Hope from the Ocean: (The Prequel to Fireflies )

by P. S. Bartlett

  He could toss a fifty pound sack of potatoes with one hand and chop fire wood with the other. Yet, upon finding a baby lamb somehow separated from its flock, would lift it tenderly into his arms and carry it back to its mother. However, Dan was concerned about Rory and what Dillon’s absence may give way to when Rory had no supervision.

  “Rory can be a bit of a devil, but Dillon keeps on him and sets him right,” Noreen exclaimed.

  “Should I have a talk with him? Dillon isn’t his Da, after all, and I’m worried the lad won’t ever find a wife if he’s so busy chasin’ Rory.”

  “Oh, don’t ye worry, Rory doesn’t get far off the line before Dillon’s got him by the collar.”

  “Doesn’t get far? What do ye mean?” Dan was concerned that only being at home on the weekends for so long was taking a toll on Rory, even if Dillon had been doling out the discipline. He knew Noreen was capable after raising the others as well as she had but he worried she was holding something back.

  The next morning, Dan rose with a purpose. He headed straight out to the stable, intending to question Dillon as to what Rory was up to. Together they groomed the horses and Dan reflected on how much he missed old Tammy. She’d died a few years earlier and Rory took a liking to a large white mare with pale brown spots when they went to market to find a new one. Dan paid for the mare and handed her over to Rory as if she were a toy. Rory thanked his father again and again and enjoyed the freedom of having his own horse. He named her Snowflake because light flurries fell the day they brought her home.

  Dillon, like Noreen, made light of Rory’s adventures but Dan would have none of it. He’d worked too hard for too long to allow Rory to take the good life he’d provided him with for granted through disrespect and carelessness.

  “Now, Dillon, I need ye to tell me the truth, son,” Dan implored.

  “Uncle, I promise ya, I keep the boy straight. I’ll even take the lash to him if ye want me to.”

  “It’s come ta that, has it? I never had to take the lash to none of ye and I ain’t about to start now, nor let ye do it fer me.” Dan lost his breath and choked. Dillon ran to him and caught him under the arm.

  “Shall I call Aunt Noreen, Uncle? What can I do?” Dillon sat him down on a stool.

  “No! No–I’ll be fine in a minute or two. I just need to sit here–sit a few.” Dan wheezed and coughed some more as Dillon ran his hands over his head and paced back and forth.

  “He’s been sneakin’ off to Naas, Uncle. Sometimes he sneaks off after supper or later, once it’s dark. Then in the wee hours before Aunt Noreen wakes, he slips back in, covered in the smell of smoke and whiskey. After a time or two, I followed him but I was a good bit behind him. I saw Snowflake tied up and found him in the company of some of the worst sort, in a pub on Market Street. I snatched him up, I did, and drug him out. He cursed me and even took a swing but I laid him out, put him on Snowflake and brought him back.” Dillon knelt down in front of Uncle Dan and looked into his face.

  It was still difficult to breathe but he’d heard every horrible word. “I never thought for the life a me it would be Rory,” he remarked, shaking his head.

  “What do ye mean, Uncle?”

  “The drink. Maybe I just didn’t see him.”

  “Oh. Well, he’d only had one or two from my reckonin’ but the other times…”

  “I’ve heard enough. I’ll deal with it from here. I can’t go back to work on Monday with this loomin’. I’ll handle Rory the only way I know how.” Dan spoke softly as Dillon helped him to his feet.

  “What way is that?”

  “The same way me Da handled yer Da.”

  Dan turned and walked back to the house, finding Rory still sleeping away the morning.

  “Rory Flynn! Get yer lazy arse outta me bed and get dressed now! I mean to speak to ye and don’t keep me waitin’!” Dan walked back into the kitchen and faced Noreen’s shocked expression with a cold hard glare. His health, his job and whatever else had kept him from the knowledge of his son’s wrong doings would not impede him from giving Rory two choices. They were about to reach a fork in the road and even at just twelve years of age, if Rory chose to be a drunk, he wouldn’t do it under Dan’s roof. Rory flew into the kitchen shaking, still stuffing the tails of his shirt into his breeches and securing his braces over his shoulders.

  “Rory Flynn, I hereby declare that if ye sneak out of me house once more to associate yerself with that low life, y’are never to return.”

  “Da!” Rory cried.

  “Daniel!” Noreen shouted.

  “Ye heard me right, boy. I know what ye been up to and no son a mine is gonna be a drunken good-fer-nothin’. Do ye hear me?”

  Rory looked over at his mother as if he’d seen the devil himself.

  “Don’t ye look at yer Ma. I’m the one speakin’ to ye and I’m the one who’ll keep ye outta here if I have ta.” He moved closer to Rory, stepping in front of Noreen and forcing the boy to look at him.

  “I hear ya, Da. I-I didn’t mean no harm. I got no friends. Most of ‘em run off durin’ the blight and the rest, well, I don’t need to tell ye where they are. I was lonely, is all. I won’t do it no more, I promise.” Rory lowered his eyes.

  “When I get home next Friday evenin’, if I hear even a hint of a bad word about ye, ye’ll be seein’ those so-called friends every day and I hope they got a room fer ye.” Dan slammed his fist down on the table and began to cough again. Noreen pulled him to a chair and told Rory to run and get him some fresh water. Rory tore out of the house and called out to Dillon to come and help. Noreen grabbed a rag and dunked it into the pail she kept in the kitchen, blotting Dan’s face and neck when he pulled the rag from her hand and covered his mouth with it. His body shook hard with every cough as he kept the rag firmly pressed against his lips.

  “Dan, ye’ve got ta see the doctor. Ye can’t wait another day.” The urgency in her words was evident. She stroked his head and patted his back as tears welled in her eyes.

  Dan shook his head slowly. He had no intention of seeing a doctor and it appeared the trip up to Dublin he’d planned to surprise her with wasn’t happening this weekend either. Rory and Dillon burst through the back door with the water and Rory snatched a cup from the shelf, dipped it and handed it to his father.

  Dan slid the rag from his mouth, folded it into his hand and took the cup to his lips and drank. When he was done, he rested the cup on the table, sat up straight and took a breath.

  “That was a bad one, Dan,” Noreen sighed, reaching to take the rag from his hand.

  He pulled it away and pushed himself to his feet. “I’m fine now.”

  “Yer not fine! Yer not fine at all. Please, if ye won’t see the doctor, get back ta bed and I’ll bring ye some breakfast,” she begged.

  Dan took a long deep look at the three of them and then turned and walked slowly to his bedroom.

  “Thank ye, boys, I’ll take care of him from here. Go on back to yer chores now.” Noreen trembled as she picked up the cup from the table and walked to the pail to dip more water.

  The boys nodded, both shaken and still deeply concerned. Rory placed a kiss on her cheek and whispered, “I promise I’ll be good Ma,” before walking past Dillon and out the door.

  Noreen stared into space, holding the cup in her hand. Dillon twice spoke to her asking if she would be alright, regardless of her declaration that she was fine, but she didn’t answer. She was dazed or suddenly stricken with some condition he’d never seen before, until she raised her hand and placed the cup within inches of his face.

  The bit of water left in the cup was red, as was the rim where Dan’s lips had been. Dillon took the cup from her hand, placed it back on the table and held her tightly, until she nearly collapsed with grief.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Dillon, wake up. Yer Uncle needs to speak to ya,” Noreen whispered, trying not wake Rory.

  “What is it?”

  “He’s very sick and he needs to stay in
bed again today. Come speak to him,” Noreen said and scurried out of the room.

  Dillon dressed and went to his uncle’s bedside. “What is it, Uncle?”

  “Son, ye’ll have to go to the Jameson’s for me and stay until I’m well. I’ve taught ye everythin’ I know.” He coughed roughly and his words sounded as if they had no air at all beneath them.

  “But Uncle, they don’t know me. They’ve never even met me.”

  “I’ve spoken to Will–Mr. Jameson about ye many times and I assured him ye could step into my shoes if I needed ye to.” Every word brought on a hard, hacking cough.

  Dillon sprang to the wash basin and brought his uncle a fresh rag to wipe his lips. “I’ll go. I’ll do anythin’ ye ask.” All at once, Dillon realized his Uncle’s condition was grave. Although it was many a year since he’d found himself letting go of someone he loved, the all too familiar sorrow grew out from his stomach and up into his heart.

  Uncle Dan nodded, motioning to his bedside table for his bible. Dillon placed it in his uncle’s hands. Uncle Dan opened it to about the center and slid out a yellowed piece of paper and labored to simply place it in Dillon’s hand.

  “It’s Patrick,” Dillon remarked. “Why are ye givin’ this to me?”

  “He’s yer brother. Ye should have it.”

  Dillon took the faded portrait Brianne had drawn and placed it back inside the bible and closed it.

  “I won’t accept that until yer gone. Now don’t make me think about this right now. How do I get to the Jamesons’?”

  “Yer Aunt, she knows the way. She’ll tell ye.” Uncle Dan struggled, taking shallow breaths between each phrase.

  “I’m off then. I wouldn’t want to ruin a job ye’ve spent years doin’ well.” Dillon patted his Uncle’s hand. “I’ll do ye proud, Uncle. Don’t ye worry.”

  “Yer brother said those words ta me the mornin’ I brought ye home,” Dan said, his head sinking back into his pillow.

  “I’d like ta think at least one of us kept our word.”

  “Ye both kept yer word. Patrick had his reasons son. Don’t hold hard feelin’s toward yer brother.”

  “I just hope I’ve earned my keep…and yer trust.”

  “Ye’ve…more than earned it son… yer my son…ye’ve always been…my son.” Uncle Dan closed his eyes and in seconds was completely asleep.

  Dillon wiped a single tear away and placed his uncle’s bible back on the side table. He knelt down next to his uncle’s bed, folded his hands together and pressed them tightly against his forehead.

  “Oh Daniel!” Aunt Noreen cried upon entering the room.

  Dillon turned to her and placed his finger over his mouth. She stood for a second and then joined him in prayer. After several minutes, he helped his aunt back to her feet and led her out of the room to inquire about the way to the Jameson's’.

  “He asked me ta go, so I go.”

  “Thank ye, son. I know ye’ll make him so proud.”

  “Dillon? Dillon?”

  Uncle Dan called and Dillon rushed back to his bedside. He spoke without opening his eyes.

  “Sarah,” Dan mumbled.

  “Sarah? The girl? Aye, what of her?”

  “Mind…yerself…lad.”

  “I’ll be kind, Uncle. I’ll mind my actions and do what I’m told,” Dillon reassured him, looking at his aunt in confusion. They’d raised him proper and although working for the Jamesons would be his first real job, he was respectful and wasn’t capable of anything unbefitting a decent man.

  “No…” Dan uttered. “She’s yer match–mind yerself.”

  He drifted off again while Dillon looked to his aunt for logic. Noreen motioned to him to follow her, leading him into the kitchen. She laid out the directions and packed him a heavy bag of homemade cheese, bread and a whole pie she’d baked the night before.

  “Everythin’ else they provide, Dillon. This is just some extra to remind ye of home. Dan said the cook prepares a fine meal but nothin’ will warm yer time away like a familiar taste.”

  “Aunt Noreen, what was that about? Uncle Dan knows I’d never…”

  “The child is very special. She’s gifted, bright and like no one or anythin’ ye’ve ever known,” Noreen interrupted. “He was warning ye to protect yer heart.”

  “Me heart? But he always speaks of her as a child, a little girl.”

  “He still sees her as the child she was when he first met her but I can assure ye, she may be one of a kind in temperament and brains but add ta that she’s a beauty the likes of a star in the sky and that’s a deadly brew. Yer heart is like an empty vase and that girl is a rose about to bloom. Mind yerself and protect that heart or see it shattered ta bits, for no matter what happens…ye’ll never have her.”

  Noreen pressed her hands to Dillon’s chest as she spoke. He chuckled and took her beautiful calloused hands into his, pulled them to his lips and kissed them.

  “Don’t worry yerself. I’ve no intention of a love affair. A few days and Uncle Dan will be back on his feet and come to relieve me of me duties. Now, hand me that sack and I’ll be on me way.”

  * * *

  Dillon reached the Jameson estate and waited at the front gate for Mr. Jameson to depart for Dublin. He pulled his watch from his pocket fearing the journey had taken him longer than he’d thought but found that he arrived with minutes to spare. When he looked up from his watch, Mr. Jameson’s carriage was coming toward the gate.

  “Who are ye, lad, and what brings ye here?” Mr. Jameson’s driver asked when he stepped down to open the gate.

  “Good mornin’, sir. I’m Dillon Flynn, Dan Flynn’s nephew. He fell ill o’er the weekend and has sent me in his place.” Dillon wasn’t sure if he should get down from his horse or stay in his saddle.

  Mr. Jameson poked his head out of the carriage. “Dillon Flynn, ye say? Dan is ill? Well what the devil is wrong with him? Does he need a physician?”

  “Me aunt has insisted she send for one, although me uncle has requested none be called. He’s very unwell but with a few days rest I’m sure he’ll be fit enough to come and relieve me.”

  “Open the gate and let the boy inside. So ye know yer duties, lad?” Jameson asked.

  “Aye, sir, I do. Me uncle has gone over things with me many times of late. Me thinks he’s felt poorly for a while but this weekend he was done in by a bad cough.”

  “Aye, yes, I’ve heard that cough. Well, I’m off to Dublin. If Dan believes ye fit for the job then that’s enough fer me. Let’s go, Fitz, I shan’t be late!”

  Dillon tipped his hat and the carriage passed through the gate.

  “Close that gate, will ya?” Jameson shouted.

  “Aye, sir!” Dillon hopped down from the horse and closed the gate. He stared with wonder at the massive brick home, wondering why four people needed so much room. He’d heard his uncle speak of a cook, several house maids and a new full time groundskeeper and imagined even if they all lived here, there’d still be room for at least ten more. “What a waste a space.”

  The road split about thirty yards from the front of the house and he remembered his uncle telling him to take the outside road around to the courtyard and just beyond would be the stables. He climbed the steps to the loft where he would be living for the next few days and was thrilled to see the living quarters. He could even smell the fresh bed linens.

  Once he’d had a bite to eat, his nerves settled and he was ready to begin the day and get busy tending to the horses. He knew Sarah enjoyed a morning ride after breakfast and wanted to make a good impression on the family by making sure her favorite horse was saddled and ready to go when she made her appearance.

  He fed and watered all the horses and began to groom them, starting with the black stallion. His uncle had mentioned the black horse on many occasions. When he stepped to the animal to bring him from his stall, the horse would have none of it. Dillon was shocked that for the first time in his life, a horse appeared not to like him. He managed to put the br
idle on but when he attempted to lead the horse from his stall, the huge beast stood his ground and would not follow him. Dillon stepped to the rear of the horse and patted it on its haunches, hoping that it may startle the horse just enough to get him to move. The only response Dillon received were some loud whinnies, a whack in the face with its big tail and a few bumps of the horse’s rear.

  “Ye need to be snipped. That’ll set ye straight big boy.” Dillon mumbled at the stubborn beast. “For cryin’ tears, horse! What’s the matter with ya?” His plan to impress was quickly falling apart. “Come on ye daft mule.” He pulled futility at the horse and then heard the voice of a young woman, coming from above him, shouting from her window. “You, there, what in blazes are ye doing to me horse?”

  “Oh, me tender ears, this must be the bloomin’ rose…” he thought as he shielded his eyes from the sun and turned his eyes towards her open window.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Mrs. Whelan, may I take your bags for you ma’am?” asked the young steward as she and her son rose from their table on the deck, to disembark in Philadelphia.

  “Thank ye, young man. My sister and her husband should be waitin’ for us so if ye could assist us as far as the carriage that would be wonderful.”

  Owen was surprised at the change in her dialect and disposition. He was concerned with her emotional health and physical well-being. He knew time would tell and he carried on, picking up the large satchel containing her most valuable items and gave her his arm. As they followed the other first-class passengers to the gangway, Rachel stopped and looked over her shoulder at the vessel, and her eyes glanced down and away before she turned back.

  “We’ve made it, Owen. We’ve crossed the Atlantic Ocean. We’ll be Americans now.”