*
“Damn him,” Patrick said aloud, studying his living friends, Brendan in
particular. The tall, skinny one held his hand out to Wee Sean, waiting for the
Little Man to pass the bottle onward.
“What’s this?” Liam asked. “No hope of salvation after this life, so
you’re taking up cursing, are ya?”
Patrick faced his irritant. “When you died, I gave you a grand funeral.
Why is it you’re taking enjoyment in m’pain?”
“And tell me ya didn’t enjoy burying m’arse under how much dirt and
rock?”
Patrick nodded. “You’re right. I took terrible enjoyment out of that.
M’only disappointment was burying Bridey along with ya.”
* * *
As Mary Corrigan and Maureen Darcy took the corner next to St. John the
Baptist Church, Helen O’Hare plowed into their midst. “Mary,” she nodded,
“Maureen.” A breeze blowing off the harbor beat her dress back and forth,
framing her immensity first from the rear and then the front, and back again.
“Helen. And how are you this morning?” Maureen asked.
“I have a cousin,” Helen began. “She lives in Milesbog.”
“Are you planning to visit?” Maureen asked, politely.
“Nay, unless of course I have a reason to.”
“And what does that mean?” Mary asked. Helen took little time for
pleasure and rarely spoke unless she had a reason to.
“My cousin has a horse that she’s willing to trade for something from the
armory on Innisfen.”
“What exactly?”
Helen shrugged. “I’m not sure what’s there.”
“From what Sean told me,” Maureen said, “There’s weapons and bullets and
dynamite. I’m not exactly an expert on weapons or explosives.”
“Nay, m'neither.” Helen nodded. “I’m sure though that we can figure
something out.”
“Where would the horse go?” Mary asked into a sustained wind. That wee
black dog that had attached itself to Michelene chased a chicken into the
ladies’ path. They paused momentarily.
“Here, of course. At this point we haven’t got the boats big enough to
carry a horse across the Channel. And we do have the horse track here.”
“And your husband would have two customers,” Mary charged. “After all,
what’s a blacksmith without a horse?”
Helen bristled.
Maureen placed a hand on each woman’s wrist. “I don’t know what a horse
in Killelea does for Innisfen. Maybe as payment for connecting us with someone
else.” Helen nodded her agreement. Mary took a few moments more before she also
agreed. “So what is it we can we do for Innisfen?” Maureen asked at last.
“My cousin said that she has apple tree seedlings to share. And piglets.”
“Piglets?” Quietly, the women turned in the direction of the wee Church.
“I’m thinking we shouldn’t stop at Milesbog. Maybe Lough Larton has
something else we can barter for.”
“We need a man’s help with this,” Maureen said.
“Donald,” Helen offered.
“He’ll do it?”
“I’ll tell him.” Helen nodded as she pulled on the door. “My Donald will
do it. I’ll tell him.”
* * *
Old Canon Hanrahan flagged Tim down as he returned from his trip to
Waell's Crossing. “If you’re going out to the Island soon,” the Old Priest
said, “Could you let Father Patrick know that I’m needing his help?”
“Sure.” Tim sat on the saddle of his bike and pushed down on the upright
pedal. He took off towards the far end of Killelea for his first delivery.
“Eamonn is planning to row over tonight,” he called over his shoulder.
*
“He isn’t here,” Wee Sean told his sons. “As far as I know he returned to
Killelea with the rest of ya.”
“Canon Hanrahan says he needs him,” Tim said.
Eamonn shook his head. “I haven’t seen him since Sunday’s football
match.”
“He isn’t in Killelea?”
“Not that I’ve seen.”
Wee Sean thought about that and nodded. “Tim, check with Mr. Kelly. If
Father Patrick is here, he’d know.”
No comments:
Post a Comment