A door in his heart cracked open a bit. He slammed it shut. He could never again go down that road.
“Don’t just stand there gawking. Sit and eat.” Sarah stood, hands on her hips. “Here, I’ll take Wee Joseph.”
“Let him play here on the blanket.” Joseph put the baby on his belly. Wee Joseph promptly rolled over, grabbing at his feet with his fat, little fists. In less than a minute, he successfully connected with one and began to suck on his toes. Joseph watched the small triumph and quietly chuckled.
Stretching out on the grass, it dawned on him how very long it had been since he’d felt this much contentment. Joseph closed his eyes, hearing a yellow wagtail in the trees on the other side of the grazing sheep, singing thanks for his dinner.
“Looks like there’s enough blue to make a cat a pair of pants.”
Joseph opened his eyes and smiled at Sarah’s observance, glancing toward the western mountain peaks. The summer sky glowed azure between. A good sign for a good day.
“Aye, maybe even two pair.” They were only talking about the weather. The subject was safe, but they were talking for a change.
Sarah returned his smile, leaning back against a nearby hawthorn tree and stretching out her long legs.
Joseph rolled to his side, propping his head on his fist. His mind recalled those legs that once outran every boy in the Laggan, legs now prudently hidden by lady-like coverings. He turned his gaze away. It wouldn’t do to let his mind wander any further.
James sat Samuel on the quilt, but the toddler promptly popped back up.
“Samuel darlin’, come here to your ma.” Shannon held open her arms. Samuel turned as if to obey and then, with a giggle, wobbled off down the grassy hill. James snatched him by his white gown. Samuel, arms flapping and little feet flailing in the air, laughed all the harder.
“I think your mother called you, young man. You need to see her.” James chuckled, handing the scamp to Shannon. She sat with her son. Laying him across her lap, she tickled his stomach and tousled his hair. Samuel’s giggles filled the air.
“If I stretch out and put my head on your lap, would you do that to me?” James sounded so innocent, but an ornery gleam twinkled in his eyes.
Joseph couldn’t believe James would be so bold. He shook his head. But then, this was James. No one could predict what might next come out of his mouth.
“Not even if all the crown jewels were laid at me feet.” Shannon’s expression danced with friendly mirth.
Joseph had to give the Widow credit. She wasn’t easily riled.
“A fellow has to take a chance now and then, you ken, don’t you, Widow O’Connor?” James had charm to spare.
“Oh, I ken perfectly.”
“We all do, Jamie.” Sarah sweetly smiled. “Actually, I might consider letting ye put yer head on my lap.”
Joseph’s fingers twined tightly around the grass under his hand. Had he heard her correctly?
After a lengthy pause, Sarah scrunched her nose. “It would make it so much easier to wring yer silly neck, ye goose.”
Joseph laughed along with the rest, feeling a strange sense of lightness and relief.
The women kept watch over the children while they ate. Samuel inhaled a huge portion of a lamb pie with little help while Wee Joseph lay on Sarah’s lap contently cooing.
Joseph could not remember the last time he’d known such fun. This is the way it should be. No one should hurt. And he wouldn’t let those he loved hurt, if he could help it. The thought seemed to pull all his other thoughts together. If God wouldn’t protect the ones he loved, then he would do it himself.
“Shannon O’Connor, I thought you’d have more sense than to be spending time with these Crockett laddies.” The voice came out of nowhere, startling the group into silence.
Joseph sat, recognizing the speaker.
“Christopher Dougherty, this is a private party. You best be moving along.” James slowly rose to his full height. Joseph joined him and, shoulder-to-shoulder, they stared down the little man with the big mouth.
“Tis all right, boys. I’m talkin’ with the lady, here. Shannon, ye be knowin’ better’n to be in the company of these heathens.” Dougherty’s speech slurred.
“And you’ve got room to talk.” Sarah’s ire sounded.
Joseph cut her off with a look.
She held Wee Joseph closer.
“Excuse me, Master James, Master Joseph.” Shannon drew Samuel close to her side. “Christopher Dougherty, tis a might early to have been drinkin’ so much that you’d be talkin’ this stupid. I know yer wife would be preferrin’ ye spend a bit more time at yer own business and less time drinkin’ and runnin’ your mouth. Now, if you’ll be movin’ on, we can continue to enjoy our meal.” She picked up Samuel and quickly moved to stand by Sarah and Bridget.
Dougherty paused to look at his dirty fingernails.
Joseph could feel it in his bones, the inebriated fool was scouting for trouble.
Christopher took a step toward Shannon, arms outstretched toward Samuel.
That was all Joseph needed. He and James grabbed the drunk, pinning him to the ground. Nose to nose, Joseph smelled the soured whiskey breath. It turned his stomach. Still he spoke with deadly calm. “You heard the lady. You need to be moving along. You are on Crockett land. We won’t take kindly to you again being on it.” Low and slow he asked, “Do you understand?”
Christopher Dougherty’s bloodshot eyes widened to near sobriety. Slowly, he nodded his head.
“Good.” Joseph stood.
James offered Dougherty a hand, but Christopher slapped it away, standing on his own. He took time to brush off his clothes before stumbling away. After a short distance, he turned. “Be mindful. Combs can be used for more’n one thing.” Then he turned on his heel running as if chased by a banshee.
Joseph observed Shannon’s reaction.
She turned to check on Samuel.
It had been a clear threat. A vine of fear crept up his spine. Quickly, he pulled James aside, knowing Sarah would try to overhear and not wanting her to.
“I’ve not heard of the Combers before in this area.” Joseph kept his voice low.
“I thought they’d been banished.”
Joseph brushed the hair back from his forehead. “We’ll be needing to get the women and babes back to the house. I’ll let father know what was said.
James rested his arm over Joseph’s shoulder. “If anyone has heard anything, he’ll know.”
The merriment of a few minutes prior evaporated into an air of awkward tension.
Joseph attempted to break the strain. “I do believe the wee ones are looking ready to return. Shall we pack up and get them home for a nap?” The women mutely nodded. It cut him to know they were alarmed. Here on Crockett property where they should feel safe, they’d been frightened by a big mouthed drunk.
James grabbed the large basket, picking up the remnants of the picnic. The rest followed his example. Soon they were packed.
This time, Shannon and Sarah carried the children, Bridget held the quilt, and the men carried the baskets and leftovers. They walked five abreast with the women on the inside. The men, rigid, as if on a military maneuver, surrounded them on the outside. Even the wind and the birds seemed to go into hiding, leaving a stillness in the air that swallowed all other sounds, including their footsteps—the entire way home.
As they came in sight of the house, Shannon stopped and pulled the now-sleeping Samuel closer. “No more. I will live in fear no more.”
Joseph caught her gaze.
She straightened her stance. “We were havin’ a good time. It has been so very long since I have let meself enjoy life like today. And then with one brief moment of stupidity from that inebriated lout, we’re all skulking home in broad daylight like terrified children. Well, no more. I will not be bullied or told with whom I may spend my time. I will not be threatened into hiding. Miss Sarah?”
“Aye?”
“Samuel and I t
hank ye for the idea of this merry noontime. Gentlemen?”
Joseph and James answered in unison.
“I thank ye for yer company and help. And now, I’ve babes to attend so I will be headin’ for the nursery and wishin’ you all g’day.”
And as he watched her walk boldly to the house, Joseph couldn’t help but wonder.
Why wasn’t he as brave as the Widow Shannon O’Connor?
Chapter Ten
Cullen, a jug of your finest.” Kevin O’Rourke stood as his companions coarsely snickered at the word finest. This was far from their first drink of the day, and Cullen O’Keefe was beginning to tire of their presence. But to placate all, he did nothing but hope they would get bored with drinking in his shebeen and move on. In the very near future.
Cullen heard the door open behind him but took no outward note. Instead, he brought a smile and bottle of whiskey to the table.
“Christopher Dougherty, ye look like yer in need of a drink. Join us.” O’Rourke waved his hand. Cullen turned to see Dougherty, appearing as if he had no need to catch up to what Kevin and his company had already imbibed. There was a stagger to his walk, but Cullen couldn’t read the strange expression on his face. With clothes rumpled and dirty, and breath potent enough to send the stench halfway across the room, he knew something had happened.
“Aye, I think I will do just that, laddies.” Christopher pulled up a stool. “Ye’ll never guess who I just saw.”
“Out with it, man.”
“All right, I’ll tell ye. The Widow O’Connor, it twas. She were out with that Crockett clan and had her wee bairn along, she did. I says to her, ‘Widow O’Connor, why do ye bring yer babe, Sean O’Connor’s only son, God rest his soul, out amongst the heathen? Ere ye in need o’ help gettin’ away from the wicked brood?’ And she says, to me face, mind ye, she says, ‘Christopher Dougherty, black-hearted mither that I am, I’ve sold me wee precious babe to these heathens, I have. I had no choice an’ now must suffer the infernal fires o’ hell. Pray fer me soul, Christopher,’ she says, ‘n’ me wee Samuel too.’”
“I dinnae believe such—ye bin listening to the banshees sing again, Dougherty? Shannon O’Connor selling Sean’s son to the Crocketts? I’ll not have a word of it.”
Dougherty stood. He started to put his hands to his hips but swayed so hard he grabbed the table for support. “Ye can believe it or not, but tis true, I tell ye. And when I tries to take back her son and release the poor tortured soul from their filthy grasp, the whole houseful attacked me, they did. I could have fought off six or seven, but they called all the household—I had twenty-five o’ them Frenchies keepin’ me from protectin’ Sean O’Connor’s own.”
“Aye, twenty-five, ye say?” Kevin winked at the others at the table and pulled Christopher back to his stool.
“I’d have liked to have seen that, I would.”
Though Cullen could hear O’Rourke and his companions scoff, it seemed to have no effect on Dougherty.
“Those Frenchies haven’t seen the last o’ Christopher Dougherty, I can tell ye that.”
“Right ye are. To Christopher Dougherty, lord protector of widows n’ children. A toast.” All at the table, and a few at surrounding tables, raised their tankards, grinning at the ludicrous concept. Dougherty, though, took it all quite seriously.
“As I fought me way free o’ the heathens, I reminded ’m, I did, that combs can be used for more ’an just sheep.” The merriment immediately quieted as those seated with him began to nervously look about.
“Perhaps ye shouldna be so free with yer talk, Christopher, me boy,” Kevin clapped what might have been a friendly arm around Dougherty’s shoulder, pulling him close.
It appeared more like a warning. A quick scan of the place and Cullen surmised most all had let the allusion pass. All, except for the men at O’Rourke’s table, and the quiet young man in the corner whose eyes briefly rose from the whiskey he’d been nursing for the last hour.
The cogs in Cullen O’Keefe’s brain were already spinning. Some kind of trouble lay ready to roll into the Laggan. He wasn’t sure exactly what kind of trouble, but the burn in his round gut said the wheels of change were now in motion.
* * *
“Sarah, are you so soon back?”
Louise glanced up from her needlework when she heard Sarah rummaging by the door. She hadn’t expected to see any of the picnickers for an hour or more. Then they had trekked in with the little ones. The women had taken them straight upstairs. Now Sarah was back down.
“We’d had enough and decided to put the bairns to bed.” Sarah called from the foyer.
“Well, then, come sit and tell me all about it.”
Sarah peeked around the corner. “Let me put these things away and I’ll be right in.” She returned a few minutes later.
Louise patted the seat next to her. She could sense something wasn’t quite right. “Where did you go?”
“Not far, just by that little stream next to the copse of elm to the west.” Sarah sighed as she slumped into the seat, her long legs extended as she bounced her heels off the floor.
“You look unhappy. Did something happen?”
“Oh, Christopher Dougherty just made a fool of himself. He stumbled onto our picnic and began to make trouble. Joseph and James took care of it. But they decided we had to come home. Somehow, I keep thinking we’ve made a big deal of nothing. Or I’m hoping that is the case.”
“In what way?” If she could just keep her talking, Louise might learn what got into her sons. As soon as they walked in, they tore past her down the hallway, knocked at Antoine’s study, and closed the door.
“Christopher said something, trying to get back at them for knocking him to the ground. At least, I am fairly sure that’s all it is.”
“They knocked Christopher Dougherty to the ground? Whatever for?” She set her needlework down to give Sarah her full attention.
“He was drunk and made a grab for little Samuel. Joseph and James pinned him down while they told him to leave and to never again bother the Widow. You should have seen his eyes, Tanté. I’m sure he was just blathering, idiot that he is, but he seemed to know more than he was saying.”
“What did he say?” She watched Sarah’s heels bounce faster. Sarah’s discomfort must have something to do with Dougherty’s words.
“It was something about combs, and how they can be used for more than one thing.” Sarah turned to her. “He can’t really be serious. Can he?”
“I’m sure he’s not.” Though she reassured, her own mind began to roam with the awful possibilities.
“Why do people behave so hateful, Tanté?” The question cut to the very heart of their conversation. Sarah’s eyes had an added sheen with tears ready to spill.
She put her arm around the young woman, who curled up like a child, putting her head on Louise’s lap. As she stroked a renegade copper coil from the softly freckled forehead, an idea bloomed. “Have I ever told you the story of how I met Antoine?”
“No.” Sarah turned, gazing up at her. “How did you meet?”
“Well, let’s see. It turned out the king of France had nothing better to do than play matchmaker.”
Sarah’s eyes grew.
Louise smiled at the memory. “It’s true. I was visiting Versailles with my tanté. Antoine was assigned as my escort.” She sobered. “Sadly, while there I made two enemies. I struggled for years trying to understand what I had done wrong. Finally, the Lord showed me it wasn’t me. It was who they perceived me to be.”
Sarah eyebrows rose.
She patted her hand. “One enemy saw me as a threat to her position, even though I did not want her position and had never thought to attain it. I did not even understand that other women wanted such positions.” She shook her head as the memory of her encounter with the Marquise de Montespan, Louis XIV’s mistress at the time, flooded her thoughts. The Marquise had explained, quite clearly, she would not tolerate anyone coming between her and the king. Not sati
sfied with Louise’s assurance, the Marquise began plotting to have her killed. The memory still brought a shiver.
“The other enemy was jealous, plain and simple. Since I had spent much of my adult life as my tanté Marie’s companion, this trip to Versailles was a holiday for me. I was not used to servants doing my bidding. I made friends with the young woman assigned as my lady-in-waiting. She was very sweet. Her twin, though identical in looks, was the exact opposite in nature. Thoroughly jealous, she perceived me to be a spoiled, rich, social climber.”
“I cannot imagine anyone thinking that about you. What happened?”
“Poor Momo found herself drawn into the Marquise’s plan to kill me. Only God intervened. The king remanded the Marquise back to Paris and Momo ran away.”
“Momo? I’ve heard that name before. Wasn’t that the name of Mistress de Grillet’s sister?” Understanding seemed to light the young woman’s eyes and she sat up. “You mean Mistress de Grillet’s sister tried to kill you?”
Louise nodded.
“But isn’t she buried over in the cemetery?”
“Oui, dear heart, she is. Mimi loved her twin and missed her terribly. When we all left France, Albert and Antoine made lengthy searches for her. They finally found Momo in a very poor section of London, ill and pregnant. By then, we had all settled here in Donegal, so they brought her home. Mimi and I nursed her as best we could. But she was so sick and the baby so weak, they both died before the night was through. God was gracious to all of us, though, giving us a few weeks before her labor started. Mimi was reunited with her sister and, before she died, Momo and I put the past behind. She asked for, and I gave her, my forgiveness.”
The Crockett Chronicles- The Complete Collection Page 36
