And as he
thought over these things, he caught himself watching for furrows
that Jimmy was not making on the other side of the field. He tried
to talk to the robins and blackbirds instead of Jimmy, but they were
not such good company. And when the day was over, he tried not to be
glad that he was going to the shining eyes of Mary Malone, a good
supper, and a clean bed, and it was not in the heart of man to do it.
The summer wore on, autumn came, and the year Tilly had spoken of
was over. Dannie went his way, doing the work of two men, thinking
of everything, planning for everything, and he was all the heart of
Mary Malone could desire, save her lover. By little Mary pieced it
out. Dannie never mentioned fishing; he had lost his love for the
river. She knew that he frequently took walks to Five Mile Hill.
His devotion to Jimmy's memory was unswerving. And at last it came
to her, that in death as in life, Jimmy Malone was separating them.
She began to realize that there might be things she did not know.
What had Jimmy told the priest? Why had Father Michael refused to
confess Jimmy until he sent Dannie to him? What had passed between
them? If it was what she had thought all year, why did it not free
Dannie to her? If there was something more, what was it?
Surely Dannie loved her. Much as he had cared for Jimmy, he had
vowed that everything was for her first. She was eager to be his
wife, and something bound him. One day, she decided to ask him.
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