. —He claims young Ab here is in love with his cousin.
The mummers offered their chorus of feigned disbelief.
—Is that true? the King asked. —Are ye in love with your cousin?
Absalom pulled to get clear of the King. —I don’t have a cousin, he said, stuttering fiercely.
—Do you hear, Horse Chops? He says he has no c-c-cousin to fall in love with.
Clap, clap clap, clap clap clap clap.
The King went still then, staring at the youngster through his veil. —Oh but Horse Chops here says you do, Absalom. You have two cousins in the Gut, he says.
Clap clap clap, clap clap, clap clap clap.
—Little Lazarus Devine, the King said.
—No, Absalom whispered.
—And Mary Tryphena Devine, your intended. A child of your own aunt. Lizzie Devine is your grandfather’s daughter, Absalom.
The boy tore his arms free finally and left them there, his feet on the naked wooden stairs echoing down to them in the kitchen. The mummers sat in a drunken silence awhile afterwards and some of them removed their brin veils and hats to allow their faces the open air for the first time in hours. The details of the room beginning to rise to the day’s first light. The King sat heavily in a chair and Horse Chops settled his rump into the King’s lap, leaning on the stick that held the horse’s head. —Well that’s that, I suppose, the King said.
Callum pushed his head free of Horse Chops’s blanket and scrubbed at his sweaty face with his hand. —I expect so, he said, speaking aloud for the first time. He smiled forlornly across the kitchen at the priest. —Morning Father, he said.
The King raised and lowered his knees under Callum like he was bouncing a child. —And how are you feeling now, Callum? he asked.
—Like a horse’s arse is how I feel, Jabez Trim.
—As is right and proper, the King said and he nodded under his bushy crown.
The Feast of the Epiphany was the end of the Christmas season and Father Phelan wandered off to another of his ghost parishes on the island within the week. People settled in for the coldest months of the winter, rarely leaving the narrow border of their own tilts and outbuildings.
The first vessel into Paradise Deep that spring made harbor when the ice cleared off in April, a Spurriers ship freighted with salt and hard tack and twine and barrels of nails. When she shipped out a week later, Absalom Sellers was aboard and bound for England. No one laid eyes on him again for the better part of five years.
{ 2 }
B Y THE TIME M ARY T RYPHENA was fourteen years of age she’d endured a dozen offers of marriage, serious proposals from men on the shore who courted through her parents,
Similar Books
