CHAPTER FIVE
An hour into the ride, Sarah knew that the horses were docile and well mannered. Even though David and John had much less riding experience than she did, they both had found their seats and rode as if they had ridden for years. Sarah was amazed at the grace and ease with which her son rode his pony—no fear, no hesitation in letting the animal know what he wanted. Every once in awhile he called out to ask her how to get his mount to do what he needed it to. David asked for no advice and somehow he wasn’t being thrown to the ground or run off with. Sarah knew she had psyched herself out with horses many years ago. Now she had living proof that it was all in her head. She watched John turn his pony off the road into the bordering field to explore it at a trot. Her cry had done her good. She was still worried, but the tension in her gut seemed to have eased. When John trotted up beside her she realized she had been holding her breath.
“Isn’t this great, Mom?” he asked, his face pink with fresh air and his exertion. “Isn’t Star a great pony? We gotta bring him home with us.” With that, he nudged the pony into a trot on the dirt road to ride next to his dad.
Is it just Americans who think in terms of ownership when they like something? She found herself thinking. Or is that a legacy of this generation of indulged children?
John pointed to a running rabbit along the rock wall. Sarah smiled, and she could feel the knot in her stomach diminish. She could also feel Dan loosen up when she smiled.
“Poor Dan,” she said. “Your friends got happy-go-lucky green riders and you got the basket case.” She leaned down and patted his neck.
David trotted back to her. “I think there’s a farm up ahead,” he said. “If there’s anyone home, we can find out about our caretakers.”
Sarah squinted in the direction he was indicating. “Maybe they are our caretakers,” she said.
Within minutes the three of them turned down a long dirt drive that led to a small cottage with a barn, like their own place. A dog barked and ran to meet them.
“He looks unfriendly,” John said.
“He’s just alerting his owners,” David said. “Aren’t you, boy?”
An old man stepped into the courtyard and silenced the dog with a hand signal as they rode up.
“Hello,” David said. “We’re your neighbors from Cairn Cottage.” He smiled broadly. The man said nothing.
“The Americans?” David continued. “We’re renting the cottage.” He turned to Sarah and said, “Maybe he doesn’t speak English?”
“Might only speak Irish,” Sarah said. She smiled at the man who only narrowed his eyes at her. His fingers tightened on his dog’s collar.
“I think we’re freaking him out, David. Let’s leave.”
“I thought the Irish were on our side,” John said, as they all turned their horses and started back towards the main road.
Just then, an old woman came out into the yard. “Hello,” she called to them. “Are you the Americans next door?”
The riders halted and looked back at her.
“Yes, that would be us,” David said.
“Oh, come in, come in,” she said. “You’re all very welcome. And this your little lad, is it? What a handsome boy! Come in all of you.” She thumped the old man on the arm. “Have you gone totally daft, man? They’re the Americans. And you just standing there like some kind of ejeet.”
They steered their horses back to the cottage. The woman wore a long woolen skirt and looked like she’d stepped out of the last century. She wiped her hands on a dishtowel tucked into her waistband. “Oh, it’s good they’re getting some exercise,” she said, patting Dan on the neck. “Sure, it’s one good bit of luck in all this that you’re not useless around horses.” She laughed loudly and winked at John. “Come in, come in,” she repeated. “Seamus will take the horses.” She touched the older man on the shoulder and spoke abruptly to him in Gaelic.
Sarah dismounted and handed the reins to Seamus. “I’m Sarah Woodson,” she said, “and this is my husband David and our son John.”
The older woman stuck her hand out and they shook.
“I’m Dierdre McClenny,” she said, “and this is Seamus whom I guess you already met.”
“I’m so glad to meet you,” Sarah said.
“John and I will help with the horses,” David said as he dismounted and shook the old woman’s hand.
The woman ushered Sarah into her cottage, a miserable looking hovel from the outside, but surprisingly warm and cozy on the inside. Sarah could smell bread baking.
“Sit, sit,” the woman said, motioning to a chair belonging to an old metal dinette set. “I’ll just put the kettle on.”
Sarah sank into the seat, realizing that her knees were weak but whether from the ride or the situation in general, she couldn’t be sure.
“Mrs. McClenny, do you know what’s happened? I mean, do you have any information?”
“Oh, please call me Dierdre. About the war, you mean?” Dierdre set out three chipped mugs and opened the small refrigerator for a carton of milk. Sarah noticed the interior light was out.
Sarah stuttered. “We’re at…it’s a war?” She had to steady herself with her hands against the table.
“May as well be, my dear,” Dierdre said. “We were afraid you wouldn’t be able to get out and about. Most Americans aren’t interested in riding. Wouldn’t know one end from the other.”
“Do you and Seamus get out?” Sarah looked around the room. It was simple and poor but tidy and clean. “Do you have a car?”
“A car?” Dierdre laughed. “Not for ages now. We have a gig, you see.” She moved to the stove to get the kettle. She poured the hot water into an old brown teapot on the kitchen counter. “Seamus and I will be fine. In fact, no different, really.” She brought the teapot to the table. “We’ve got eggs, preserved fruit and jam and I always put away what I grow over the summer. We’ll be fine, please God.”
She poured the tea into two of the mugs. “What about yourself? Have you been able to get word back to your people in America?”
Sarah shook her head and felt tears welling up. “No way to reach them,” she said. She could hear David and John talking outside the cottage. John was laughing.
Dierdre nodded and dropped sugar and milk into Sarah’s tea without asking. She handed the mug to Sarah.
“Well, we’ll all hear when we’re meant to,” she said. “Meanwhile, there’s us getting on and getting by.”
The tea was hot and good and it helped. Sarah felt better after just a few sips.
“I’m not sure how we’ll survive out here,” she said.
Dierdre frowned. “Surely, you’re joking?” she said. “You have a child. You’ll do what you have to.”
“Yes, but if you don’t know what it is you have to do, how can you do it?” Sarah knew she sounded weak and whiny. She imagined that—if Dierdre knew their lives in Florida—she would look very rich and spoiled compared to her simple Irish country life.
“Well, you’ll learn, my dear,” the older woman said kindly. “You’ll take it one day at a time and you’ll learn.” She leaned over and patted Sarah’s hand. “And you have neighbors,” she said. “We’ll help each other. You’ve met the Kennedys?”
Sarah drained her tea mug. “Not yet,” she said. “We thought you might be them.”
Dierdre laughed. “Now you’ll not wanting to be insulting me before we’ve had a chance to get to know each other.” She laughed at her own joke and Sarah laughed too. It felt like years since she had laughed.
“Hey, what’s so funny, guys?” David said as he poked his head in the cottage. “I don’t want to track mud into your kitchen, Dierdre.”
Dierdre stood up and ushered David and John into the house. “Don’t be silly, now. The very idea! And with Himself tracking in every manner of dirt all day long. Your tea’s right here.” She went to fetch another mug.
“Where’s Seamus?” Sarah asked David.
“He’s with the horses,” John said. “M
om, you can’t understand a word he says.”
Dierdre returned and poured two more mugs of tea. She laughed.
“He’s a bit of an odd duck, as they say, is our Seamus,” she said, adding milk and sugar to the tea. She handed David and John their tea mugs. “Sit, sit,” she said, motioning to the dinette chairs tucked under the table. “Are you heading somewhere today or just visiting the neighbors?”
David sat down next to Sarah and gave her arm a squeeze.
“Well,” he said, “we were just exploring, really, any place we can get to and back before dark.”
“If I can talk you into staying, we’d be proud to share our tea with you. It’s not much, but it’s a nice plump chicken and will stretch to five if one of you holds back.” She winked at John and he grinned back.
Sarah was inclined to say no in order to save the old couple’s dinner for them, but the eagerness in John’s face combined with her own yearning for company changed her mind.
“If you’re sure it’s no trouble,” she said. “That’d be wonderful. Fresh meat would be a welcome and the company even more so. Thank you.”
Dierdre’s beaming smile confirmed to Sarah that her reply was the right one, and not just for John’s sake.
“Stop acting the maggot,” Finn snarled, ratcheting the rope tighter around the younger man’s wrist. “We’re having a little chat, ya gobshites, so put down your jars.” He strutted to the center of the group gathered around a small cook fire and dragged the younger man behind him. Eight other men sat or stood around the small fire smoking and drinking beer. They looked apprehensive at their leader’s entrance.
“Anybody see young Billy, here, eat me tea while I was to town?” Finn gave the rope a jerk and could almost feel the poor sod trembling at the other end. The men around the campfire were unshaven and their clothes virtually rags. One seated man had a squirming puppy in his lap. All of them either shook their heads or mumbled negative responses.
Finn knew the boy hadn’t eaten his dinner. The boy—his name was Billy—was a teenager and clearly scared out of his mind. Finn thought Billy might be a cousin although he wasn’t sure and didn’t care. The little rotter was blubbering now.
“No one saw this gobshite eat my tea?” Finn said, raising his voice. The fear in their faces pleased him.
“I seen ‘im, Mack,” one man said.
“Okay, Brandon. Thank you. Finally. Someone who tells me the truth.” Finn of course knew it was a lie.
Finn jerked the rope off the now openly weeping boy and pushed him toward the group. “I can be merciful, Billy,” he said loudly, and tossed the rope into the fire. “Remember that. And don’t eat me tea no more.”
Billy wiped his tearstained face with both hands and nodded. He mumbled a thank-you.
As Finn turned to leave the group, he stopped abruptly in front of the man with the puppy and scooped the dog up in his arms. Startled, the man jumped to his feet.
“Oy, Mack…” he said, looking nervously at his dog in Finn’s arms.
Without looking away, Finn deftly wrung the puppy’s neck and tossed it back to the gypsy. “Did you say something, Gerry?”
All the men jumped up.
“Remember, lads,” Finn shouted. He was looking at their stunned faces. He grinned and mimicked Brandon’s pointing gesture when he had fingered Billy. “I can be unforgiving, too.”
He put his hand on the shoulder of the man now holding the dead dog. “No money for luxuries, me boyo,” Finn said almost kindly, then turned on his heel and left.
Sarah, David and John left Seamus and Dierdre’s in early evening while there was still plenty of light left but even so, Sarah could see that John was tired and sagging a bit in his saddle. She watched his pony step knowingly in the deepening shadows of the trail back to the house and she was grateful for the animal’s steady temperament. Dierdre had given them two dozen fresh hen’s eggs and two jars of berry jam. David stashed them in his saddlebags as if they were the finest caviar. The visit had done all of them much good. Dierdre told Sarah where to find items in the cottage she didn’t even know she needed, and she reminded her to make sure the goats were locked in at night to protect them from roving dog packs. David had promised to come back in a few days and help Seamus mend a fence around the hen house.
The hospitality had given Sarah a warm feeling of connection that salved their isolation and homesickness. It surprised Sarah that someone she had nothing in common with could make her feel so connected and safe. She was too tired tonight to figure out how that could be but was grateful for her new friend. Her exhaustion and her pleasure at the evening, combined with a full stomach, also made the ride a peaceful one without anxiety.
The small bottle of Sancerre that Dierdre had brought out at the end of the meal had gone a long way to soothing Sarah’s jangled nerves about the horses. She was now taking pleasure in the ride, enjoying the feel of the evening air on her skin and the sight of the dear nodding head of the boy who rode beside her. She and David spoke little on the ride home. They were both enjoying their own thoughts as they processed the day’s events.
When they got to the house, David pulled John out of the saddle and handed him to Sarah. He took the pony’s reins.
“Wait here while I put these two to bed then I’ll come back for big Dan there.”
“Are you sure?” As pleasant as the ride had been, Sarah was tired enough to be very grateful to have David untack and feed the horses. David walked the two horses to the barn, and she stood with her horse and John at the front porch steps. Suddenly, she froze. John, sensing the change in her, shook his sleepiness away.
“What is it?” he whispered.
Sarah caught her breath and pulled him away from the front steps.
“The front door’s open,” she said.
Free Falling, Book 1 of the Irish End Games Page 5
