*
Jeremiah Corrigan examined the strand one more time. No calf, no tracks
after the tide retreated, and no boat. Did someone leave the Island? Did they
take the calf with them? Yes, he remembered bringing the thing across, and yes,
he saw Wee Sean earlier. Unfortunately, the first time he saw Brendan Kelly
that day was when the thin man crossed over from the mainland. Something about
the way the dog’s tongue hung out above the gun rail and the
red burn in Brendan’s cheeks, reminded Jerry of another incident. “Ah, Christ,”
the big man whispered. He pushed out into the waves, intending to latch onto
the bow of the boat, and guide it in.
“Before I quit talking to ya all together,” Brendan growled, “Tell me ya
didn’t lose the calf.”
* * *
Sunday was the Lord’s day, and Helen O’Hare bided her time. On Monday
morning she dug out the pad of paper and the envelopes she had purchased on her
last trip into Waell’s Crossing. At the time, she had only a hunch as to why
she needed it. Now she had a plan. With son, Brian’s, help, she composed a
letter. ‘To Cousin Moira in Milesbog. Would anyone in Milesbog be willing to
trade with us for what the British left behind? What do you have?…’ Brian
showed her how to address the envelope, and she counted out enough for postage.
Next she wrote to someone she knew in Waell’s Crossing.
* * *
The old horse finally seemed to be healing, and quickly at that. Patrick
tucked the beast back into the alcove he used prior to the Naughtonby match,
and gently and lovingly cared for her. He brushed her daily, fed her oats, hay
and an occasional carrot. In the afternoon he allowed her to stretch her legs
in the field of clover behind St. John the Baptist.
To his delight, she began to notice him, and to expect him. When she
threw a shoe shortly after their return, he took her to the blacksmith. As
O'Hare lifted her back foot to examine the job before him, the old mare grabbed
onto the Patrick’s sleeve, and held him there. He chuckled softly, and stroked
her nose with the other hand. As O'Hare worked, Patrick spoke to her, soothing
her, and assuring her that he would not allow her further pain.
Michelene found Patrick on the third day after their return in the
alcove. The lad smiled and climbed onto a tall barrel next to Patrick. “The Canon
says come,” Michelene said. “Ya have some Parish business to be doing.” Patrick
set aside the brush he had been using on the old mare’s coat.
“Is the Canon ill again?”
“Nay. He says your parish, not his. He says I should be calling you
Canon.”
“Someone from Innisfen needs me?”
The lad bounced, nearly falling from the barrel. Patrick reached out for
the lad and latched on. With a giggle, Michelene slid comfortably to the
ground. “Come on, Canon Patrick, Mr. Dawy and Mr. Cory-gone wants to talk to
ya.”
“Canon Plunkett,” Wee Sean Darcy began, removing his hat respectfully,
“Mr. Corrigan and myself would be pleased to speak to you about wedding our
children.”
Patrick approached the table and sat in the chair next to it. It took him
a moment before finally smiling up at his friends. “Amazing what a few prayers can
do for the eternally pigheaded.”
“You going to do the ceremony,” Jeremiah Corrigan demanded, “Or insult
us?”
“Try to stop me from doing either.”
One of the many treasures he had found when wandering about the old dun
was a beat up saddle with silver stirrups. Patrick considered riding the old
mare. He decided to try on the fourth day following his return from Naughtonby.
He brought the saddle with him to the alcove, and without a thought, heaved it over
her back. Immediately she shied, banging against wooden upright supports and
whinnying in fear. “Hey, hey,” Patrick soothed while sidestepping prancing
hooves. “Easy, Lassie. I won’t hurt ya. You know that.” Her ears perked up. She
snorted steam from enormous nostrils. “It’s only me, Lassie. I won’t hurt ya.”
He tried to stroke her nose. “I only wanted a ride, that’s all.” She dropped
her snout and again snorted. She knew him now and she calmed. “Can I ride ya,
Lass?” He continued to stroke her nose. She stamped her feet and shook her
head. “I understand now. Whoever owned ya wasn’t very nice to ya, was he? Maybe
another day then,” he said at last. Slowly returning to her side, he eased the
saddle off.
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