The Crockett Chronicles- The Complete Collection

by Jennifer Lynn Cary

  He lumbered along, working to clear his mind. Do not think. Do not look about. Just go.

  Joseph’s desire to feel nothing fought against what lay locked inside. He couldn’t imagine living without Kathleen, which meant his own death must be eminent. If only it would come quickly, maybe then he could find peace.

  Put one foot in front of the other. That’s all he had to do. Keep one foot in front of the other. He became so focused on this exercise he nearly walked past his destination. Coming in through the front, he hoped fewer people would see him. However, the parlor was empty and what sounds there were, muffled and quiet, came from the back by the kitchen. He mounted the stairs to the old nursery and pushed opened the door.

  The vision captured his breath. He ran his hand over his eyes. Sarah sat in the rocker holding his tiny son, singing, while Mother gazed on, stroking the downy fluff on his little head. Sunshine streamed through the window, casting halos around all three.

  The only thing missing is Kathleen.

  The unbidden thought pierced his heart faster, deeper than any dagger.

  Both Sarah and his mother glanced up.

  He refused to be seen as pathetic.

  With a hand on the doorknob, Joseph raised his other—half in salute, half to ward off their onslaught of compassion—and then left.

  He was down the stairs and out the door in an instant, hoping Sarah hadn’t caught sight of him.

  She had.

  He knew she would follow.

  She did.

  Faster. Move faster.

  It didn’t matter. Soon Sarah paced beside him, matching him stride for stride. She remained wordless, keeping up the tempo.

  They traveled for several miles, over meadows filled with spring daffodils and past sheep and lambs munching on sweet grasses. Not that he noticed much, but Joseph had lived in the Laggan his whole life. He knew this district of land in any season.

  Never once did they speak.

  After the first mile or so, Joseph knew where his feet took him. It brought understanding. There was a destination.

  They arrived at a wild spot on a bluff overlooking Lough Swilly. Several large boulders loomed near the edge, and an ancient Celtic cross stood sentry.

  Joseph moved to the brink and stared at the raging waters, made swift and deep from melting snow. “What are you doing?” The silence had lasted so long, the shock of his own voice startled him.

  “What do you mean?”

  “What are you doing here? Why did you come with me? Why are you with me, right now?” His voice remained quiet, in spite of his pulled-taut emotions. He couldn’t look at Sarah, so he focused on the waters below.

  “I thought ye might want some company.” Her voice quivered.

  “Why?” Joseph resisted the urge to seize her by the shoulders.

  She remained mute.

  He grabbed a rock and heaved it into the river. “Why are you here?”

  “Joseph, yer me friend and I yers. Isn’t that enough?”

  Her words caught him off guard. He strode to her, face to face, staring deep into her soul.

  She never flinched but stood as still as the surrounding boulders.

  A steadfastness he found within her threw him a lifeline. He clutched it with everything he had left and leaned against an outcropping.

  Sarah blinked and exhaled, taking a seat on a lower ledge.

  He’d scared her. He’d scared himself.

  She gave a timid smile and let her legs dangle.

  “I don’t know what to say, Sarah.”

  “Then dunna say anything. I dinnea know of a law that says we must talk. We can just be watching the river awhile.” She scooted over making room for him.

  He sighed, letting tension flow away. He dropped next to her. Leaning forward, it was as if they floated over the wild waters below. At that moment, Sarah became his safety net. He could think his thoughts, feel his pain in silence, and believe she would not let him go too far.

  One more look confirmed. No pity stared back. He wasn’t sure what it was he saw, but knew it wasn’t pity.

  It was safe, then. He was safe. They had been friends too long for him to hide his tears, so he let them fall. The river carried them away.

  It was the release he needed.

  Chapter Three

  The house appeared peaceful as James and the other two riders approached.

  They had been on the road since he’d delivered the hurriedly scribbled note from his father recalling Gabriel home. None had taken time to rest. Now that their destination was in sight, James breathed easier, his aching backside happy to get of his horse from the round trip.

  He spotted a flutter of movement at an upstairs window, and heard a cry of recognition from the house, before the doors flew wide.

  Open arms rushed to embrace James’s big brother, not him. Of course.

  “It’s Gabriel.” Lucy called out, but Sarah Beth reached him first. She grabbed hold of Gabriel’s boot. James thought she would pull the poor man from his saddle.

  Gabriel dismounted and hoisted her high. He whirled her around, before greeting his other two sisters. Finally, he turned to his mother, hugging her. “How is he?”

  She shook her head and gave him a peck on the cheek before linking her arm in his, leading him to the house.

  “Hey, what about us?” James hoped the smile on his face showed he wasn’t really offended. But then, in truth, he was. A little.

  “I missed you, James. I’m glad you’re back safe.” Mary Frances tugged at his sleeve.

  “And that’s why you’re my favorite, little one.” James laughed and hugged his next to youngest sister. “Hey, big brother, you’ve forgotten your manners.”

  “You are right.” Gabriel motioned to the third rider. “Ian, my apologies. Mother, this is Ian MacKenzie, my friend of whom I have written you. Ian, this—” he opened his arms wide— “is my family. The female part, at least.”

  His mother moved to the stranger, who had dismounted. “Sir, please forgive my rude manners. We have been longing for the return of Gabriel, and so much has happened that I have neglected to be a good hostess. Please forgive me and join us in the house for some refreshment.”

  James smiled at the proper English blended with the thoroughly French accent. Such music, his mother’s voice.

  Ian took his mother’s proffered hands, bowing over them. “Tis nothing to forgive, and I would be honored to take refreshment with you.”

  “Bon. Let us go inside where we may sit and speak.” Mother linked up between James and Gabriel, leading the way.

  James’s spotted his sisters, over his shoulder, chattering all at once, and nearly dragging Ian along in their attempts at making him feel welcome. A servant gathered the men’s belongings and cared for the horses.

  “I am thrilled you are home, son. Now all of my children are here. James, you made good time. I am thankful for your safe trip.” His mother squeezed his hands. Then Lucy left to make tea.

  “Was there any warning there might be a problem?” Gabriel chose to remain standing. “Kathleen always seemed so healthy.”

  “No, nothing like this was expected. Everything was normal until after Wee Joseph was delivered, and then the bleeding refused to stop. The little one is fine. Perfectly beautiful and fine, except for being motherless.”

  “In this house? I’ve no doubt he has more mothers than any child in all County Donegal.” James winked and knuckled Mary Frances’s chin. “And none better I might add.”

  “It is true, he receives much female attention. Widow O’Connor, from over Porthall way, is his wet nurse. She and her Wee Samuel are staying in the room off the nursery.”

  “Didn’t she lose her husband to the fever last winter?” Gabriel asked.

  “Oui.” Mother’s voice dropped to just above a whisper. “I desire to help her, but she is a proud woman. By caring for Wee Joseph, she does not feel she is taking charity. I do not know what we would have done without her. It is difficu
lt on her, living in our home. I believe she harbors a fear of us, because we are not Catholic. Perhaps she worries we might cast a spell on her little one.” Mother shook her head. “But I believe she is starting to trust us. She certainly loves Wee Joseph.”

  “May we see him?” James asked. Gabriel added his request.

  “I think it should be all right.” Mother stood. “Sarah is with him now.”

  “Sarah is here?” Gabriel asked, voicing James’s thought. What was that all about?

  “Oui, she comes daily to look after the baby. She also makes sure Joseph eats.”

  James caught the knowing glance Gabriel sent him, but neither made a comment.

  “You may come too, Ian.” James said. “You might as well get used to it. You are one of the family now and will have to speak up to get a word in edgewise.”

  “I must remember that.” Ian smiled, and followed the family up the stairs.

  The door opened to Widow O’Connor playing a game on the floor with her toddler while Sarah rocked the baby, crooning a soft lullaby. James couldn’t help but think that, to see this, none would guess the pain that brought about this moment.

  Sarah must have heard the door. She turned, and with great effusion, hopped up from the rocker to embrace both James and Gabriel with her free right arm.

  “Gabriel, Jamie, when did you return?” She whispered.

  “Just now. It looks like you are in your element,” Gabriel whispered back. “Oh, I would like you to meet my friend, Ian MacKenzie. Ian, may I present one of my dearest childhood friends, Sarah Stewart.”

  Ian bowed over her free right hand.

  James chuckled. “That’s a pretty thing to say, especially knowing you usually were chasing her out of your hair. Childhood friend, is it? I thought it was more like childhood pest.”

  “Oh you.” Sarah started at him, but Wee Joseph moved and made a little squeak, capturing her immediate attention. James was saved from a friendly tongue-lashing. “Oh, Joseph Louis.” She pronounced Louis in the English way, using his full name. “Tis nothing but your big uncles here to make a fuss over you. Aye, and that’s right. Over here is your Uncle Gabriel. Get a good look at him. No doubt he’ll be back off to Scotland before the month is out, so you will have to be committing his face to memory. And here is your Uncle Jamie. He’ll be around, but I’d be taking care to watch out for him. He is as ornery as they come.”

  “I’m cut to the quick.” James grabbed his chest and pouted, though he couldn’t help smiling. “Jamie” was a childhood nickname that all but Sarah had forgotten. It warmed his heart to hear it on her lips. “Hand him here.” He feigned grievance.

  Sarah cautiously handed her bundle to his outstretched hands.

  He cuddled the baby close. “I’ll tell you some secrets, Wee Joseph, about that redheaded crooner what’s had her hooks in you. She’s got a whale of a temper and—”

  “I do not. How dare ye fill that baby’s head with such nonsense.”

  “—she cheats at games—”

  “Not true. Not one word of it. Gabriel, won’t ye defend my honor?”

  “—and she’s the one you need to be teaching ye how to run as she can outrun all of the lads here about.”

  “Well, now, that part would be true. And I’m glad ye remembered.” Sarah grinned.

  Wee Joseph let out a howl, and Sarah took him back. “Yer probably hungry, little one, but I wouldn’t put it past that uncle of yours to have pinched ye just for orneriness.”

  “You wound me, lass.” James grasped at his chest while Mother, Ian, and Gabriel chuckled at the exchange.

  “I don’t think you will ever get anything past her.” Ian grinned.

  “I never could.” James wanted to bite his tongue at the slip. He glanced about. Only Ian seemed to have heard.

  Sarah handed Wee Joseph to Bridget and then joined the group.

  James followed as they left the nursery.

  Noise sounded from the back of the house as they reentered the parlor. Before James could see to the cause, his father entered.

  “Welcome home, Gabriel, James.” He clapped them both on the back. “I’m glad you are safely returned. And who is your friend?” He extended his hand.

  “Father, may I present, Ian MacKenzie. Ian, this is my father, Antoine Crockett.”

  “Tis a pleasure, sir.” Ian responded with a handclasp and bowed over his host’s hand.

  “You are the famous Ian of whom we have heard so much from Gabriel’s infrequent letters.” Father cleared his throat but couldn’t hide his smile. “Welcome to our home.”

  The tea arrived. Lucy poured.

  “Is this your first trip to Ireland, Ian?” Father relaxed in his favorite chair, one leg crossed over the other.

  “Aye, that it is.”

  “Racing through the countryside is not the best way to see the Emerald Isle,” Gabriel said.

  “True, and there is so much beauty to see.” Now they had started his father’s favorite topic. James knew what was coming. “Some areas are quite civilized, where others have a wild beauty. Here in the Laggan, it is fairly flat. We have good farming areas due to Lough Swilly and the River Foyle. But a short trip north of here you’ll find the Dooish Mountains. Farming there is next to impossible.”

  “I noticed the difference in the area as we came through.” Ian leaned forward. “When we go back, I’d like to spend a wee bit o’ time in Londonderry. As tis, we dinnae disembark the ship until we got near to Johnstown. I’m thinking this part of Ireland must be quite similar to the Highlands. I look forward to seeing more of her afore going back.”

  “We’ll see to it you do, sir.”

  “Father, I understood the Reverend Fontaine was here for the service. Was he able to stay on a bit?” Gabriel would want to see the man, James knew.

  “No, son, he headed back. It was only by Providence that he was even here at the right time. He asked of you, though, and your studies. Do you yet know if you will be able to have a parish near here?”

  “I had hoped to discuss that with him.” Gabriel paused before continuing. “It looks like Glasgow is where I am needed, but I would dearly love to be closer to home.”

  “You know we will be praying about this.”

  “Especially Mother.” James winked at Gabriel.

  “Now, do not tease. She misses having all her chicks at home.” Father put an arm about her shoulder and kissed her cheek.

  “I am not the only one who misses Gabriel. I have caught your father looking at his map of Scotland with a faraway look about his eyes.” Mother tipped her chin, trying to look stern and then laughed. “But, for now, you are home and I am grateful to have all my sons again close. I will send word to Robert and Joseph that we are having a family dinner tonight. Then I will truly be grateful.”

  James smiled at his mother’s hopeful expression but would Joseph come?

  Chapter Four

  Ireland for Ireland. Do ye think twill work?” Michael O’Toole seemed to enjoy and fear the idea, all at the same time. He continued to scrunch his well-worn cap between his work-worn fingers.

  “Can you think of a better solution? This is the reason Albert and I brought our families out of France.” A thick French accent might still color his speech, but Antoine loved his new land. And it wasn’t enough to hope and pray for peace. They could do something about it, maybe here and now, in this room, peace could start. He searched the faces of the five other men seated around the table. It had been a trying two weeks, but he knew he had to get back to what he and Albert had longed to do. This was the reason he called the meeting.” But he mustn’t get ahead of himself. Best to explain. “Why is it we always must be defined as Protestant or Catholic? Huguenot or Presbyterian or Anglican? Why not children of God—United Irish children of God? When will we learn to forgive as Christ forgives and leave retributions for the past in His very capable hands?”

  “I stand with you, my friend,” Albert de Grillet responded in his thick, French a
ccent. There was brotherhood in his longtime friend’s voice, and he knew this dream was not just his own. He peered around the room at the other men, waiting to see who else might respond.

  “There is much bad blood between the Protestants and the Catholics. I do not know if tis possible. You weren’t here to know the terrors of forty-one. I were only a lad, but well I still remember the fear as the stories from Ulster spread like wildfire. Portadown, they got the worst of it. Me grandmother knew Elizabeth Price. Five children she had, all torn from her and thrown off the bridge to drown. Then the hallions hung her to make her confess and when she finally said all they wanted to hear, they held her feet to the fire ʼtil her soles were fried poundies. She was one of the few to live through the nightmare, and she told me grandmother she wished she hadn’t. More than two thousand people massacred, thrown from bridges and bashed in the head if they tried to swim free. Tis a lot to forgive.” Thomas Stewart slammed the table with his meaty fist, his gray hair falling in his eyes.

  “Aye. But then let’s not be forgetting the punishment already handed down on the Catholics, many of whom had nothing to do with the uprising. Cromwell, the divil take ’im, more than repaid for forty-one. What he did in Drogheda in forty-nine more than made things even, what with killing priests and burning defenseless families alive, and in church, mind ye. Me poor father, may he rest in peace, claimed to have heard the screams of the mothers for their babies five years after as he walked by the ruins of that church. And I’ve no doubt tis true.” Paddy Flanagan’s blue eyes pulsed with intensity as his leathery face pinked with emotion.

  “Aye.” Michael O’Toole added, his dark head bobbing in agreement. “And then in Wexford, just because they didn’t submit quick enough to suit him, Bloody Cromwell killed off twenty thousand of the citizenry.”

  Antoine could feel things going from bad to worse as Paddy and Thomas each tried to top the other with religious atrocities.