Array: Byte shorts and other stories

by Cat Connor

  Ciara laughed, as Ana poked out her tongue before skipping off.

  I called after her, “Less cheek!”

  She replied with her tongue again.

  “I can still catch you,” I growled. Beside me, Ciara laughed softly. We watched Ana skipping happily.

  Occasionally, she stopped and picked a mushroom for her basket but for the most part, she simply skipped, lost in simple happiness and simple pleasures as only a girl on the threshold of womanhood can be, or deserves to be. Suddenly, something ahead of us caught my eye. From among the trees, the sun’s rays glinted on metal. I looked, straining to see the source of the reflected light. Next, I heard the jingle of tack and harness and the slow clip-clop of hooves.

  When finally I was sure of what I saw, my blood turned to ice.

  I turned to Ciara. “Run! Back to the Abbey … hide!”

  She hesitated. I shoved her back toward the Abbey,

  “Go!”

  “Ana?”

  “I’ll fetch her.”

  Ciara ran, abandoning her basket. At exactly that moment, both horse and rider became visible.

  A soldier.

  The same one we’d seen earlier. Ana spotted him. She stopped and looked back over her shoulder. Ahead of her, but approaching at a rapid canter, were two more horsemen.

  “Come here!” I called.

  Ana dropped her basket as the first horse cantered from cover.

  She hesitated then scooped her skirts and ran to me.

  The horse trampled her basket as it thundered toward her. He was so close. I grabbed Ana by the arm swinging her behind a broken pillar. The soldier pulled the horse up on front of me. With a leer, he stooped toward me, hands grabbing, as I ducked out of his reach. His fingers hooked into the neck of my cloak. I wriggled, unbalancing him with a quick twist.

  I summoned moisture to my dry mouth and spat in his face as he lurched sideways in his saddle. He slid enough to bring his head close to me. I slammed an elbow into the back of his neck.

  The reins slipped through his fingers, dazed, he grabbed for them to right himself. I hit the horses flank hard. The horse jerked forward, dislodging the rider, he dangled from one stirrup. I slapped the horse again. It broke into a gallop dragging the screaming soldier behind.

  Another horse and rider appeared from nowhere. The soldier thrust his sword at me. I jumped sideways. From behind me, I heard Ana gasp. A shadow moved. An arm pushed me aside as the soldiers blade cut the air again. A blade flashed in the sunlight. Steel on steel. I caught sight of my saviors face. Father William.

  Clashes of metal. Grunting. Sweat flying. The occasional yelp. The horse snorting and fretting.

  Father toppled the soldier from his perch with relative ease. The fight continued on the ground. The horse needed little encouragement to gallop away.

  “Father William!” I said. “Another soldier.”

  The solider slid from his horse and advanced upon us. Ciara called out from behind a pillar. I turned. She held a sword in both hands, barely able to lift the blade from the ground. I smiled, in two strides I was next to her. My right hand wrapped around the hilt.

  “Stay with Ana,” I whispered. My eyes closed for a moment as I prayed for strength and to recall all my father taught me. With both hands holding on the hilt, I could wield the sword with reasonable effect. Side by side. William and I proved a formidable defense.

  With the soldiers gone, tails between their legs and limping badly. Father William watched over us as we hastily gathered mushrooms, so as not to return home empty handed.

  Bad enough with the story we had to tell, and Ana covered in dirt from her fall, without returning lacking the one thing we were sent to get. My cloak hid a rip in my skirts, and a bruise or two on my arms. My basket was trampled under the horses hooves, I left it where is lay.

  Father William accompanied us on our walk home. I thought it safer for my sisters to remain in the company of a man.

  We walked together, both watching the girls ahead of us as we talked.

  “You’re sure you are unharmed?” William asked.

  “I am perfectly well, thank you,” I replied looking at him, “And you?”

  He grinned. “Nothing more than a few bruised ribs and some scrapes.”

  “Maddie has a compress for bruises and cuts, let her tend you.”

  He grinned again. “I’ll heal. It’s not worth neither fuss nor bother.”

  For the second time within the space of few days, I saw the man, William O’Meara, and not the priest. He wasn’t much older than I was, if at all.

  Young, handsome. How had I not noticed before?

  And his eyes.

  Such eyes. They were captivating. My mind fumbled for words, and I found it wanting. I diverted my attention, concentrating instead on Ana and Ciara who had dropped behind.

  “Ciara keep Ana with you, she’s lagging.”

  Ciara grabbed Ana’s hand and dragged her along. “Hurry up Ana, I want to be first to tell Maddie and Da about the soldiers and brave Father William.”

  They caught up with us.

  I cautioned Ciara, “Don’t mention this excitement to Mamai, nor Caoimhe.”

  “Why not Caoimhe?” She sounded confused.

  Ana piped up, “She’s a tattle-tale.”

  “She is not!” Ciara snapped.

  “She is Ciara, you can’t tell her because she’ll tell Mamai. She always tells Mamai,” I explained with mustered patience.

  Sometimes Ciara irked me. How did she not see that every time they’d been in trouble with Mamai it was after they’d told Caoimhe of their mischief?

  Ana slowed even more, she fell back behind us, dragging her feet.

  Father William dropped back. “Ana are you tired?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  William crouched by her. “Climb up.”

  Ana smiled. “A piggy back.” She threw her arms around his neck.

  He stood effortlessly, with no outward evidence of his bruised ribs. He hooked his arms behind Ana’s knees for support.

  “Give her here. You needn’t to do that!” In that instant, he was no longer a priest. Part of me was terrified. “You’ve done enough! I’ll carry her! You’re hurt!”

  “She’s light as a feather,” he said, with a smile that held not even a hint of bravado.

  I scooped up her abandoned basket, feeling so many things at once that I could scarcely breathe. My heart pounded.

  “She’s tired Meaghan, and so are you. I am not. We’ll make better time if I carry her.”

  He had a good point. After what had transpired at the Abbey, the sooner we arrived home, the better.

  I stilled all the thoughts that begin with, ‘What if he hadn’t been there?’

  Be still. He was there. But why was he there? I surveyed him with care, so as not to be caught. He wore no cassock today. There was nothing to distinguish him as a man of God.

  “Father?”

  I wanted only to say, “William”

  “Yes?”

  “Why were you at the Abbey?”

  A sheepish grin spread across his face. “I go there often. ‘Tis a quiet place, the Abbey, and one in which I can relax and be alone with my own thoughts, and those of Augustine, John Duns Scotus and others who’ve made more sense of the world than have I.”

  A thought occurred to me, the reason he wore ordinary, peasant dress.

  “You were ditching class,” I said

  He laughed.

  “Yes.” He looked over at me. “Have you ever you felt a need to get away. Away from everything, I mean? To seek some quiet, lonely place in which only the Lord above can see you, and in which your soul can converse with him far part from the mad hullabaloo of the world?”

  I looked at my sisters then back at him.

  “Often.”

  And then I knew without knowing, felt, perhaps. But of one thing, I was certain.

  The rampant feelings in my heart would ignite the fires of hell and beside me
walked the match. He carried my sister as if she were a feather, not a living, breathing, stroppy-loud nine-year-old.

  Visions of perdition and purgatory danced before my eyes, distorting the road beneath my feet. I missed my footing and stumbled over a rock. A hand landed on my arm to steady me.

  Through my cloak, I felt strong, slender fingers burning my skin as a branding iron.

  My heart pounded. I was on fire. Hell ... or heaven? Both? Neither?

  For the barest fraction of a second, I was confused.

  “Careful, Meaghan. The road is uneven,” he said, relinquishing his hold on my arm and hoisting Ana higher.

  “Thank you.” I couldn’t help but look at him. His eyes searched mine and for the space of a few heartbeats, I felt unworthy beneath his gaze. “I didn’t thank you for your help today,” I said, with a smile as genuine as it was weak and uncertain.

  “I did no more and no less than would any worthy son of our Father in Heaven,” he said.

  “But you might have been killed.”

  He shrugged, eliciting a giggle from Ana.

  “Our Lord and Savior died that all might have life eternal,” William continued, “‘Greater love knows no man than to lay down his life for his fellows’, as the Apostle wrote.” His green-grey eyes were both as hard as granite and as soft as rabbit fur as he spoke. “Should I fear the loss of this life? The departure from this oft-cruel and unjust world? When another life and another world, both perfect, mind you, await me in the hereafter?”

  There was truth to what he said, and this I knew. The world in general and Ireland in particular seemed an overflowing cup of sorrows at times. But even as I considered the matter, I thought of joys both simple and profound, of quiet wonders, of the things in this life that are precious and give it meaning.

  My sisters. A ride upon Gideon’s back. Maddie drawing a comb through my hair. My father’s smile at the very sight of me. The sweet smell of new-cut hay, as the morning sun kissed a meadow into wakefulness after a night’s rain. A young, handsome man with eyes the color of the sea and an unruly shock of coppery hair.

  Saints preserve me.

  What was I thinking?

  “Should we fail to be grateful to Him for the good things He has given us, then?” I blurted out, regretting it immediately.

  Father William’s green-grey eyes twinkled, and he laughed aloud.

  “You sound like an English Puritan,” he said, his smile suddenly as infuriatingly mischievous as it was beautiful and heart stopping. “So you’re of a mind to debate theology, are you?”

  A flush of what I can describe only as pleasurable anger rose to my cheeks. My lips quivered as I strained to keep my face a mask of frosty indignation; tried with all my might not to return his lovely, infectious smile.

  “And if I am?”

  “Then I’d welcome it,” he said, a hint of a sigh creeping into his lilting voice. “We are, after all admonished to compare new ideas to Scripture, to see if they be true. In the absence of inquiry, truth and falsehood become irrelevant and weak and shallow indeed as is our faith when it goes untested.” For a moment, his face was as much a mask of placid, patient yearning as that of any saint, and the grey-green pools that were his eyes stared far beyond the world around us, his gaze fixed upon something he, and he alone could see. Then, with the speed of summer lightning, they locked upon my own, staring into and through them all at once.

  “What credit can be given a man for claiming to have resisted temptation when he’s never actually known it?” he asked, his voice strong and soft, yet carrying a wistful, plaintive note, at the same time.

  1714 August 8.

  I lay for some minutes in my bed, unwilling to move and break the spell cast by sleep.

  Dreams still warm.

  I couldn’t tell the hour, no light filtered through my dark curtains. Fire danced in the grate. Its lively flame suggested someone had been in and stoked the embers back to life. I knew that to mean it was past six. How far past I had not a clue. Today was a day I knew I would remember. Not because it was my birthday, but because he was coming for supper.

  I rolled over and smiled. He was coming for dinner and the other twenty-seven guests did not matter at all. For a split second, I wondered if William really would come. Then pushed the thought out of my mind, of course he would, it was the polite thing to do. He rescued us. Da of course would repay him with hospitality. His story will be told, and re-told at dinner. A sudden pang shot through my heart.

  If the soldiers discovered his identity, all would be lost. I stopped myself. What would be lost? My mind spun over the day he saved us. All what would be lost?

  I found no answer to be forthcoming.

  My eighteenth birthday began in confusion.

  I lay and stared at the ceiling until I heard a knock at my door.

  “Come in.”

  The door opened a crack then flung wide as Ciara and Ana bounced in.

  “Happy birthday!” Ana squealed, closing the distance between the door and my bed in her own special exuberant fashion. She threw herself on me, hugging tightly.

  “Happy birthday!” Ciara echoed jumping on the bed. “Oh Meaghan your party will be grand.”

  I laughed at her excited flushed cheeks and bright eyes. “Grand?”

  “It will, it will,” she said nodding frantically.

  Ana hugged me tightly. “Mamai and Caoimhe are busy with preparations.”

  I kissed her forehead. “Such a big word for so early in the day.”

  “Get up! Come see!” Ana wriggled off the bed and pulled my arm. “Come see!”

  I sat up and threw back the covers. “Let me dress.”

  “We’ll help. Maddie said to help you today.” Ciara announced. She opened my wardrobe then stood back as if surveying the contents. “What shall you wear tonight? Mauve? Blue?”

  A lilting voice floated from the open doorway, “Green.” Mamai floated into my chamber amid a sea of cream fabric.

  “Green?” I asked peering into the wardrobe.

  Ciara moved gowns, lifting up sleeves and inspecting the color. “Light green?” She asked, draping the sleeve of a pale green gown over her arm.

  “No, Ciara,” Mamai replied, smiling. “Come in, Caoimhe.”

  Caoimhe entered carrying a gown wrapped in calico with just the bottom of the skirt showing deep green.

  I looked at my mother. “Mamai?”

  “The birthday girl needs a new gown.” She smiled serenely. “It’s your birthday Meaghan.”

  “Yes, Mamai, it is.”

  “You should look your best tonight Meaghan, for our guests.” Miami indicated to Caoimhe to lay the gown on the bed.

  She continued talking as I unwrapped the covering on the gown.

  Her words mingled with the thoughts in my head. The gown was beautiful.

  Not quite emerald but close and it shimmered in the fire light. Mamai’s voice drifted with the crackling fire as she rattled off a list of guests attending the evening celebrations.

  A sick feeling of dread clawed at my stomach. In amongst Mamai’s words I heard suitors. She continued with me half-listening, “Of course your Da invited Father O’Meara to thank him for his bravery and chivalry. I believe Monsignor Murphy will be accompanied by Father O’Meara.”

  I found no words or breath forthcoming at the mention of William’s name. I scolded myself sternly for being so fanciful. The girls chattered nosily. My lack of response lost among their excited babble.

  Mamai ushered everyone from my chamber, only she stayed behind and helped me dress, in a pale blue gown. The new green gown was for the party. For the first time in years, Mamai brushed my hair.

  “You’re a beautiful young woman Meaghan. I hope you enjoy tonight.”

  “I’m sure I shall, Mamai.”

  “Is there anyone special you’d like to invite, that we haven’t thought of?”

  “No Mamai, there is no one I can think of.” You’ve already invited the one person I wa
nt to see.

  “Very well, I shall leave you to your morning rituals.”

  Mamai whisked from the room. She took all the air with her. I gasped for breath as her question hung for all to see. Is there anyone special you’d like to invite?

  Relieved that there was no one to see it, I sank onto the stool by the fire.

  That summed up how I felt at that exact moment, relieved.

  It was short lived and followed by more guilt than I knew how to cope with. I knew any feelings I had for William were wrong, why then did I have them. I mulled over the last few days as I tried to find something to occupy myself with.

  I was excused from taking part in the preparations for my birthday.

  It made the day longer than usual. Much longer. I tried needlepoint but found my concentration lacking, the results were less than pleasing and would take some time to fix. They would also demand more patience than I had to offer.

  For the fourth time within an hour, I opened the kitchen door.

  “Is there anything I can do?” I asked Maddie. She was up to her elbows in flour. At the other end of the table, Caoimhe and Ciara chopped, stirred, and generally busied themselves. I longed to be helping, to be busy, to have no time to think. The girls giggled as they worked. Pangs of envy caused me to wonder how many more sins I would commit before nightfall. Flames shot from the fireplace. Hell closed in, salvation receded further from my reach.

  Two local women sat in the window seat at the far end of the warm room. I recognized them and they looked over and wished me well. Then continued folding linen and napkins. Everyone had something to do, except me.

  Maddie smiled and wiped her hands on her apron.

  “Please Maddie, can’t I help?”

  Without a word, she ushered me from the room and closed the door.

  The sideboards in the hallway sparkled with fresh polish.

  The smell of beeswax lay thick in the air masking the smell of the fresh flowers in large crystal vases. People moved about in and out of the downstairs rooms carrying things. Everyone was busy.

  “Da?” I called out as loudly as I dared. I gathered my skirts and ran up the stairs. “Da?”

  I saw him appear in the doorway of Mamai’s sitting room. “Meaghan? Is everything all right?”