*
Patrick materialized on the far side of the rise that separated the
Lowside from the rest of the Island. He smiled. “They’ve found me.”
“And me,” Major Talbot said, coming up beside him.
Patrick studied the reddish blonde curls, and the long, thin patrician
face. “I know you.”
The major nodded. “It will come to you eventually. Even the blackguard,
O'Brennigan, can remember.”
Liam, stretched out on his usual rock, chuckled. “And look what else
they’ve found.” Patrick glanced outward in time to see Wee Sean Darcy. “It took
them long enough.”
*
Wee Sean stopped at the edge of the Lowside. “Jerry, Rory, look at this.”
He nodded at an array of domestic animals grazing on the grassy slope.
Jeremiah Corrigan, with his hands on the back gun rails, paused. “How
could we miss that?”
“What?” Rory Murphy demanded.
“Two goats, a calf and a flock of sheep.”
*
Wee Sean had assigned his sons the task of bringing the news to Killelea,
but then thought better of it. Remembering how shocking it was to hear of old
Mrs. Keenan’s passing, Jeremiah Corrigan agreed to cross over with the lads,
and help to break this more gently.
Michelene cried when he heard the news, and Old Canon Hanrahan sat in his
chair and refused to move for a very long time. Nearly everyone in Killelea
grieved.
Jerry sought out Enid Kelly. “I understand how angry you are,” he told
her, holding his hat in his hand. “But if you have any feelings left for the
man, Enid, go to him now. He needs ya.”
*
She was in a quandary when she and several others crossed the Channel.
She wasn’t sure what to say or do, or even if Brendan would see her. Once on
the shore though, she headed in the direction of their cottage on the old
homestead, parting an unfamiliar clutch of sheep and goats on her way.
He had completed quite a bit of work on the old house, reroofing it,
cleaning it of rubble, and furnishing it with fixtures taken from the dun. He
had peat stacked and ready for use, and matches on the mantle. The only food
she could find was what she carried with her from Killelea. Just like him not
to worry about eating.
She built a fire in the hearth first, and prepared a meal. She’d make him
eat. At least she’d try.
She found him sitting along the fences surrounding the field where he had
been working the last time she crossed over. “Brendan, you have to eat,” she
told him, holding out a plate to him. He looked at her, taking the plate from
her, but setting it aside wordlessly. “You don’t have to speak to me,” she
said, sitting next to him. “Just let me be with you for a while.”
“I’m not angry at you,” he commented. “I’m sorry is what I am.”
Enid picked up the plate again, and attempted to feed him.
“I’m not hungry,” he said pushing it aside.
“And when was the last time you ate?” He looked out across the fields
opposite them. “I’m sorry about Father Patrick.”
His eyes crossed to the farthest reaches of the field. “He only gave me
Absolution last, so we could play football. He screamed at me about you and
Michelene. Damned me for m’stupidity.”
“Brendan, I don’t want to hear this.”
“I told him he couldn’t tell me anything I haven’t already told myself.”
Tears rolled down his cheeks. “You can’t believe how sorry I am for what I’ve
done.”
“That’s fine, Brendan. We’ll go back to doing like we did. Just you and
me.”
He shook his head. “We do for Michelene, too. As long as herself is gone,
we do for him.”
She pushed back onto her haunches. “You have no idea what you’re asking
of me.”
“I’m not asking you for anything.” His eyes met hers. “I’ll be raising
m’son. It’s up to you whether you’ll help or not.” She swallowed. He glanced
away again. “I’m supposing that’s too much to expect from ya.” One hand rose to
his head, pushing back his cap and brushing aside his red hair. “Enid, I’m
sorry.”
“Brendan, stop.” She put her hands out to him, taking up his. “We’ll do
what we have to do.”
“I wanted a family. I didn’t think I’d wreck what I had.”
“You haven’t wrecked anything.”
“Patrick said you and himself talked about bairnes. That you didn’t want
any.”
“Brendan, please.” She pulled on his hands, latching onto his head, she
pulled him to rest against her. “I don’t know what I wanted. Father Patrick
said I was wrong. I must be.”
“I can’t believe it. First Bridey and Liam, now Patrick. I can’t believe
this…”
“Shush,” she said, rocking him in her arms. “I’ll miss him, too.”
* * *
Ian’s new post took him to New Zealand. Emily gladly said goodbye to him
and his indulgences in July. By mid August, she missed him. Now in her third
month she was having difficulty hiding her pregnancy. His letter found her
considering her options. If she’d stay and face the whispers, or if she’d
retire to her family’s home in Yorkshire. They’d whisper there, too.
Word from Killelea, Ireland, had been forwarded to Ian. They had indeed
found Reggie’s remains, and had buried him on Innisfen. Emily set the letter
aside and shed some tears. She was relieved to know finally where he was, and
yet grieved his loss once again.
She reread Ian’s letter after tea. He offered her another option. She and
the children could join him in New Zealand. Now where would she find a ticket
agent, and how long would it take to book passage?
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