“Oy, she’s awake.”
One of the men approached the cart. He was large and pale, as if he had never seen the sun. Sarah couldn’t see clearly but he appeared rough and menacing to her. He had a sharp ferret-face, and his small beady eyes darted around in his head as if he wasn’t quite in control of them.
He jerked her to a sitting position. The pain that shot through her was like none she’d ever imagined. She groaned.
Another man spoke from behind her.
“I tell you, she’s the American.”
The man with his hand on her raised his fist and held it to her face.
“Say something, you stupid cow,” he snarled.
Sarah looked at him blankly.
He shook his fist.
“I said—”
“Go to hell,” she said.
He dropped his fist. The other two laughed.
“I told you,” the one man said.
“Why does he want her?” He was watching her now with curiosity. “She’s not young.”
“She’s the one shot him, you ejeet. Didn’t you know?”
“Bugger me.” The lout looked at Sarah with naked admiration. “And killed Ardan.”
Sarah looked back at the man. He spoke with a rough accent that didn’t sound Irish.
“Well, whatever he wants with her, he wants her alive. At least at first,” the other man said. “Okay, Granddad, here’s where you get out. Out you go, now.”
Sarah directed her attention back to Seamus who was sitting quietly as if engaged in his own thoughts. He didn’t move.
“Just kill ’im,” the lout said, as he moved back to his horse. He pulled out a shotgun.
“It’s easier if they go into the house on their own,” the other man whined, “before we fire it. He looks heavy. I don’t want to have to drag—” Even when Sarah saw Seamus reach down to the floorboards of the cart, even she didn’t connect that he was doing anything more than just scratching his ankle, so long had she considered him a nonentity. So when he straightened up in his seat and shot the young man speaking, and then turned without waiting to watch the body hit the ground and shot the man pulling out the shotgun, she watched in shock.
Seamus shot the third one in the back as he attempted to flee. He never moved from his seat in the cart. When the sounds of the gunshots had stopped ringing in her ears, Seamus turned to her and smiled tiredly.
“Did you happen to find my reading glasses?” he asked.
Later that day, Sarah watched John’s eyes go from hers to the window and back to hers. In a split second he had silently asked and answered his own question. It was too late to ride to Balinagh today. She hated to disappoint him. She’d already dealt with her own letdown on the long cold ride back and had rallied herself enough to focus on the joy she was bringing to dear Dierdre. The old woman had not wanted to untangle herself from Seamus from the moment they had driven into the front drive of Cairn Cottage. Sarah held off revealing any details of what had happened at Dierdre’s farm. When Dierdre asked why they didn’t bring the cow, Sarah said only that there’d been an accident and the cow was dead. If Dierdre was disappointed about it—and surely she must have been—that emotion had no room in her heart at the moment. So joyous was she to have Seamus alive—and clear-headed—that she sat next to him, holding his hand like an awestruck schoolgirl.
It was too late for lunch by the time they had arrived back that day, but dinner was hot and filling. Dierde had roasted another chicken in anticipation of her homecoming and served it with mashed potatoes and canned creamed corn.
First thing tomorrow, she mouthed the words to John over Dierde’s head. He nodded, resigned. She was tired, bone tired, and her back ached badly from where the big gypsy had thrown the rolling pin at her in the house. But nothing was broken. Now that she knew the face of what her fear looked like, she knew the immensity of the task ahead of her. She glanced at John and her heart hardened at the thought of someone trying to hurt him. Always before, when she thought of losing him she was filled with anxiety and fear. Tonight, the thought of someone taking him from her made her feel as cold and strong as granite, a granite that could crush and kill.
Sarah looked at her glass of red wine, one of the few bottles she and David had held back from all the trading. Tonight was for celebration, she thought. It’s for miracles, for loved ones raised from the dead. And for thanksgiving. She listened to Dierdre’s happy, girlish prattle and let it wash over her like a job well done.
One down, she thought, taking a swallow of the dry red wine and looking at the front door with determination. One to go.
Later that evening, as Sarah and Dierdre were cleaning up the dishes in the kitchen and Seamus and John sat in front of the fire, Sarah told Dierdre what had happened at the farmhouse. The old woman sucked in a sharp breath as she listened and seemed to use the table to steady herself.
“We left the cow in the drive,” Sarah said quietly as she dried a plate and glanced into the living room to see if John could hear her. “The horses I untacked, stashed their saddles and bridles in the barn, and turned them out into your cow pasture.”
“Dear God in heaven,” the older woman murmured.
“You okay, Dierdre?” Sarah put out a hand to touch her on the shoulder. “It had to be done. It’s thanks to Seamus and God Himself that it was done and we’re here safe. You know that, right?”
Dierdre looked at her quickly.
“Of course, I know that,” she said. “It’s just…” she picked up a mug and then set it back down again as if not trusting she wouldn’t drop it.
“I know, I know,” Sarah said, trying to whisper. “It was awful, they were awful. They clearly had some plan that they were going to burn the house with…with Seamus in it, like they’d done that sort of thing before.”
“And haven’t you heard that very thing in town?” Dierdre looked at her sharply. “Haven’t you heard that there’s a gang of hooligans rampaging the countryside killing and burning everything in its path?”
“Mom? You guys okay?”
“Yep, doing good,” Sarah called, giving Dierdre a meaningful look. “‘Bout time for you to brush your teeth, sweetheart?” She heard him speak to Seamus: “I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. Now I have to go to bed.”
“It’s late, John,” Sarah said. “Plenty of time to talk with Mr. McClenny tomorrow.”
“We’ll just say goodnight to the horses,” Seamus called to them.
“Oh, thank you, Seamus,” Sarah said and turned back to Dierdre. “Aren’t you surprised? About Seamus, I mean?”
“You mean, him not acting daft and all?” Dierdre smiled broadly. “It happens now and again, not for a long time now and sure, it’s wonderful to have him back—in every sense of the word.”
“So… it won’t last? His being lucid like this?”
“Sure, no,” Dierdre said beginning to wipe down the table. “Any time now, he’ll leave us again. We don’t know what brings it on or why it goes away.”
“Just grateful for when it comes.”
“Aye,” the older woman smiled at her and then her smile faded. “There’s something else, then, isn’t there, Sarah?” she said. “Something you’re not tellin’ me.”
Sarah stole a look out the window to see the two shapes of John and Seamus in front of the barn.
“There is something,” Sarah admitted. She sat down at the table.
“What is it, dear? What happened?”
Sarah took a long breath and felt the agony of the day wash over her in a shroud of exhaustion and, for a moment, futility.
“It had to do with the gypsies’ horses.”
“The ones you turned out into the pasture?”