3

*

Wee Sean almost enjoyed the ride back. “Good to see old friends,” he explained. “Glad I went.”

“Even if I told ya she’s related to Jerry Corrigan?”

“Especially since she’s related to Jerry Corrigan.” He almost laughed as he watched the scenery pass them by. A quiet day and a quiet Channel carried them along. “Lady Talbot, is it?” The sun had began its descent and night noises settled about them. They should pull into Killelea just about sunset if their luck held. If not, they would welcome the light from the lighthouse as their guide.

“What about the Lady?” Brendan asked, laying into his job and flowing with the rhythm of the water.

“She’s an unusual one.”

“How so?”

“Her speaking to the Brigadier about forcing himself on her last evening. Something is telling me she’s looking for someone to blame just in case.”

Brendan turned to study a large turtle as it reached up to catch the last rays of sunlight before diving into the water and swimming off. Brendan pulled his oars back with him.

“You bastard,” Wee Sean snickered.

“Me?”

“You. I can see it in your eyes. She offered and you took her up.”

“So?” Brendan shrugged. “I’ll get it where I can.”

“Uh huh. I’ll get it at home with m’wife. That way I can look m’children in the faces and call ‘em mine.” Brendan rowed on without comment. “He’s yours, isn’t he?”

“Who?”

“Michelene.”

Brendan met Sean eye for eye. “Aye, he’s mine.”

“At least you’re not denying it.”

“What’s the point?” Brendan asked. “Even Enid figured it out.”

The pair joined the wake as a fire was lit on the pebbled way. They warmed their hands as wood, peat and old straw caught. Mourners pushed into the cottage, through a forest of human beings, and out onto the way again. The fiddlers, drummers and wailers were truly loud enough to wake the dead in Innisfen. They’d take her over in the morning.

Patrick caught up to them. “They’re gone?”

“Aye,” Brendan responded. “Maude sends her regards. I promise ya she wasn’t happy about it.”

Wee Sean held out another nearly full bottle he had discovered on the way out of the dun. “We convinced her,” he said with a nod and a smile.

Patrick smiled as well. “Amazing how easily this stuff can make up a mind.

The pair quickly paid their respects, offered condolences, and then returned to where Patrick waited by the fire. Rory Murphy and Jeremiah Corrigan had joined him, and were already passing the bottle about between them. Connor Corrigan pushed in next to his father, and Eamonn Darcy next to his. “Would ya mind if we join ya?” Connor asked.

Evening had settled about them. The lighthouse rose from the rocks above them. Its light fell on the bay and came only as close as the wharves did. The fire, although not strong, provided the only light there in the common between the cottages. Faces appeared to be orange and bodies nearly invisible. Smoke from the peat, fragrant and thick, drifted nearly straight up. The night remained as calm as the day had been.

Rory Murphy drank from the bottle and passed it on to Jerry Corrigan. Patrick tossed another clump of clover on to the fire. Smoke and ashes bellowed outward momentarily, and dampness crackled as flames licked the new fuel and caught.

Jeremiah Corrigan examined his son. He wiped the opening of the bottle off in his hand and passed it to Connor. “You stood your ground tonight,” he said. “Both of you,” he nodded at Eamonn. “Good.” Connor examined the bottle for a long moment before attempting a taste.

“What did I miss?” Wee Sean asked, watching the lad. He smiled at Connor’s expression of surprise and strong drink. This wasn’t poteen.

“Them holding off Kieran Griffin and the lot on their own.”

Wee Sean turned to his son and nodded. It was something Brendan would never be able to do. As long as circumstances stayed as they were, he couldn’t acknowledge Michelene as his. Never be able to show his pride in the lad’s accomplishments.

“Makes me sick,” Jerry Corrigan commented. “We should be replaced by the bunch of them.“ He nodded at the open door of the pub and the group gathered in the doorway.

“What makes me sick,” Wee Sean challenged, “Is that Donny Duffy is gone. We should be making him pay for this.”

Patrick took hold of the bottle, studied it for a moment before taking a drink. “It occurred to me,” he said, wiping his lips, “That by the time the constable arrived, Donny Duffy could be on his way to Australia, or hung by the likes of you.“

“And the point you’re trying to make here?” Brendan asked.

“It occurs to me you’ve got enough to atone for in the afterlife,” Patrick insisted. “And until we reestablish a court and constable in Killelea and Innisfen, we’re better off sending the likes of him off to do his damage elsewhere.“

“Let him do his damage somewhere else? Is that what it is then?” Jerry Corrigan asked.

“Let him do his damage someplace where the constabulary and the courts can deal with him.”

“All I know is there are a lot less of us than there used to be. And Donny Duffy and Kieran Griffin were sitting in the public house here while we were off in France, or hiding in the bog. And that makes me sick. I still dream about railway ties exploding and Rory picking me out of that ditch.”

“And I remember waking up after being smacked in the head on Innisfen the night Liam died,” Brendan said. “If it weren’t for coming across Krupp like I did, I might never have made it back.”

Jerry Corrigan cracked a bit of a smile. When the bottle came back to him, he lifted it up. “To Krupp, the evil little bastard.”

*

A few drinks into the evening, Connor built up his courage and dared his father’s wrath. He joined Deirdre Darcy in a dance. She blushed, glanced the way of her mother, and joined him in the clover. They faced each other, she holding onto her skirt with both hands, and himself with his thumbs tucked into the waist of his trousers. Their feet moved to a frantic beat. She laughed at him as he struggled not to slip on dew drenched clover. But then, he reached out grabbing her wrists as his feet gave way. He landed on his back. She struggled not to fall on top of him. She laughed, her voice as sweet as a harp. He hung onto her, laughing like a fool, and trying to pull her down with him. She kept her footing, hanging above him, her smile bright in the firelight and her curly red brown hair slipping out from the ties of her bonnet.

*

Patrick watched Wee Sean as the smaller man followed the antics of his daughter and her beau. His expression changed from passive interest, to anger, and then to acceptance. Would he laugh at the couple? Would he explode? Sean took his turn at the bottle when it came his way. The music slowed, and Jerry Corrigan serenaded the group with his version of ‘A Wild Colonial Boy.’  The musicians chose one set of notes and Jerry his own.

Patrick’s logical course of action would end Sean’s turmoil, and that would be to damn the lot of them to hell’s fires for the sinful act of dancing. Other priests would. Patrick look about for another jug. Maybe he’d burn in hell because of his negligence. He considered dancing safer than young men and women disappearing from his sight and doing what only Himself could see. Canon Hanrahan didn’t disagree with him. At least not as long as someone would be available to listen to the old man’s complaints about the pains in his head.

Emanon Darcy smiled as Deirdre helped Connor to his feet. “She couldn’t find anyone better,” Eamonn assured. He tapped his father’s sleeve when the music thankfully ended Jerry’s song.

“I have no problem with him.” Wee Sean took the bottle from Patrick again, and tipped it up, hoping for at least another drop.

“Then what is your problem, little man?” Jeremiah Corrigan demanded.

“Me?”

“You.” Jerry held out a jug of poteen, passing it to Rory Murphy. “I’d be having no problem with him asking for her hand, if you didn’t react like you did.”

“M’problem ‘tisn’t with the lad.” Wee Sean tossed aside the bottle and focused on Jeremiah Corrigan while scratching about the middle of his chest. “M’problem, Jerry, ‘tis you. That second hole in your arse makes you more cantankerous than any man with one hole.”

“And this is coming from Liam O'Brennigan’s closest friend, is it? Makes me wonder if half his nastiness wasn’t caused by his association with you…” Patrick assumed the poteen jug when it came his way.

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