The House Guest

This evocative short story by Louise McIvor takes place in rural Ireland.

THERE was a terrible storm the night Mr Harcourt came to them. Maggie was nursing the baby by the fire and Daniel was just in from the fields. His wet coat was steaming, and he was gratefully eating the stew Maggie had put before him.

When he’d finished,

Daniel got up and kissed the top of his wife’s head.

“We’ll think of something, Maggie.”

Maggie didn’t say anything; she just pulled the shawl tighter round her shoulders.

If they did not get help on the farm soon, she knew, they would face ruin, and they would have to sell for a song.

But where could they get help? Daniel’s brother, Joseph, had made sure to warn off every farm labourer in the county.

When Daniel asked his neighbours before church on a Sunday whether they could spare a few men, they all avoided looking him in the eye.

And the land was difficult. When Joseph had inherited the farm, he had kept all the good land for himself, leaving Daniel and Maggie living on a miserable scrap.

It was so rocky that it was only really fit for sheep – but this had never been sheep country, and Daniel knew nothing about them.

To make matters worse, the cottage was an ancient, one-roomed affair.

The thatch was in order and the walls were good and thick, and Maggie had done the best she could with it.

Daniel and Maggie slept in a bed set against the side wall, where the animals would once have been, for there was still a trough in the earthen floor.

With baby Eliza in her cot, they were a cramped young family.

Time was running out.

Daniel had only been able to sell a few eggs from Maggie’s hens at market that week – it had been too wet to harvest anything.

Even if Daniel got one dry day it wouldn’t be long enough to gather all the potatoes. Not alone.

****

Maggie got the baby settled, stoked up the fire and poured Daniel more tea.

A fox had got into the chickens last night, even though Maggie knew she had fastened them in securely. Only one had survived, and Maggie had been out of sorts all day because of it.

Great piles of the turf stack beside the cottage had disappeared, just when they most needed it for the coming winter. Maggie knew who was behind it all.

“They’re trying to ruin us,” she said. “Bit by bit, until we’ll have to sell and then we’ll be turfed off the land. And then what’s going to happen to us?”

“We’ll think of something,” Daniel said in his calm way.

That was always his answer.

Just then, there was a rat-tat-tat at the door.

“Who’s there?” Daniel called out, lifting a poker from beside the fire.

“I just want to sleep in your barn, sir,” a voice called back.

“Barn” was perhaps too grand a term for the mean wee outbuilding near the chickens.

Daniel opened the door a crack.

“You’d best come in out of that dirty night.”

The figure was so small that Maggie thought he was just a lad. When he took off his battered hat, they saw a face that was well into middle age, with a shock of wavy white hair.

“Sorry to disturb your meal, missus,” he said to Maggie.

Maggie and Daniel were barely making ends meet. How could they take in another mouth to feed?

His hands were shaking and he sneezed several times.

“Come and dry yourself by the fire.” Maggie ladled the last of the stew into a bowl.

She fetched an old shirt of Daniel’s from the tea chest in the corner. When she set about helping the stranger out of his wet things, he seemed about to protest, but thought better of it. He was too weak.

“He’s not well at all, Daniel,” Maggie whispered.

“We cannot turn him out on a night like that,” Daniel replied.

Maggie’s heart felt sore. Wasn’t Daniel the sweetest, kindest man who ever walked the earth?

But they could barely afford to feed themselves and wee Eliza, never mind a stranger.

“I’ll sit with him a while,” she said.

“You’ll need your rest,” he said. Maggie had lately found out she was expecting again.

“I’ll be rightly,” she said. Maggie made up the settle bed and Daniel helped the stranger into it.

“Come to bed, love. We will both hear him if he wakes,” Daniel said, after Maggie had sat for a while listening to the stranger’s wheezy breathing.

Eventually, safe in

Daniel’s arms, she fell asleep herself, listening to the rain battering against the window.

The next morning, the stranger still lay sleeping.

“What if he dies, Daniel?” Maggie whispered.

“I’ve no notion of dying, missus.”

Daniel smiled.

“I always said you were the best nurse.”

After she’d fed and changed the baby, Maggie made a pot of tea and spooned a little porridge out for the stranger.

****

The old man slept most of the next few days.

“How is he today?” Daniel asked, as he came in on Thursday evening, drenched.

“I thought he was asleep, and I went to fetch more water. When I came back in, he had swept the hearth and was asking for his boots.

“I told him he wasn’t well enough to be up yet, but he took a bit of bacon and certainly his colour’s better. He went for a sleep just before you came in.”

She handed him a mug of tea.

“Your hands are that cold, Daniel. Do you think you’ll manage to get the potatoes in before the weather gets any worse?”

“No, and that’s the honest truth.”

To hear her cheerful husband talk so was crushing.

“Will you take some tea?” Daniel said to the stranger, who was beginning to stir again.

“I will. Is that stew I smell?”

The next morning, the stranger was up early, quietly singing “The Star Of The County Down” to himself. The settle bed was neatly made.

“I’ll thank you for my clothes, missus,” he said.

“Maybe you would put off leaving until my husband’s back? He’s trying to gather in the potatoes before it rains again and he’s shorthanded. I’ll pour you a drop of tea.

“Besides, I’m not sure you’re well enough to be out on such a damp day.”

“Sure, I’m rightly enough. I’ll be giving him a hand when I’ve finished my tea.”

Maggie gave up arguing, recognising a mulish man when she saw one.

“Well, if that’s what you wish, thank you, Mr . . .?”

“Harcourt. The name’s Harcourt.”

****

“He’s not doing too badly at all, that one. And we didn’t think he’d last the week!” Daniel said to Maggie that night, as Mr Harcourt was fetching water.

“I didn’t let him lift a sack of potatoes, but he was able to gather them well enough without all the groaning and complaining I had from that fellow my brother lent me last year.”

“Well, it’s still best if he doesn’t overdo things.”

“Why have you no chickens?” Mr Harcourt asked when he returned. “Foxes.”

“Did you not have them secured?”

“We did so,” Maggie said. “It was others . . .”

Daniel shot her a sharp look.

****

The rain had given way to cold, grey days, but at least it was dry and the potatoes were safely gathered in.

Neither Maggie nor Daniel had discovered much of Mr Harcourt’s past. He never talked of family. Maggie thought his accent was maybe northern.

She wondered whether he had ever been married or been a father himself, as he sometimes took Eliza on his knee and sang to her.

No information was forthcoming, however, and the young couple respected their guest’s wish to keep his own counsel.

Maggie knew her dear Daniel was generous to a fault, but as the week stretched to a fortnight she began to worry that they would not be able to feed the stranger for much longer.

The next evening, Mr Harcourt took the lamp from the hook by the door.

“I’ll just be taking a turn about the place.”

“I’ll go with you,” Daniel said.

Maggie noticed that Mr Harcourt had a stout blackthorn stick.

“You will not. You’ll stay with your missus.”

“Mind yourself, there’s a bad lot about,” Maggie said cautiously.

He came back about half an hour later. Daniel set down a precious glass of whiskey before him.

“Where were you for so long?” Maggie couldn’t help herself asking.

“I wanted to get the lie of the land. Your brother has a grand enough house.”

“You didn’t go there, did you?”

“I’m good at keeping myself hidden,” Mr Harcourt said. “Besides, no-one bothers with an awd fellow like me.”

“Tell him about the turf stack,” Maggie urged Daniel. “And the labourers.”

Daniel sighed and recounted the story of his elder brother and his grasping wife, who would stop at nothing until Daniel and Maggie moved off the land that had been in the family for generations.

“There’ll be no luck with taking on family. Always ends badly”

Mr Harcourt lit his pipe and drew on it deeply.

“There’ll be no luck with taking on family. Always ends badly.”

“What choice does Daniel have? Sure, he’s as honest as the day’s long,” Maggie said.

“He is. But a brother who lives like a king while his kin live, well, no disrespect to your home, missus . . .”

He did not need to say any more.

****

Maggie did not sleep well that night, and it had little to do with the baby inside her.

Mr Harcourt’s words had reinforced what she had always known – that Daniel’s brother would never change; he would always be waiting with another obstacle to frustrate their plans to prosper.

What could they do? Maggie had been brought up by a grudging aunt, as her parents had died young, and had no family support of her own.

Daniel asked Mr Harcourt if he’d go to town with him on market day.

“Who’ll look after your missus?”

“I’ll be grand,” she said. “I don’t like leaving a woman with weans on her own.”

“Daniel could use your help,” Maggie insisted.

She spent the day in

the usual round of washing, baking and seeing to Eliza.

She aired Mr Harcourt’s bed, and washed and mended his raggedy shirt.

The gloom of the night had given way to cautious optimism. After all, had not Mr Harcourt saved the day when he helped Daniel gather in the potatoes?

And it was he who had helped Daniel chop up a fallen tree for firewood so they no longer had to worry about their depleted turf stack.

Though there were still many unanswered questions about the stranger, Maggie realised that she trusted Mr Harcourt and had come to rely on his wise counsel.

****

Daniel and Mr Harcourt came back from market full of talk.

“The priest is looking for land for a new school house,” Daniel said, as they ate stew with Maggie’s fresh bread that evening.

“They’ll be wanting somewhere for the schoolmaster or mistress to live, too, I suppose.”

Mr Harcourt was his usual quiet, thoughtful self, but Maggie could see that the day in town had done him good.

There was more colour in his cheeks, and Maggie suspected he and Daniel had picked up a good deal of news over a few jars.

She did not mind, however, as Daniel had never been one for the drink.

“I saw Joseph,” Daniel continued. “He was surprised when he saw me selling the potatoes off the cart, but I just bid him the time of day.”

“I’ve seen Joseph’s like before,” Mr Harcourt said, after Daniel went out to the field to see to the cow.

“He’ll lie low for a while, let you gain the upper hand, and then something will happen.”

He filled his clay pipe and inhaled.

“Your brother-in-law is not well liked hereabouts. Sooner or later, I think, he’ll come up against the wrong person. And then he’ll get his comeuppance.”

“But what should we do?” Maggie asked plaintively.

“Daniel cannot outwit his brother. He does not want to sink to his level, nor would I wish him to.”

“There was talk of a few folk who have already gone to America,” Mr Harcourt said eventually.

“Land a-plenty for folks who want to work hard.”

The furthest Daniel had ever been was town on market day. But Mr Harcourt had planted the seeds of hope in Maggie’s heart.

****

It had been a fine morning, and Maggie had got up extra early to start the washing.

Daniel and Mr Harcourt had walked to town. They had a little money now, from selling the potatoes, and Daniel said he would make enquiries about America.

Maggie was glad Mr Harcourt was with him, as he seemed to have a countryman’s knack of doing deals.

Maggie hung out the washing with Eliza beside her, chattering to a doll made from a clothes peg.

Once Maggie had brought Eliza back inside for a sleep, she suddenly felt that something was wrong. Although it was fanciful, she ran outside.

The line was empty, apart from one solitary sheet.

Maggie stood in the yard for a moment, bewildered.

It was not a windy day, and she was sure she had pegged everything up properly. Searching the yard, she found a few discarded pegs, like a trail, on to the first field.

Someone had taken her laundry.

Maggie had no need to tell Daniel and Mr

Harcourt. When they arrived back, Mr Harcourt was carrying his own shirt, retrieved from a hedge.

“Whoever did this must have dropped it in their haste,” he said.

“Who would do such a wicked thing?” Daniel asked.

But they all knew the answer.

Maggie hardly slept that night, and Eliza, perhaps sensing her mother’s unease, was fretful, too.

Just as dawn was breaking, Maggie got up to stoke the fire and boil the kettle.

Mr Harcourt must have already been up and about, as the settle bed was neatly made and his boots were gone. Maggie reasoned he had stepped out to attend to a call of nature.

But his blackthorn stick was gone, too.

“Daniel, did Mr Harcourt say anything about going out?” Maggie asked, pouring tea to go with his potato bread.

“Not a thing. But he’s a close one.”

****

By evening, Mr Harcourt had still not returned.

“What if he’s lying in a ditch somewhere?” Maggie asked.

“Love, if Mr Harcourt has taken his boots and his stick, he will be well able to see to himself. He knows that I can manage here on my own for a few days; perhaps he had business of his own to attend to.”

The place was not the same without their guest. Maggie had not realised how much she had come to rely on his calm, wise advice and his help about the house.

After a few days, she wondered whether he had gone from their lives as quickly as he had come.

Maggie noticed changes in Daniel. It was as if Mr Harcourt had given him a confidence he had not had before.

It had been Daniel’s idea to start saving for a passage to America in earnest now, and one of the McLaughlins had suggested that they talk to the priest about selling the land and the cottage for the new school house.

It was not that Daniel had acquired guile – his heart was too good for that – but there was a canniness that had not been there before.

Rather than go straight to the priest to discuss things, meaning it would be all over the countryside by teatime, Daniel got Maggie to write a letter outlining the proposal.

“That way, Joseph won’t have a chance to banjax things. And when Joseph does eventually hear of it, he won’t go against it because it would be going against the priest.”

Maggie smiled to herself, got out pen and ink and set to work.

Still Mr Harcourt had not returned. Maggie missed the whiff of tobacco smoke and his soft singing when he came in from the fields of an evening.

Sometimes, she wondered if she had dreamed him up. But she was too busy to dwell on things. Once folk had heard of their plans, they rallied round to help the young couple.

The night before they were due to go for the boat, Maggie was too excited to sleep.

She thought back to all the good things that had happened since Mr Harcourt had come and gone. After all, it was he who had planted the seeds of the idea of America.

Maggie wondered what would have happened to him if they had turned him away that night.

Later, as they stood on the bustling quay amid the families with young children, the sailors, dock workers and folk with endless bundles and trunks, she could have sworn she smelled a whiff of tobacco and heard the faint singing of “The Star Of The County Down”. She thought it was maybe just the lack of sleep.

Daniel slipped an arm around her expanding waist, and as they boarded the ship, Maggie decided she could no longer fret over what had become of Mr Harcourt.

He had come into their lives not when he needed them, but when they needed the help of a wise, kindly stranger.

For that, she would always be grateful.

The End.