Free The Pig Goes to Hog Heaven by Joseph Caldwell Page A

what proved to be a farewell, turned, and went back to his contraption, his head bowed, seemingly lost in thoughts far from what he had been discussing with Aaron’s unsettled aunt and her unwelcoming husband. What a sad comparison the man made to the departed thatcher Aaron had been told so much about, with his huge pride, his unconquerable daring. Aaron came close to pitying the man, but was prevented from completing the impulse by his lingering resentment at the man’s indifference to Kerry customs and his dismissal of common courtesy.
    The man paused a moment in his advance, looked over at the pig, then continued on. Without a backward glance or gesture, he got into the truck, started the motor, made the necessary turn, and headed up the castle road.
    Aaron’s expectation that some explanation—in English—of what he had endured would now be forthcoming was sorely disappointed, because his wife chose exactly that moment to emerge from the castle and summon him to their truck. After hurried farewells and a terse repetition of gratitude for Kitty and Kieran’s having accepted the pig and her hopes for its assured obesity, she then drove them away from the castle, away from the pig, and away from the day’s confusions.
    Aaron used the ride home to try to sort out the unnerving happenings—and the no less unnerving conduct of everyone concerned, especially his aunt. Lolly was of no help. References to a second pig were of no interest. Until, of course, Aaron mentioned his aunt’s agitated conduct, as if she were suffering some temporary derangement in response not only to the man’s presence but to his repeated insistence that a second pig was in the pen. Lolly scoffed. “Of course she’s deranged. Crazy. Crazy about Declan Tovey. I had to get myself away from the two of them with that ham we brought. I didn’t want to see what was surely going to happen. I know she’s your aunt, but you have to face facts. Kieran Sweeney settled for decidedly experienced goods.”
    Aaron almost reminded his wife that this was hardly Declan Tovey. A facsimile perhaps, but they both knew where the actual thatcher was at that very moment. Rather than take up yet again the subject of look-alike versus ghost, he decided—prompted by his wife’s reference to his aunt and her younger life—to revert to his wife’s comment about his aunt’s youthful “experience.” “Strange. Experienced may not have been her exact word, but it comes close. My aunt said pretty much the same about you and Mr. Tovey just before we were married.”
    â€œOf course she did. My best friend. Accusing me of what she’d done herself. Trying to make sure Sweeney—poor deluded man that he is—would never believe the truth about all her goings-on. Really.” She relieved herself of a sigh.
    â€œStrange. When I mentioned what you’d said about her and Declan right after we found the skeleton, she said almost the exact same thing. Except it was about you accusing her.”
    â€œShe’s the one telling the terrible lies. I’m the one dealing in fact, not fiction.”
    â€œAgain, her exact same words.” He made no attempt to suppress a smile.
    â€œYou needn’t be so pleased. I am your wife. And if you want it to stay that way—”
    â€œMy aunt making up stories or not making up stories is, at the moment, beside the point. What’s more important is what she was saying to Kieran while that man was still there.”
    â€œWhat was she saying, liar that she tends to be?”
    â€œIt was in Irish …”
    â€œYou don’t speak Irish. You try. But it’s better you don’t.”
    â€œI won’t argue with that. All that nonsense about the pig—well, let it go. But what I also may or may not have picked up is that the man was offering to thatch the roofs of the courtyard sheds. For nothing. Something about