Delaney. Part XXXI

Father Fitzpatrick and Brother Doyle are setting a few chairs out on the lawn in front of the Friary. The September breeze makes for pleasant weather to conduct an outdoor visit, and an ideal environment for little Fiona to keep herself occupied during the meeting.

“I confess,” he says, “I didn’t expect to see all of you back here so soon.”

Jackson, Shelly and Adrienne take their seats as Father Fitzpatrick and Brother Doyle join them.

“I’m only sorry Brother Frank is not here,” he tells Adrienne. “He’ll be surprised to see you when he returns from Townley Hall.”

“How is Delaney and the Cosgroves?” Adrienne asks, wishing she’d arrived in time to join Brother Frank on his trip to Townley Hall.

“I’m afraid there’s been a terrible accident.” For a fraction of a second Adrienne’s imagination spins out ghastly scenarios. She covers her mouth for fear of releasing an agonizing cry at his next sentence, something about Delaney being paralyzed or in a coma.

“Mr. and Mrs. Cosgrove died in a rather gruesome carriage crash almost a week ago. Their odd vehicle broke free of the hitch and plunged over a cliff on the coastal highway.”

“Oh my, how awful.” Adrienne says, and she is ashamed to admit her relief. Neither she nor Shelly are very upset about the death of the Cosgroves, but they are deeply concerned about the impact of this event on Delaney.

“We interred their ashes just yesterday.”

“How’s Delaney?” Adrienne asks in desperation, and she grips her crutches as though she means to hobble to Townley Hall this very minute.

“She’s heartbroken. Looked woefully tired at St. Mary’s yesterday. Frank is there now consoling her. He can give you a better report when he returns this afternoon.

“But,” Father continues with a more upbeat tone, “though the Lord taketh away, he also giveth. One couple is taken away but a new one springs to life. Allow me to congratulate you both on your marriage.”

Jackson and Shelly have managed to maintain a bit of the afterglow since their marriage last week.

“It explains why you returned to Ireland, Jackson,” the Father says. “To share this joy with your new in-laws. But Shelly was not scheduled to return for a couple more weeks. I’m not quite certain why dear Miss Adrienne has accompanied you.”

“That’s why we’ve come to see you Father. And we intend to travel to Dunleer tomorrow to visit the Sisters. You see,” and Jackson takes Shelly’s hand in his. “We’ve come at the behest of the Irish community in England, asking if you might be willing follow them in their secession from the corporation.”

Father Fitzpatrick and Brother Doyle are a little stunned by the request and it takes the Father a moment to gather his thoughts.

“The Franciscans and the Sisters are no fans of the corporation.” He says quizzically. “But why us? Why begin a revolution with the orders.”

“We don’t propose open rebellion, Father.” Jackson says. “It’s a bit more subversive than that. We’d like to see if the Friary and the convent might be willing open a public school for the children in this region. That’s why Adrienne has come. She’s been through the schooling conducted in the Bengali Autonomous Region. She’s even done a fair bit of teaching herself. The education system is self-replicating. Adult teachers are more as coaches. It’s the older children who are equipped to teach the younger during the morning classes, before going to their apprenticeships.”

“The teachings are quite practical, Father.” Adrienne tells him. “After the morning classroom basics, things like reading, agriculture, maths and what not, the afternoons are hands on. Animal husbandry, metal working, carpentry, skills related to bartering, exchange of goods and services, community governance – they’re all done in mentoring fashion.

“But we need to begin with the younger children first. Right here. At the Friary. Families choose whether to send their kids to our non-corporate schools. But Shelly tells us most are dissatisfied with the education offered in corporate schools. Once people begin to see how the families participating in our schools fare, others follow.”

“Father you should see the community in Twickenham!” Shelly is possessed by a vision and passion she’s never experienced. “They call it Tiocfaidh Ár Lá – ‘Our Day Will Come,’ and they are thriving outside corporate control. They invite a corporate ambassador to act as diplomat between the corporation and the new government. As Jackson was for the Bengalis. The City of London Corporation knows that the cost of military conflict would put a strain on profits. Maintaining a large army is not economical, and even pro-corporate citizens are not interested in laying their lives down for corporate-styled government.”

“But be aware, Father.” Jackson adds. “There will be sanctions. The corporation will put tremendous economic pressure …”

Brother Doyle stands suddenly and looks off into the distance.

“Is that a fire?” He says. “The Murder Factory. It’s on fire!”

****

There is mayhem on the grounds of the Murder Factory. While the brick structure is intact, flames are licking their way from windows up blackened sides. A Drogheda Fire Carriage with a tank of water is pumping gallons fruitlessly into the building. Care Home staff have formed a perimeter around the residents and are trying to conduct an inventory of their human assets to see if any are missing. Most of the residents look on the scene with voyeurism, a few are quietly clapping. Care Home staff are too busy constructing a tally of who’s there to care.

Brother Frank and Delaney have only just arrived as Father Fitzpatrick and Brother Doyle come on horseback.

“Pankow!” Delaney shouts, and the man comes running to her, face blackened by smoke.

“My Lord.” He says bowing his head.

“How did this happen?” She demands.

“We don’t yet know. I called a staff meeting and we were gathered in the executive wing …”

“All staff?” She asks. And now many of those near the pair have gathered to watch the unfolding confrontation.

“I was just announcing our new arrangement. Ensuring they’re loyalty and devotion to you.” This, Pankow says with worshipful adoration.

“You mean to tell me,” and now Delaney gets up in the man’s face, or his chest as the case may be, given the height differential, “you mean to tell me that none of the staff were left with the residents?”

“It seemed critical, my lord, that we establish commitment to our druidic practices. We have a number of devoted followers very qualified to take their places, my queen. I thought it best …”

“You thought it best, did you?” Delaney cuts the man off. “On whose authority?”

The man can only stutter a few incomprehensible syllables.

“On whose authority did you issue these orders, Pankow?” She asks again but he is stumbling over a reply.

“I am the owner of this facility. Did you think to consult me? Never mind what you think is best. I think it best to relieve you of your duties! Any orders you’ve given today are rescinded, and you will leave this property at once.”

“But, surly my Lord…” And Pankow appears stunned by his queen’s rebuff dedication to his goddess.

“Guards!” She shouts, and in a moment a Care Home guard pushes through the crowd and grasps Pankow’s arm.

“Him too.” She points to Vadik who is furtively backing away from the altercation, pulling his hat down to his eyebrows. Two more guards press through and take hold of his arms.

“Father.” Delaney says as she sees Fitzpatrick and Brother Doyle through the crowd moving to join her and Brother Frank.

“Is anyone hurt?” Father Fitzpatrick asks.

“Not that I’m aware. But the staff are still taking count of the residents.”

Then she invites the Father and Brothers to step a little away from the crowd. “What am I to do? There are more than 250 residents needing food and shelter. Some have special medical needs.”

“Brother Doyle,” Fitzpatrick orders, “go to the Friary and collect the other Brothers and the boys. Bring them down to help.

“We have room enough on our grounds,” he tells Delaney, “to construct temporary shelters. Those with the greatest needs we can accommodate inside the Friary. It’s not a far walk from here for any who can manage.”

“But, Father. To feed and care for so many,” Delaney says. “Without the means of production, the corporation will not send scrip. We may receive scrip from their families, but not nearly enough.”

Brother Frank places a hand on Delaney’s shoulder.

“Courage.” He tells her. “Take courage and have faith.”

“Oh Brother. I don’t know how faith will feed so many.”

It is at this point that Delaney spots Shelly and Jackson making their way through the crowd.

“Mr. Rourk?” She says. “What are you doing back in Ireland?”

Jackson has begun to answer as Adrienne comes hobbling from behind him, catching Delaney off guard.

“Adrienne?!” She cries and nearly knocks the poor girl over as she enfolds her in an embrace.

“But … why … how?” And Adrienne laughs at her obvious befuddlement.

“We’ve come to help the community here gain independence from the corporation. Like the Bengalis have done in east London. And the Irish in Twikenham. If they wish it, that is.”

“You see!” Delaney says, forgetting for a moment the desperate predicament she faces. “You are a builder. I can smell it on you!”

A massive explosion booms with such force that it sucks the air from everyone’s lungs. The crowd backs away from the building and a few of those fighting the blaze are burned by the fireball.

“The kerosene room,” one of the staff says. “That must’ve been the kerosene room.” And the fire rages with new fury.

Looking into the flames, Delaney says, “I don’t know how the Bengalis live without corporate scrip or production, but such an arrangement might have been useful before all this happened. There’ll be nothing left to make independent. Least not for the Care Home.”

“Don’t speak to hastily.” Jackson says. “The autonomous communities in England will surely send aid if you wish to rebuild a facility free of corporate purse strings. Though such help will need to happen in secret.”

“But there are too many here to care for.” Delaney says looking at the throng of Care Home residents. “Drogheda and Dunleer harvests are nearly finished. Shipped off to corporate grain silos, and the winter lies ahead. I don’t think I can. I don’t think I can do it.”

“Do what?” Frank says.

“Care for all these needy people.” She answers with irritation. “Without some help from the corporation.”

“What needy people?” Adrienne asks, and Delaney wonders how she can be so dense as to miss the obvious.

“Them!” She says, her irritation spilling over even to Adrienne.

“You mean needy people like me?” And Adrienne looks down at her twisted legs and crutches.

“No! Not like you. I mean like … like …” And Delaney realizes she has dug herself into a hole. Still, she is not convinced the residents are as clever or as independent as Adrienne.

“Delaney. Ten years ago, this place was prepared to eliminate me as a liability. As someone who has no profitable means of production. Today I am here as an advisor, something of an architect of a new society. Don’t underestimate them.” And Adrienne says this without a shred of anger. But it is a mild rebuke. One given with grace and compassion. She understands how difficult it is to see past such visible limitations. It took her years to see it herself.

“You can manage this, Delaney.” She says, and all the weariness and grief and stress begin to come to the surface of Delaney’s countenance.

“You have the strength.” Adrienne tells her. “And you have friends who stand ready to help you. My people in east London are generous, and so are the Irish in Twickenham. And I see a whole army of people who are more capable than you know. We will see it through together.”

Mr. Kennedy, Cosgrove’s secretary, comes up to Delaney with a clipboard. “Ma’am,” he says, “all but one are accounted for. The nun, the one on the invalid wing, she’s not here among the others.”

Delany’s face is awash in fear. “Have you searched the grounds?”

“We’ve only taken account of those who are out front, ma’am.”

“Well, take some staff and search the area.” Then, after a glance at Adrienne she says. “Strike that, Mr. Kennedy. Assemble some of the residents. Ask them to form a search party.”

****

Back at the Friary a refugee camp is being assembled. The supply shed for the Care Home was far enough from the building that it did not ignite. It contained cow hides for shoe leather and bolts of fabric, some of which can serve as makeshift tarps.

Brother Doyle employs some residents and staff in preparing the great hall as a dining area while Father Fitzpatrick orders the boys to make room for some of the Brothers to occupy their dorm as their rooms are readied for residents from the invalid wing.

“Though I must say I don’t care for that title – invalid.” Father says to one of the boys assisting him. “A bit too close to the idea of not being valid, and all humans have validity, am I right? Let’s just call this the ‘valid wing.’ Simplify things a bit.

The entryway to the Friary has been made into a temporary command center. Delaney, Mr. Kennedy and Adrienne hover over a desk with rough drawings laying out the location of shelters on the Friary grounds, approximate quantities of food required for the week ahead, a roster of staff and their roles. All three of them are covered in soot and sweat, Adrienne was especially helpful in knowing how to transport those who could not walk through various sorts of terrain to get to the Friary grounds.

“How shall we handle staff salaries, ma’am.” Mr. Kennedy is asking Delaney. “We issue more than 10,000 scrip a week to them.”

“I’ve inherited a goodly sum from my parent’s estate.” She tells him. “This afternoon I will talk to the corporate bank about making a withdrawal.”

A man blackened from inspecting the damage steps up to the desk.

“Miss Delaney,” he says. “We’ve assessed the damage. I’m afraid the building little more than a shell. None of the sewing machines or looms survived, the heat was too great. Seems the fire started in the kerosene room on that level. A handful of things made of metal may be salvageable, bedframes, some equipment in the cobbler section, metal desks.”

“The structure,” Adrienne asks. “What of the building’s structure? Is it safe?”

“Yes.” The man says. “I believe so. Brick, stone and concrete, from before the Struggles. The building itself is quite solid.”

“I think I know what will serve as the first construction project for our school.” Adrienne says.

Then the sound of Mrs. Orlanbury shouting loudly carries across the room.

“There you are my dear! Thought we had lost you. My, we shall have some tales to tell.”

The woman is looking at the entrance as an elderly gentleman pushes Sister Mary Eunice up the plank ramp and into the Friary.

“Sister!” Delaney cries, rushing from the desk to kneel next to the wheelchair. The nun is wet from her chest to her toes.

“Where did you find her?” Delaney asks the old man.

“She’d wheeled herself out the back of the garment factory and into the creek running behind it. Probably what saved her from the kerosene explosions.”

“I was so worried about you Sister. Thank God you’re safe. But look at this mess. We’re in a sorry state are we not, Sister?”

Sister Mary Eunice smiles and takes Delaney’s hand.

“All things made new.” She tells her. “All things made new.”

And though Delaney cannot place where she has heard this phrase before, there is something like hope that flickers in her soul for a moment.