be.”
“Seems like somebody's been paying attention.”
“I have, Jamie, and it's partly because I've been trying to puzzle out something that's vaguely related.” Andrew told Jamie about his ideas about livable places, about the almost organic integrity of such places, about the honesty of simple vernacular buildings, about the beauty of working with local materials, about building to human scale, and about how this art, this way of being in the world, was disappearing in America.
When Andrew stopped long enough to take a pull from his pint, Jamie said, “Seems to me you're living in the wrong country, lad. Around here, that stuff still matters. There was a while there we almost lost it, like the Cornish language, but we found it again and it's getting stronger. I'm not sure people like Casehill will ever get it. He's a ‘quick-and-dirty’ bloke; cement it together and move on. But Burt does—knew his dad, I did. And this Newsome fella. He's got loads of lolly, but he wants to do the right thing on his land. I respect that. But what're you gonna do, build Cornish hedges in Philadelphia?”
Andrew laughed. They both did. The ale helped.
“I don't know, Jamie,” Andrew said. “I didn't even really know I was searching for something until I got here. It's like you told us this morning: You can find a stone to fit the space, or you can find a space to fit the stone. I used to think I was the stone. Now I think maybe I'm the space that needs filling.”
Jamie's face crinkled like a piece of brown paper. “That's a step toward enlightenment, lad.”
“Are you a Buddhist, Jamie?”
“Nah. But I'd like to be.” His face crinkled again, and Andrew threw his arm around the wiry old fellow.
“You're already there, Jamie; trust me.”
“Drew!”
Andrew turned to find Lee at his side. Anne and Roger were weaving though the crowd. The bartender, whose name was Brian, and who seemed to know everyone, came around the end of the bar and bent at the waist.
“Now, missy, I'll need you to be movin' toward the family area, you know,” he said gently.
“It's not missy, it's Lee, as you well know, Brian Shaheen!” Lee said, her chin stuck out like the prow of a ship.
“An apple and mango for the lady, please, Brian,” Andrew said. “I shall escort her.”
Brian grinned. “Only doin' my job, gov'nor.”
“Are you buying my daughter drinks, sir?” Anne said as she reached the bar.
“I am indeed, and her patient and lovely mother as well, if I may be so bold.”
“A pint of Cornish Blonde would be very welcome, I'm sure,” she replied with a mock curtsy.
“Was there ever a more comely Cornish blonde than thee,” Andrew countered with a bow, for Anne Trelissick was by way of being a “looker.”
“You flirtin' with milady?” Roger asked, appearing at Andrew's shoulder.
“Sir! You malign my character!” Andrew replied with theatrical formality. “I am merely articulating the obvious”—he swept his arm in a circle encompassing the room—“as anyone here may vouchsafe.” Heads nearby nodded appreciatively.
“Can I have my apple-mango now?” Lee demanded. Those within earshot dissolved into laughter. Lee got her drink and vanished. Andrew introduced Anne and Roger to Jamie, only to learn they knew him already.
Then, apropos of nothing, an unaccompanied baritone voice rang out from the rear of the long room.
Come all jolly fellows, that love to be mellow,
Attend unto me and set easy;
A pint when it's quiet, come lads let us try it,
For thinking can drive a man crazy.
By plowing and sowing, and reaping and mowing…
Andrew moved away from the bar, following Jamie, and was amazed as voices around the room picked up the tune. By the time the leader got to the chorus, it seemed to Andrew half the crowd had chimed in.
I have lawns, I have bowers, I have fields, I have flowers,
And the lark is my morning alarmer;
So you jolly boys now, here's health to the plow,
Long life and success to the farmer…
Jack Vaughan was a slender, handsome man of about sixty, with a shiny, balding pate, a short, neatly trimmed, graying beard, brilliant blue eyes, and an almost beatific face when he sang. His voice was splendid; the song flowed out of him, sweet and clear, like a breeze freshening the air in the crowded room. And his friends and neighbors joined him. Beside him, singing alto harmony, was an apple-cheeked woman Andrew took to be Jack's wife. Opposite them at their table was a stockier fellow who occasionally played guitar with