As Fiona and the other women worked to cook a meal over the open fire, Sarah slipped into the barn. The gypsies had killed most of the livestock except for the two ponies, Star and Ned, who had been in the pasture.
Sarah went to Dan’s stall and he walked over to greet her. She patted him on the neck. Just seeing his big brown eyes, so seemingly understanding, filled her with a kind of comfort.
“Hey, boy, you doing okay?”
He nickered in response and she held his face in her hands and looked into his eyes. His lashes were long and he regarded her sleepily. She touched the velvety softness of his nose as he blew warm breath into her hands.
“You came through for me yesterday, big guy,” she said quietly. “You got me here when I needed you to, as sure footed and fast as Secretariat himself.” She patted his neck. “I don’t know why I think so but somehow I don’t think I could be doing any of this without you.”
“Ahhh, don’t be giving me a reason to kill the poor beast.”
The unexpected voice made both Sarah and Dan jump, even though Donovan showed himself before he finished speaking.
“You scared the life out of me,” Sarah said, turning to him with a grin. “What are you doing in here?”
Donovan shrugged. “Probably same as you,” he said. “Having a moment to myself before all hell breaks loose.”
Sarah turned back to her horse.
“I talked to Fi this morning,” she said. “She told me a little bit more about the community y’all are starting. You know, Mike, I hate the thought of putting your family in danger,” she said over her shoulder. “I wish I could make you understand why I feel the way I do.”
“It’s easy enough to understand,” Mike said, leaning on the half door of the stall. “They killed Dierdre and Seamus. You want revenge.”
“That’s not it,” Sarah said, her finger tightening around Dan’s mane. “I’m afraid for my life. For my son’s life.” She turned and looked at him. “I can’t live with the threat of them surprising us. I can’t live like that.”
“If you live with us,” Donovan said, “in a community, you won’t need to. You’ll be protected. That’s what communities do.”
“And I would like that,” she said, looking directly into his eyes. “I absolutely want that. But it doesn’t take away the threat. Look,” she said, joining Donovan in the aisle of the barn, “If you had wolves attacking your sheep, would you remove the threat or just put the sheep in a bigger flock?”
“That’s asinine,” he said, his eyes locking onto hers.
“It’s the same thing.”
“It’s not at all the same thing.”
“Tell me how it isn’t! You say ‘don’t upset the wolves, and they’ll leave you alone.’ I say, ‘kill the wolves and hang their molding, stinking carcasses on pikes by the front gate as a warning to future wolves.’”
Donovan looked at her and then burst out laughing.
“Remind me,” he said, wiping his eyes and shaking his head, “is it an American Soccer Mom you are or a Chicago hit man? I keep getting them confused and obviously you do, too.”
Sarah laughed. “In America, we’re all a little bit of both.”
“And it’s not the same thing,” he said. And then, without warning, he leaned over and kissed her on the mouth.
Sarah, surprised, allowed the kiss for longer than she would’ve if he’d in any way telegraphed his intention. She finally pulled away and put her fingers to her lips.
“Mike, no,” she said. “I can’t.”
Donovan took a step back.
“I am so sorry, Sarah,” he said. “I swear I didn’t know I was going to do that until I was doing it. Believe me…”
“I do, I do. It’s okay, it’s just…”
“No need to explain. Jesus! And you still wondering if your husband is alive or dead. I don’t know what came over me.”
“Mike, it’s okay. Really.” Sarah touched him on his sleeve. “Let’s forget it, okay? If the world was different, maybe if circumstances were different…”
“Now, now, none of that.” Donovan waved away her words. “Best idea yet is to just forget it, if you can do that.”
“I can.”
“That’s good. Now, if you’ve checked on your gallant steed, we’ll be seeing what delights Fiona has cooked up for our pleasure this evening.” He held out his arm to usher her from the barn into the dying light of the early evening.
Mack Finn sat, smoking a cigarette, in the old wooden rocking chair on the front porch. It was a good chair with a comfortable pad. Finn had spent nearly the full day in it, rocking, sipping tea and smoking. From the porch he had a good command of the whole camp and the long drive that led to the croft. He watched as ten or so of his men transferred boxes from the two shabby horse-drawn wagons that stood in the middle of the old lady’s vegetable garden next to the barn. Every once in awhile, one of the horses would dip its head to nibble at some wonderful discovery on the ground.
They had found the farm abandoned a few days earlier. Maybe because they hadn’t killed its inhabitants, Finn had decided to move in rather than put it to the torch. He decided it suited him, being a landowner. It occurred to him that he would be the first of his family not to live in a tent or a caravan. He wondered for a minute if he really cared about such things. He was now the oldest living person in his family, a family that went back hundreds of generations.
He recognized that he missed the girl Jules.
Everything had gone arseways so fast, he wasn’t sure exactly what had happened. When the old woman was killed, Jules had gone mental. It was all he could do to protect himself from her. That was a shocker. Up to then, she’d been so sweet and gentle like. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. But the stupid hoor attacked him! It was her own fault. He was only defending himself.
“Oy, Mack!”
Finn didn’t move his head but his eyes flickered to the young man who had just come on to the porch.
“Brendan wants to know should we raid the kitchen or eat what we got in town. People are getting hungry.” The boy looked nervous to Finn.
“What people?” Finn said, his eyes directed back to the working men again. “You?”
The boy didn’t speak.
“Where’s the Yank?” Finn asked, leaning forward in his chair to see if he could spot him from the porch. “Is he talking?”
The boy nodded.
“Brendan said he told him he came here on holiday to fish. He said he came alone, like.”
Finn stood up, flicked his cigarette butt into the bushes and abruptly walked off the porch. The farm was noisy with the antics of his men, some of them drunk, some fighting. He walked into the barn where two men were stacking boxes against a wall. They turned when he came in.
“Where’s Brendan?” he asked.
A swarthy man in his forties jerked his head to indicate the other side of the long barn.
Finn strode down the barn, glancing with satisfaction at the half-full stalls. The family had taken their horses but had left behind full bales of stacked hay. The need to take care of possessions was a new feeling for Finn. He was used to just taking when he needed something. He wasn’t sure he liked the feeling of ownership. It made him feel anxious.
At the end of the barn, he exited the south entrance. There sat two men by a small stone-ringed campfire, the Yank and Brendan.
Brendan stood up at Finn’s approach.