2

* * *

Not much work happened on Monday. Citizens of Killelea and Innisfen both slept late. Those with hangovers shushed each other and whispered. Those without slammed doors, banged frying pans and shouted. Women punished their husbands for excesses and men avoided their wives if they could. Tuesday came along. The sensitivities ended and rolls reversed. The sober of the community stopped banging doors and yelling. Most stopped talking all together. But then Wednesday, Thursday and Friday meant that more work had to be completed to make up for what wasn’t done on Monday, and that meant men spent less time with their wives.

“Crossed over this morning,” Corrigan explained as he, Murphy and Wee Sean dug about a large stump. “Ran into O'Hare.”

“Hump,” Rory Murphy growled, putting his weight against his shovel. “I’m surprised he’d be talking to you after the thumping we gave him.”

“It seems,“ Jeremiah Corrigan picked up an ax from the ground. “Someone from Waell's Crossing approached him about footballing.”

“Oh?”

Corrigan nodded. He took the ax in hand, and swung it over his shoulder. It smacked mightily against a half buried root. Using his boot to balance himself, he yanked the ax from the root, and pulled it back again. “His thoughts are that Waell's Crossing has a full squad. And between our lads and his, we could make up a full squad as well.”

“And?”

“I told him we wouldn’t be interested.”

“Now why would you do that?” Murphy demanded.

“What, Rory? You swore Monday you’d never play football again.”

Murphy shrugged that off.

“Hangovers will do that to ya,” Wee Sean advised.

“Did you have a hangover Monday?” Rory Murphy demanded. The pair of them backed away, watching Corrigan as he struck the root again with his ax.

“I didn’t drink that much.”

“Neither did I.”

“No,” Corrigan laughed, retracting the ax from the root. “It wasn’t alcohol that had him down on Monday. It was age. Him and old man Keenan.”

“Aye. And tell me you didn’t feel anything amiss on Monday.”

“I felt amiss this morning when I told him no.”

Both Wee Sean and Rory looked amiss. “Now I do feel old,” Rory commented. He turned back to Corrigan as the other lifted the ax again. “So, what is it? You turned him away, and you’re bringing back tales so we can feel that much worse?”

The ax struck home and the root gave way. The trio threw into pushing the loosened stump backwards. Another root stopped their progress. “No, not m’plan,” Corrigan continued.

“Then what the hell is it you want us to say, Corrigan?” Wee Sean demanded. A mighty push exposed the root, but it took the two larger men to hold the stump in place as Wee Sean took the ax in hand.

“Did I mention I changed m’mind when he mentioned that Waell's Crossing has a few farm animals to bet?”

Wee Sean swung the ax with all his might, burying the head deep within the root. Repercussions made him bounce backwards. “A goat maybe?”

Jerry nodded.

“I know what I could be doing with a goat.”

“A pig,” Rory Murphy continued. “A few sheep, maybe. A horse.” he chuckled. “Take them for what we can get from them and move onto Lough Larton. See if they can get themselves together a squad.”

“Exactly m’thoughts,” Corrigan nodded. “Only one problem I can see.”

“What would that be?”

“Getting the likes of him,” he nodded at Wee Sean. “In a boat and across the Channel. According to O'Hare, we play in Killelea this time.”

Wee Sean struggled, his foot braced on the root, and the ax barely giving way. “Never mind. We don’t need a goat that badly.”

Murphy and Corrigan shared a look, but not their thoughts.

Wee Sean struck the root again and again, until it gave way as well. This time they were able to push the stump up, onto higher ground before being stopped. The bunch of them broke from the work and parked themselves on the ground. “Question,” Corrigan said, wiping the sweat from his brow. “When you blokes played us, did you tell Father Patrick about the side bets we had?”

“What side bets?” Wee Sean replied. “We told him you were kind enough to share your whiskey with us.”

“We were kind enough to share?” Corrigan snorted and nudged Murphy. “You hear that, Rory? I swear they shared more of their rot gut poteen than we ever shared.”

“So what is it they want us to put up for their goat?” Rory Murphy asked, wiping sweat from his forehead with the inside of his sleeve.

“From the armory,” Corrigan explained. “They’re looking for charges. Those rocks outside of Waell’s Crossing need to come down and that’s what they’re thinking about using.”

A moment of silence passed gratefully as the trio gulped air and wiped away their sweat one more time. “You know something,” Corrigan began, “All of this sounds so good. That is until the ladies of either Innisfen or Killelea gets involved.”

“Aye,” Wee Sean added. “Maureen is one thing. How do we defend ourselves from the likes of Helen O’Hare?”

“And I can’t think of anyone more deserving of that tank of woman than Donald O’Hare is,” Rory added.

“Amen.”

“Amen.”

Link to A Match With Waell's Crossing