The gypsy, Davey, wrinkled his nose at the smell and turned on his heel to exit the room.
“Don’t bother him with this shite,” he said. “See if there’s anything worth taking in here. Then kill ’im.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Dierdre hooked the pony to the harness. Sarah watched how quickly the older woman had buckled and arranged chains along the pony’s neck and back. She noticed that John had watched closely too. She had no doubt he’d be able to do it himself the next time they needed to harness up the little pony trap.
“Little Ned will see you fine, please God,” Dierdre said, patting the pony on the neck.
They had debated whether or not Sarah should ride Dan or take the cart. But the lure of goods that Dierdre had left behind at her farm had settled the question. Sarah would go there first, look for Seamus, then load up the trap with anything she could carry from the house. Then she’d go on to Balinagh to ask for word about David.
That was the plan.
Sarah tugged on Dierdre’s driving gloves and looked back at the cottage.
“You’re going to be okay here?”
Dierdre handed her the driving reins.
“For the hundredth time, Sarah, yes,” Dierdre said. “We’ll be fine, won’t we, boyo?”
John came over and gave his mother a hug.
“We’re armed, Mom,” he said. “No one’s messing with us.”
“Yeah, about that,” she looked at Dierdre who shook her head.
“Stop worrying, Sarah,” she said. “We will be fine. It’s you that’s going out in the world and you’ll be needing to keep a watch out, mind. That group of gypsies travels by day. Mind you see them before they see you.”
“God, I can’t believe any of this,” Sarah said as she hopped up into the cart seat. “I’ll be back by nightfall. Guaranteed. Okay?”
“See that you do,” Dierdre said, her mouth in a firm line that made Sarah think she was trying not to cry.
“I’ll find out where our men are, Dierdre.” She looked at John. “I will.”
“I know, Mom. Be careful is all. Be real careful.”
She smiled reassuringly at him and urged the pony into a walk.
She turned half way down the drive to wave.
The snow was still falling when Sarah left Cairn Cottage but she was determined to go on even if she spotted a funnel cloud hovering over the Irish dry stonewalls that lined the horizon.
Do the Irish get tornadoes?
She had never driven a horse-drawn wagon before and it felt awkward trying to control the pony without the use of her legs or seat. She consciously worked to tamp down her anxiety and impatience but, even so, found herself urging the little pony into a trot. She prayed he could manage any slick spots on the icy road. A video of the cart overturned and the horse hopelessly entangled in its harness and cart brackets flashed into her mind. Almost angrily, she banished the image and forced herself to slow him down to a brisk walk. She focused on the road between his ears and found herself praying outloud. She remembered she used to recite poetry, or sometimes even sing, when she rode her horse years ago—after she lost her confidence and needed to rely on such techniques to calm herself and her mount.
“Dear Lord,” she said. “Please let me find Seamus. Dead or alive, although please alive, but in any case please let me find him so I can help Dierdre say her goodbyes.” She watched the pony’s ears flick backwards to catch the sound of her voice.
“And please let me find David, I beg you. I hate to ask for so much, because I need you to protect John, too, and keep him safe. And me on my trip today. Please let us get where we’re going safely. Dear God, I pray.”
Sarah shivered in her Gor-Tex coat and tightened her grip on the reins. When she pulled up in front of Dierdre and Seamus’s little farmhouse, she was surprised to have arrived so quickly. Her thoughts had been calm and her mind open and hopeful.
It occurred to her as she looked at their house that the drive to it was virtually hidden from the main road. The house itself was tucked into a copse of fir trees, furthering camouflaging it. If you didn’t know it was here, Sarah found herself thinking, you might never find it.
She stopped the cart, set the brake, and looked around for any sign of life. Déjà vu, she thought sadly, thinking of Devon. Her shoulder holster—moldy and already worn thin when she got it—now wouldn’t snap shut, and she was worried the Glock, which wasn’t the right size for it anyway, would fall out. She picked up the gun from the leather seat next to her and stuffed it in her jacket pocket, praying it was true what John had told her about not needing a safety on it. She jumped down from the cart.
Finn sat in Betta’s kitchen drinking a mug of tea. He watched his men from the kitchen window as they fed and watered their horses. They had found several rifles in Julie’s mother’s house, some ammo, enough food to last them a few days, and two good horses. He recognized the Yank’s big bay as one of the horses he had tried to steal two months ago when the bitch shot him.
The horse was his now, he thought with satisfaction.
A young gypsy boy entered the kitchen. His eyes were badly crossed, his skin mottled with acne. Finn always marveled that the boy could take two steps without falling or crashing into something.
“Oy, Finn,” the boy said. “What do you want we should do with the body?”
“What do we usually do, you daft idiot?”
The boy looked around the room.
“Well, the rushes are set,” he said.
“Mind if I finish me tea, first?”
The boy nodded and left the room.
Finn looked in the direction of the bedroom. His arm hurt him today. It didn’t always. The bullet was still in there but it didn’t worry him. Didn’t he have an uncle lived to seventy years with two bullets in ’im? One in each of his legs. He stood, tossed his tea mug in the sink, and walked out onto the porch. His men turned and looked at him as if awaiting orders.
“Light ‘er up,” he said, mounting the large, saddled, bay and turning its head toward the road. He knew he’d get a better view of the fire from the rise at the turn of the road. It was nearly his favorite part.
Nearly.
Sarah found Seamus in the back bedroom.
Alive.
When she first pushed open the bedroom door and saw him, her heart flew into her mouth and she thought, instantly, of the joy she would be bringing Dierdre who had not had the heart to hope for so much. The second thought she had, as she approached the bed where the old man lay, was that she would have to delay her trip to Balinagh and her search for David again.
She approached the bed slowly but he was awake, sitting up in bed, with a book in his hands. He watched her come without fear or recognition.
“Hey, Seamus,” she said. “Am I glad to see you. Dierdre will be, too.”
“Ahhh, shite, an American,” he said, putting the book down.
His response startled Sarah who had not ever heard him string together enough words to form a sentence before.
“You…You remember me?” she asked, looking about the room.
“I went for a wee walk,” he said, tiredly.
“I know. You—”
“And when I returned, the wife was gone and so, of course, was any hope of lunch.”
Sarah sat down on the bed next to him.
Did he have moments of clarity? Dierdre had never mentioned it if he did. Slowly, Sarah reached for his hand.
“Dierdre’s at our place, Seamus,” she said. “Let’s go to her, okay? She’ll have lunch ready for us.”
“You’re American,” he said again, studying her face.