7

* * *

“So tell me again,” Liam bated as the pair watched Donald O’Hare and the women of Innisfen and Killea pull loaded boats ashore. “I don’t think I get all of this.” As he said it, he held his hand up to signal his attention was changing.

Patrick cleared his throat. “Surely you can’t tell me you know nothing of this?”

Liam shushed him as several of Innisfen’s brightest joined the O’Hare’s, Maureen Darcy, Mary Murphy and others. “Ya didn’t do this?” Wee Sean demanded, peering into the boat. “I begged ya.”

“You begged me?” Maureen said as she drew her shoulders back. “My recollection, Sean, was you ignoring me when I brought the subject up.”

Wee Sean drew back, looking upwards into his wife’s eyes. “And that didn’t tell you that I’m against this?”

“Against what?” Brendan asked as he raced up. He glanced into the boat. Before an answer could be provided, he crawled in. “Will you look at this?” He held up a twig with roots attached.

“Apple trees,” Helen O’Hare answered.

“Apple trees?” Brendan laughed out right. “Apple trees!” He twirled about, taking in all those around him. “What would you be doing with apple trees?”

“They traded them for arms,” Wee Sean retorted. “Our arms.”

“Now wait,” O’Hare got between the pair. “Now listen to them. This is good.”

“Good?” Wee Sean demanded.

“Easy, little man. It is good. We have pigs coming. And cows. And horses.”

“Horses?” Liam laughed.  “Leave it to the women.”

“Horses,” Helen O’Hare declared pushing her husband aside. “ A race horse. A colt. And work horses. Once we get this pier rebuilt and bigger boats…”

“So, what?” Wee Sean demanded. “Will you be trading for a pier now?”

“A bigger boat, maybe,” Donald added. “Now tell me you would turn away a horse?”

“Horses?” Wee Sean drew back in surprise. “But how? How much?”

The women broke in, excitedly explaining how they had traded dynamite to Mylesbog for apple trees, and guns to Lough Laughton for piglets. “The very same piglets they planned to bet with you the day of the wedding,” Helen explained. When Naughtonby heard of the trades, they offered calfs. Waell’s Crossing had work horses to offer, and a blacksmith in Dublin wanted bullets for the colt. “Think of it,” Helen broke in. “We can get the race track going again. It’s work. And it’s money coming in.”

“And how much is left?” Jerry Corrigan demanded.

“Enough that the Provisional Government is sending us a constable,” Maureen declared happily. “If by some chance another coward like Donny Duffy starts throwing rocks again, we’ll have him in jail before he hits someone.“

“So thanks to you, we lose the rest of it?” Jerry demanded.

“I suggest,” Helen O’Hare offered, “That if you need something, you get it now before the Constable gets here.”

Brendan who had been helping himself to the saplings all along, wandered off the strand all together. The others moved off towards the Dun.

Liam chuckled. “Your best boyo, the prancing fool, will be off planting apple trees from one end of the Backside to the other. What he doesn’t plant around that stone wall you built around the well, he’ll be planting around the floor of the old church, and all over my old land.” He chuckled again, waving his hand before his face. “If only we could move across the harbor from time to time. I can see this causing a raucous.” He glanced at Father Patrick, who seemed to be enjoying himself as well.

“So, on with your explanation,” Liam instructed. “What happened to our little uprising?”

“You had to hear some of this,” Father Patrick urged. 

“The only thing I heard was when the guards were talking about leaving. Saying they are, that Irish could have this rock if we wanted it, and all of Erin. I assumed we won.”

“We did. Not that it didn’t cost us.”

“Cathal Brugha and Arthur Griffith both dead? Hard to believe.”

“We have a provisionary government.”

“And that means what?”

“That we are still part of the Crown. We govern ourselves until such time as they release their grip on us entirely.”

“All of Erin?”

“Nay. All of Erin minus Ulster.” Father Patrick rubbed his chin. “Michael Collins. He tried. I mean he’s soldier. Not a politician. He said he grabbed what he could if only to begin the break away. That maybe sometime in the future…. So, now you have it. We have a provisional government with Michael Collins at the head.”

Liam stood, puffing out his chest. “There should have been words there. Maybe a disagreement.”

“There was,” Father Patrick explained. “We’ve been fighting among ourselves now for the better part of a year.”

“Where? Here?”

“In the West mostly.”

Liam nodded and sat again. Too much to think about. If only he had been alive when the worst of this came to be. What would he do?

He turned to watch as Connor Corrigan rowed in. “Dad!“ The Lad called, pulling the boat to shore. “Dad!“

The group heading towards the Dun paused. Jerry turned back as Connor bent over, in an attempt to catch his breath. “Connor?” Jerry paused next to Liam on the walkway above the strand.

“There’s news,” Connor huffed. “It’s Michael Collins. He’s dead.”

“What?”

“Yesterday, in Cork. Those bloody Irregular bastards were waiting for him.” Connor huffed and puffed and shook his head. “His own, too. Not far from his home.”

Link to the Afterword