Delaney. Part XXII

The following day Brother Frank arrives at the Corporate Arms shortly after breakfast.

“I thought perhaps Adrienne might like to join me in visiting Delaney again today.” He announces after an appropriate exchange of small talk.

“Oh, may I?!” She exudes looking at Ash and Magdalene.

“I so no reason why not.” Magdalene says.

“Thank you! Thank you!” She nearly screams. She is seated across the room, otherwise, if she were more mobile, she would have rushed to embrace and kiss Magdalene. Instead she simply pulls herself to a standing position.

“But one big, huge favor,” she says turning to Brother Frank. “The Sisters told me about a good friend of mine and Delaney’s. Sinead. She’s living with a family in Dunleer. I goodly distance, but could we maybe, possibly, perchance, please, please go collect her and surprise Delaney? I know it will add some time to our trip. It’s a farm not far from the convent.”

“Sure,” Frank says shrugging. “Father has given me most of the week off to tend to you and the Rourks. We’ve got all day.” And Adrienne claps her hands together in child-like delight.

“Can you have her back here before dark?” Ash inserts. “We promised your parents we’d keep you under close watch. They took some convincing to allow you to return to Ireland.”

“Absolutely.” Says Brother Frank. “I’ve got to get back to the Friary to help get the lads off to bed, anyway.”

“Just a moment.” Magdalene chimes in. “Come over here first, Adrienne.” And the woman fumbles for a vial in her handbag. Then, pulling the girl toward her and feeling for Adrienne’s face she locates her nose and begins to rub macadamia oil on her nose and cheeks.

“I don’t want you getting sunburned.”

Adrienne closes her eyes as Magdalene smears the oil into her skin, careful not to stain her hajib.

“You white people.” Adrienne says. “So, obsessed with skin. I swear I never used a drop of this stuff and hardly ever burn.”

Magdalene who has a remarkable sense of space and position gives Adrienne a firm slap on her bum as if she were nine again.

The hour long journey to Dunleer to retrieve Sinead and then the return to Drogheda trip by as though only a small diversion, so full are the hours with words. When the three youth pull onto the gravel drive at Townley Hall Reilly does not even step outside to greet them but calls up the grand staircase.

“Delaney, your friends are here.”

In what seems to him as seconds but what feels to the youth like an awkwardly long time, Delaney bounds down the stairs and stops on the landing ten steps yet from the entry hall. Her mouth falls open.

“Sinead?” She recognizes the nineteen-year-old immediately, her long straight blond hair and square jaw unmistakable. Then, nearly floating to the bottom of the staircase, Delaney rushes to touch Sinead’s face and her hair.

“Oh my gosh.” She says. “Oh my gosh.”

The two fall immediately into a reminiscent flurry with a dozen “remember when” and “do you still” to begin their sentences.

As it turns out, Mr. and Mrs. Ryan never had any more children, though Mrs. Ryan had four more miscarriages. Mr. Ryan took over the corporate farm on the Welsh property, so they adopted Sinead to help with tending the livestock. Ten-year-old Robert works with her but is as much in the way as he is a help.

“Do they ever mention me?” Delaney asks. “I believe I left quite an impression on them. And not such a favorable one.”

“Yes,” Sinead says, “from time to time they tell the story of how you urged poor Robert to nurse from a goat.” And with this Frank and Adrienne burst into a fit of laughter begging Delaney to recount the story.

After a full recounting, at least from Delaney’s seven-year-old recollection and even a telling of the tremendous beating Sister Mary Eunice delivered, Delaney says, “That’s what eventually brought me to Drogheda. Word got out about the tattoo and it sent the druids into some sort of tizzy about me.”

“They’re still around, you know?” Sinead says. Their grove is still there near Blackrock not far from Dunleer.”

“Well,” says Frank. “I for one am glad of it. For you and I never would’ve met if that hadn’t happened.”

“Oh, I see. You needed someone half your size at the Friary to torment.” Delaney says kicking Frank in the shins.

“Actually, it was after you left that Brother Doyle was convinced of the need to set me down for a severe discussion. Told me about his own journey from street kid to joining the order. Helped me do a bit of self-reflection. It was that talk which started me down that path to become a Friar.”

“So, I made you a Friar?”

“I’m not sure I’d put it quite that way. Let’s just say that your time at the Friary coincided with my journey to become a Franciscan.”

“I could literally smell Franciscanism all over you, even back then.”

“Literally? That’s weird.” Brother Frank says.

“No. Seriously. I can smell things like that on people and places.”

“You’re kidding.” Adrienne says.

“Swear to God.” Delaney answers. Then looking to Frank, “All due respect.”

“Then what do Franciscans smell like?” He asks. “Incense or something.”

“Not exactly. But you, Brother Doyle and some of the other brothers there have a very distinct odor of olives. I could smell olives pouring off of you from the very first time I saw you laying in your bunk, even over the stink of that filthy boys dorm.”

“That’s crazy.” Adrienne says. “What about me? Can you smell something on me?”

 “For sure. On you I smell freshly cut wood.” Delaney says without hesitation. “Pine, specifically.”

“Are you being serious?” Frank asks.

“Papa says I’m part blood hound.”

“What about me, Delaney? What do I smell like?” Asks Sinead.

“For as long as I can remember, you’ve always smelled to me of coriander.”

“Now? Even now you can smell it?” She asks in giddy amazement.

“I can smell each of you from where you stand. Don’t even have to be close. I just see you and can smell the scent.”

“I have never heard of such a thing in my life.” Adrienne says. “Let me smell you!” and she hobbles over and buries her face in Delaney’s shoulder.

“I don’t smell anything but maybe a bit of perfume.” She says. “Did you dab perfume on today for our visit?”

“Wait, let me try.” And Frank walks over and takes a long whiff on Delaney’s neck.

“Strange.” He says. Then he does it again. “I do smell something.”

“What!” Each of the girls exclaim nearly in unison.

“I smell … I smell … a liar.” And he ducks as Delany takes a swipe at him.

“It’s true. I swear it.” She says laughing. “I’ve had this thing for as long as I can remember. People and places just have a powerful smell. Not only smells, but like a sense of a person or place comes with the smell. A feeling.

“Ok, so you smell olives on all Franciscan Friars, right? So what’s the feeling, is it like frying. Like you smell Friars and think of olive oil and frying pans?”

“Not all Friars. And not just Franciscans. I smell olives on some of the Sisters too. Like Sister Mary Eunice. The feeling that comes with that smell is like religious devotion, or like the person is destined to become a cleric of the Church. Something like that.”

“What’s the feeling that comes with my smell.” Adrienne asks, and suddenly it has become something of a mystical game.

“Fresh cut wood comes with the feeling of those who build things.”

“Oh, yeah, you mean like carpenters. They cut wood.” Adrienne is thinking if Delaney really does associate smells with feelings there is some kind of obvious connection.

“No, that’s not it.” Delaney is searching for words to explain a thing that she herself doesn’t fully understand. “It’s more like people who build businesses or societies or something. Like a leader.”

The three friends look at her with a kind of dubious entertainment, and Adrienne quite likes the horoscope-like forecast.

“Ok.” Delaney says when their curious gaze begins drilling into her. “This is getting embarrassing. Let’s talk about something else.”

But they pester Delaney until she describes in vivid detail the smells connected to all the people and places they can think of. Her mother – Almonds and with it the clear sensation of sadness; The care home – Vanilla and the feeling of hope or of unrealized possibility; Her father – a Blackthorn bush, and she does not speak of the feeling associated with it; Mr. Byrne – the smell of citrus, though there’s not a citrus tree anywhere near Townley Hall, and with him there is a feeling of new life. The game occupies them for a long time, and Reilly brings them coffee on the patio. The youth interact with Mrs. Cosgrove when she pops out to visit, confirming with her this strange power.

“When we first adopted her, she kept talking about these smells that neither I nor Mr. Cosgrove could smell. We thought it perfectly odd, but there is sometimes a curious accuracy about the thing.

Brother Frank notes how low the sun has dipped near the trees in the distance.

“I’m afraid we need to get going. I promised Mr. Ryan that I’d have Sinead back in time for the second milking, and then Adrienne before it gets dark.”

“Can I come with?” Delaney asks, but doesn’t wait for an answer.

“Thank you! We have much to catch up on. Mum, I’ll be late to dinner.”

And with this the four of them crowd together onto the carriage bench and are off.

As they Sinead off at the barn, Brother Frank waves at Mr. Ryan who is out in a nearby field. He squints as he looks at the flock of youth and Delaney thinks he stares especially hard at her, as if trying to place her. She unconsciously covers her arm though there is no way for him to see her tattoos from such a distance.

“Mold.” She says. “Definitely the smell of mold, and a feeling of abandoned places.”

After delivering Adrienne to the Corporate Arms and visiting with the Roarks, Frank takes Delaney back to Townley Hall. Now the sun has fallen well below the horizon and they ride together in silence. Although there is no one else on the bench, Delaney resumes her position right up against the Friar, leaving ample space next to her. Shoulders touching and knees occasionally knocking against each other as they bounce down the road. Neither of them makes any attempt to shift to a more comfortable distance.