Antoine stood still. Someone with a knife held Liam O’Toole. The blade rested at the boy’s throat. Liam’s eyes glowed round with fear.
“Lemme outta ’ere, an’ I’ll let the boy go.”
Antoine slowly raised his hands, but his mind raced, searching for a plan. Though the light was dim, he hoped the person could see him. “You may go. Just don’t harm the boy.”
“Git outa me way. I’m goin' out the front.” He pushed the terrified lad along in front of him.
Antoine stepped back to let the pair pass. As they came close, the man with the knife turned to keep Liam between them.
Antoine knew he had one chance. Let him get to the door.
There’d been no sign of Robert. Albert had gone in through the other door and so must still remain in the dining room. No help.
“Get yer filthy hands off me boy.”
The voice made Antoine jump in his skin.
Something thudded against the wall. Antoine yanked Liam out of the way. He could make out two forms wrestling, but not clearly enough to see who was who.
Another thud.
A cry of pain.
A clatter.
One figure jumped up, scrambling toward the door.
Antoine grabbed him.
“Let me go.”
Though he fought like a wildcat, Antoine tackled him to the floor.
“Robert, Albert, bring light. Look to Michael and then see who this hooligan is.”
* * *
Joseph drew up in front of the manor, leaping to the ground before the horse had even stopped. Running to the house, he heard a shout and shot behind him. He whirled around to see a guard lowering his pistol.
“He had a knife, sir.”
Joseph didn’t wait. Turning back to the door, it suddenly opened. His father stood with dirk brandished.
“Father.”
“Joseph?”
Joseph ran up the steps.
“Where is your brother?”
“He is well, with Alain-Robert and the Widow.” Pushing past into the house, he nearly tripped over the others in the doorway.
Danger. There’d been danger. “Where is Wee Joseph? Where is Sarah?”
“They are safe, Joseph.” Robert tried to take his arm. Joseph shook him free.
“Where?”
Crash.
A scream resonated from the root cellar.
“Sarah.” Joseph ran to the kitchen.
A dark figure raced toward the back door.
With a burst of speed, Joseph dove on top of the escapee. They clattered to the floor. Joseph pulled back his fist and beat the man’s head. Again. And again.
Hands grabbed him from behind, pulling him from the miscreant. Joseph shook them away. Grabbing the back of his head, he stepped back and took a breath. He could still feel the fury, beating like his heart, thundering in his brain. It made his body quake. “Who is it? Is he alive?”
His father knelt beside the unconscious man. “Bring light.”
A baby wailed.
Joseph whirled. Running for the cellar door, he yanked with all his might. “Sarah. Mother. Somebody. Open this door.”
A scraping sound.
“Joseph? Joseph, is it you?”
The door burst open. “Oh, Joseph. Joseph.”
He grabbed Sarah to him. She held his son who wailed loudly. Hungrily Joseph kissed her soft hair, her wet eyes, her damp cheek. Lifting his face, he closed his eyes and breathed her in, like a scent. Sarah. His Sarah. With eyes wide open, he lowered his mouth to hers. This is what he’d needed to do his entire life.
Sarah pushed him away.
Grabbing his hand, she nearly dragged him down the stairs. The women all gathered about Josephine who slept against his mother. A candle flickered nearby, casting a soft glow around their corner of the cellar.
He stepped nearer, and his mother raised her head. Tears glistened in her eyes. Her hand stroked Josephine’s gray hair. Peace radiated from the old woman’s face. But she didn’t move.
Not even to breathe.
Samuel, an arm wrapped around Tantè Mimi, watched with big eyes. Mary O’Toole, eyes rimmed in red, sat at Josephine’s feet and held her hand.
Sarah released him. She snuggled Wee Joseph to her, softly weeping.
Chapter Eighteen
Lightening flashed, ripping the curtain of sky from top to bottom. James winced, waiting for the thunder’s roar. How could it go from clear and starry one minute to imminent rain the next? He could see Edenmore up ahead, lit from behind by an eerie glow. The smoke already met them. He prayed it wouldn’t cause Shannon to cough.
But if the smoke didn’t to that, getting drenched out here in the cool night air certainly would.
He feared for her more than ever.
Thunder cried in the distance. At least the lightning struck away from where they were.
Plop. A droplet of rain splashed on his ear. “Stop. We need to shield her with something.”
Up ahead the guards halted. One—James couldn’t tell if it was Calhoun or MacDonald—took a wool blanket from his saddle and draped it over Shannon’s head. The other guard on horseback placed something over Alain-Robert. When both guards were back in their saddles, they moved again in tandem, pulling the drag between.
Fitzhugh and James walked with Shannon in the middle. Ten more minutes should get them home, just ten minutes more. Home, to where his mother could care for Shannon, help restore her to health. Get her ready to marry him.
The idea no longer shocked him. He knew she belonged with him and he with her. He loved her fierceness, her strength, her tenacity to endure through hardship.
Yes, he loved her.
He loved her and would see her home, see her well, see her…
“Ja—” Shannon’s arm slid from his neck, and she slithered down his body.
“Shannon.” He caught her. “Shannon, hold on, lass, just a bit more. I can see Edenmore from here.” Gripping her hand, he willed his strength to infuse her body. “Just a bit more, lass. You’re almost home.”
“Almost.” Her eyelids fluttered. “Get…me…home…James.”
“Aye, Shannon, I’ll get you there.” He gently helped her to her good foot, put her arms back in place, and kept her moving homeward.
* * *
“Rain. Blessed, blessed, rain. Thank You, Lord.” An answer to prayer, but it seemed heaven cried with him. Antoine sat alone on the stone front steps, letting the water bathe his senses. Daylight would reveal the worst of the damage. But barns could be rebuilt.
He waited for James. Joseph had explained. Now Antoine prayed for the Widow, for Alain-Robert, for all of them.
Life had changed. Nothing would be the same.
Josephine, faithful friend, and second mother to both Antoine and Louise, was gone. The only grand-mère his children ever knew. Josephine had been there for the birth of each one. Now she rested in her room while Louise and his daughters prepared her body.
Other bodies awaited preparation, but their families would need to handle that undertaking. Three men, men he’d hoped would be reached somehow through the work of the committee. But that wasn’t to be. Jacob Sullivan, Donovan Cummins, and Seamus Flaherty all let their souls be bought. And for what?
Maybe Patrick Flanagan could explain his choosing to throw in with O’Rouke’s Combers. Let him explain to his father, Paddy Flanagan, how he’d caused the death of his father’s best friend. Let him explain how he held a knife to the throat of a twelve-year-old boy. And when he’s through, maybe he could explain to Mary O’Toole why she was now a widow. It was all such a waste. A pain-filled waste.
Antoine squeezed his eyes tight, pinching the bridge of his nose against the pain in his head. Too much had happened this evening.
Donovan Cummins still lay unconscious in the parlor, a guard on him at all times. Dead, wounded, prisoners—all the stuffs of war. Hadn’t he left that life? Now here it had established itself again, in his own home.
; The rage Antoine fought to control threatened to overtake him. Angry tears crashed to the ground as he pondered the senselessness. “Why, Lord? I don’t understand.” Dread for what the new day might bring rose in this gut. “Hang on to us, Lord. I feel so broken, a soft breeze could blow me to pieces.”
Up ahead, a light he hadn’t noticed before gleamed bright. A tiny flame of hope reignited. He stood to get a better look.
And he knew.
“Albert, Joseph, Robert, come with me. It’s James.” Without waiting for the others, Antoine leapt from the steps and ran with renewed strength.
“Father, I can’t pick her up to carry her. It’s her ribs.”
“You’re home now, son. Let’s just get her inside.” He guided James up the three front steps, gently helping Shannon’s feet over them and the threshold.
“Widow, do you think it would be better to lie flat or sit upright?” She appeared much too pale and exhausted.
“Sit.”
Antoine could see in her face there wasn’t enough breath for niceties. He helped James and the guard put her in a straight-backed chair.
“Where shall we put this one?” Two guards stood at the door. When Antoine glanced up, they parted to reveal the drag bearing Alain-Robert.
“The dining room. Put him on the table.” Antoine led the way. “Robert, go get your mother and Tanté Mimi. Vite, vite.”
Albert pulled the blanket from his son’s face. Antoine side-embraced his friend, feeling his muscles tense. Thomas Stewart squeezed Albert’s shoulder before turning to one of his guards. “Ride for the doctor. Drag him out of bed, if need be. Take three men with you.”
Mimi and Louise rushed into the room. Albert shielded Mimi from the grisly site. The makeshift bandages around Alain-Robert’s head were saturated with blood. His hair lay matted and sticky while long red tracks ran down his face, pooling at his collarbone and clothing.
“No, my love, don’t.” Albert wrapped her up in his arms. Though she fought, he still held her.
Antoine guided Louise away to where Shannon sat rigidly straight in the foyer. James knelt beside her. Shannon’s lips appeared blue in the candlelight.
“Might I…have…a table…to lean…on?”
“Of course.” James brought over a side table that stood a bit taller than most. Shannon leaned forward slightly from the hips, without bending, and rested her arms.
Louise brought her a cushion and put it on top of the table. Shannon weakly smiled , leaned her head against it, and closed her eyes. Louise brushed hair from Shannon’s forehead, letting her palm linger a moment. She stepped behind the girl and shook her head, letting Antoine know Shannon’s temperature wasn’t right. “Perhaps I should get you a blanket.” Louise hurried upstairs.
“May I get you anything, my dear?” Antoine felt helpless, but the Widow needed attention.
Shannon shook her head, so Antoine returned to the dining room, leaving her with James.
Mimi sat next to Alain-Robert, holding his hand. Albert stood behind, his hand resting on her shoulder. When Antoine entered, Albert locked gazes. Eyes full of pain, he came to Antoine.
“I’d forgotten how strong she is. Always so gentle and kind, but she was doing this when I met her, holding a dying man’s hand. And now it is our son.” Albert broke.
Antoine held his friend, crying with him.
* * *
Sarah rocked Wee Joseph. In the end, it was the only thing she could do. The cow slept in the field, and Shannon couldn’t nurse in her condition. With Lucy’s help she had cooked a small amount of oats. They’d then mashed it up fine, thinning it to a runny porridge. A tiny amount of sweet from the sugar loaf made it palatable for the hungry baby. He’d worn as much as he’d taken in, but at least he had something in his belly. Now he drifted between slumber and waking, fighting to not give in to the sleep he needed.
Rocking him gave Sarah time to think. Especially about that kiss. That was no kiss between friends. Maybe Joseph really loved her.
Would he still love her if he knew why Shannon was out on that road? The guilt weighed heavy on her shoulders.
If she’d apologized to Shannon.
If she’d not let her temper get the best of her.
If she’d just stayed home.
The what ifs would drive her mad. She couldn’t undo what had been done. Could she live with the shame of knowing she put so many lives in danger? Could she live that lie and still claim Joseph? Truth could set her free, but would she be free without Joseph’s love?
Tonight, when she needed it most, no small voice whispered back. She’d never felt so all alone in her life.
* * *
The touch of her hair, her lips so soft, her eyes damp with tears… Stop it. Joseph shook his head and continued to help carry the body of Jacob Sullivan into a back room.
“Are you well?” MacDonald, one of Thomas Stewart’s guards, carried the other end of the body. He eyed Joseph.
“Aye.” He lied. How could he be well? People died here tonight. Even people he knew and cared about. The only grandmother he’d ever known died hiding in the root cellar. Except she really wasn’t his grandmother. But still, he loved her as if she had been.
They placed the body next to his confederate, Seamus Flaherty.
Yet his mind continued to stray to the auburn-haired beauty in the upstairs nursery. Thinking about her now, with so much pain and heartbreak going on, was calloused, insane, wrong.
He left the guard in the kitchen and wandered toward Josephine’s room. In reality, he longed to go upstairs but knew better.
Joseph had acted inappropriately, without thinking. He reacted. Kissing Sarah had been the craziest thing he’d ever done in his entire life. And it felt so good, so right.
What was the matter with him? Had he no feelings? No compassion? These people in this house stood by him when he lost Kathleen, and now all he could do was dream of another woman.
He betrayed his wife and everyone who loved him. What kind of a monster had he become?
He knocked at Josephine’s door. Sarah Beth answered and immediately wrapped her young arms about his waist, her head buried in his chest. Mary Frances and Lucy had finished washing and dressing their grand-mère in her favorite blue gown. Her hands crossed neatly on her chest. Coins held her eyelids closed.
Seeing her this way broke something inside Joseph. Before, in the cellar, she’d only seemed asleep. Now the truth could not be denied. Mary Frances glanced up and their eyes met. She joined Sarah Beth in wrapping her arms about her big brother. Tenderhearted lass, she came to comfort rather than be comforted.
And he so needed that comfort. As tears rained on his sisters’ heads, he grabbed them closer. Lucy now joined the embrace and he kissed the top of each head. His sisters, how he loved them. His grand-mère Josephine, how he loved her.
Memories now flooded back. He could smell her roasted chicken, taste the apple tarts sweet with honey. Her voice floated back, filled with kindness and French endearments. She had fought learning English. A barbarian tongue, she’d said. He’d been the only one to teach her a few phrases, probably because he was her namesake. He knew she understood more than she let on.
Joseph released his sisters, kissed each one again, and left the room.
This made no sense. His parents, his sisters, Josephine all honored God. They had dedicated their lives to living as He led. How could God do this to them? Where was the justice, the righteousness about which he heard so much?
Going outside, the cool air cleared his mind of all else but his anger. Joseph tipped his head back and let the night mist wash over him. His mind heard only one word, a word that his heart beat over and over. Raising a fist to the sky, the word burst from his soul.
“Why?” He pounded at the doors of heaven. “Why? I want to know why You let this happen. Why You didn’t help?”
He listened but heard nothing. Nothing but the sizzle of the dying fire. Nothing but the wind in the orchard. Nothing but the do
or of his heart slamming closed. He had one last question for the Almighty.
“Now tell me, why should I trust You to take care of my own?”
The silence followed him all the way back to the house.
Chapter Nineteen
We need to get her out of these wet clothes. And she needs to lie down and let her chest be still.” Louise blew out a breath while thinking aloud.
No one argued, yet there were few available to help. Mary O’Toole and Liam sat with Michael. Mimi and Albert sat with Alain-Robert. Her daughters sat with Josephine and Sarah had the babies in the nursery. One guard kept the unconscious and conscious prisoners in hand and three searched for the doctor with Robert. Antoine and Thomas were planning for morning, so that left two guards and two sons with services to enlist.
Another time it might have been sweet to see how James never left Shannon’s side. Now, when it concerned the lass’s very life Louise counted on her son’s help for ideas to make Shannon secure.
“Could she lean back in the chair? And then we could carry her chair and all up the stairs. If Wee Joseph and Samuel are asleep, Sarah might be able to help me get her into dry things.”
“Perhaps. Shannon, what do you think?” He refused to make a move that might hurt her.
Poor thing. He was so smitten.
Shannon never opened her eyes.
James listened, then nodded. “She said, ‘aye’.”
“Good then, we can have those two guards carry the chair…”
James stood, protectively moving closer to the Widow. “I can carry it.”
“I’m sure you can, son, but let them carry her. I think Shannon would feel more comfortable knowing you can make sure she is handling the move.”
James nodded and knelt back by Shannon.
Louise garnered Fitzhugh and Calhoun into assisting. “First, Shannon, you will need to sit back in the chair. James, help her… ouí. Now, move that table back out of the way there.” She pointed her directions, and Calhoun removed the table. “Now, gentlemen, please lift the chair…gently, gently.” Louise walked up the first two steps backwards. “Turn the chair around, ouí, so she is looking back at James, and lean her back. There you have it. Up we go now.”
The Crockett Chronicles- The Complete Collection Page 43
