“Nothing,” Maureen said. “I was just talking to myself.” She dragged on a pair of Wellington boots and swathed herself in a scarf, overcoat, gloves, and a woollen hat.
“Here.” Fidelma handed her a rolled blanket. She slung it over her shoulder and tied the ends together over the opposite hip the way Da, Malachy, and Fidelma already had theirs.
She saw Da put one of Tiernan’s caps in his coat pocket. “Have you anything of Paudeen’s?” he asked.
Maureen shook her head. “Nothing.” Nothing at all, but he still had her love.
“Pity,” Da said. He looked at Ma. “Don’t worry, Roisín; we’ll be home soon, and we’ll have the boys with us.”
How can you be so sure? Maureen wanted to scream, but taking her cue from Ma and her sisters, she said nothing.
“Come on then.” He headed for the door and, from a collection of walking sticks leaning against the wall, he gave them a heavy blackthorn each and took one for himself. He managed a weak smile. “I did ask permission before I cut these.”
He opened the door and an icy blast roared in.
Maureen followed outside. The last thing she heard over the gale, before Da closed the door, was Ma calling, “You’ll come home to me, so. All of you. Safely now.”
32
How many times, Maureen wondered, had mothers, wives, and sweethearts spoken those words when loved ones were going in harm’s way? For herself she felt no fear, but for Tiernan and Paudeen she trembled and tried to imagine how they would be faring.
Already she was cold despite her layers of clothes. The boys would be chilled through. Tiernan wasn’t dressed for these conditions, and she guessed Paudeen would be lightly clad. Ma was right about bringing the beef tea and whiskey and blankets to them.
She heard Da’s shrill whistle over the wind’s keening.
The two O’Hanlon sheepdogs, their fur rippling, ice rime already forming on their eyebrows, piled out of the barn.
“Heel, Kris. Heel, Dirk.”
The dogs obeyed Da’s curt commands.
Maureen pulled her hat down on her forehead and covered her mouth with her scarf, but the wind sliced at her cheeks, and she had to screw up her eyes to peer ahead through the driving snow. She could barely make out the gate in the low wall of the barnyard. For every step she had to haul her foot out of an ankle-deep drift. She felt Fidelma’s mitted hand reaching for her own, took it, and half turned to smile as her sister plodded gamely along.
It might be a bit deeper higher up the hill, but the boys should be able to tramp through the drifts. Tiernan was a big strong man. Hadn’t she seen him working with a pitchfork, tossing more hay into the hayloft in an hour than any two other men? And wasn’t Paudeen—a man who had been as gentle with her as a nursemaid with a newborn—wasn’t he a man who, when playing road bowls, could loft a twenty-eight-ounce bullet as far as Tiernan himself?
It would take more than this blizzard to hold them up long, for in the time Tiernan’d been gone they couldn’t have walked very far. It would take more than a bit of snow to stop them, she reassured herself, although it might well make their progress slow. They’d probably meet the search party long before the four of them reached the turnoff up to the peat bog.
But, she shivered, it was cold, and the sooner they got to the boys, brought them hot drinks and blankets, the better. She tugged on Fidelma’s hand and lengthened her stride.
The farm lane ran from west to east, and they were tramping directly into the teeth of the wind. When they turned south onto the road to Clonakilty, the wind would be blowing on her left shoulder. Maureen would welcome that respite, especially in the unlikely event they didn’t meet the boys but had to turn east again and start climbing up to the bog.
Not a word was spoken as they marched forward, Da and Malachy taking it in turns to go first to break a path. Maureen felt a burning in her chest and her breath turning into tiny ice crystals in the wool scarf. Despite her gloves, her fingers were numb.
She glanced again at Fidelma and squeezed her hand. The squeeze was returned and Fidelma thrust her shoulder into the wind. Together they plodded on to the open gate to the main road where Da and Malachy stood waiting.
“Are the pair of you still for going on?” Da called, his hand cupped round one side of his mouth. “There’d be no shame in it for a girl if she turned back.”
“I’m going on, Da,” Maureen shouted and looked to Fidelma for support.
“Tiernan’s as much our brother as you, Malachy, and I love you both, so,” Fidelma yelled. “I left one man out there when you went to search for him. I’ll not sit at the farm chewing my nails and waiting for you two to come back . . . and nor will Maureen.”
Bless you, Fidelma, Maureen thought. You understand, I know.
“You’d not have too far to go from here to get home,” Da said.
She gritted her teeth. “Da! We’re going on.” Maureen crossed the main road, followed by Fidelma, and found what little shelter there was to be had in the lee of the hillside. It was less windy there and perhaps not snowing as heavily as it had been when they set out.
As she trudged along, Maureen could see downhill to the fields, where a blanket of white was punctured here and there by stark trees, clumps of whins, their branches dark where the snow had not lain. The drystone walls had white capstones of snow, and those cows unlucky enough to be outside huddled in the corner of two walls seeking what shelter they could. Their breath clouds were blown to shreds. One heifer lowed. It was a deep mournful cry.
“Can you see our farm in the valley there, Fidelma?”
“I can.”
“It’s like a castle under siege. Look at the way the chimney smoke’s getting knocked flat.”
“But the walls aren’t. They’ll let nothing in that’s not supposed to be let in. It’s solid, reliable. It’s our haven and the lights from the windows are beacons.” Fidelma moved closer to Maureen. “And those lights’ll guide us back home . . . all six of us. You’ll see.”
“Do you think so? That we’ll find the boys?”
“I know it.” Fidelma sounded so certain, it comforted Maureen. “We’ll find our brother . . . and we’ll find your Paudeen.”
“I pray you’re right.”
“I have to be right. What happened to Connor couldn’t possibly happen again four years later to the day. It couldn’t. Not again.”
At the mention of his name, Maureen thought she heard a sound. Was it the wind in the trees, or was it a tune on the uillinn pipes? She shook her head and trudged on, and even as the sound grew fainter she strained to see. If it was Connor she might catch a glimpse of him, and more importantly she hoped that at any minute two men would appear from out of the murk.
But as they tramped along, nothing came save the swirling snow.
Maureen could make out the familiar gateposts, but no gate. It had been removed years ago. This she knew was the start to the road up, but apart from two narrow, lower strips at each side—those would mark the ditches—the hillside was barren, unbroken white stretching up to the not-very-distant horizon. No dark figures broke the featureless expanse.
Her heart sank in her.
As Maureen drew level, Da called, “I don’t see any footprints here, so the snow must have come on after they headed up. Judging by how long it is since Tiernan left home, we should see them soon. I’m certain they’d have turned to come down when the snow started to fall.”
“Please. Please,” Maureen mouthed into her scarf.
“We’ll keep going up to meet them. Get something hot into them,” Da said.
Maureen nodded. Ma’s beef tea would revive a frozen ox.
“We should see them anytime, but . . .”—Da avoided looking directly at Maureen—“if we don’t in fifteen . . . say, twenty minutes, and it’s still a howling gale . . .” He shook his head.
Maureen understood. The boys could appear any moment if they’d gone up the road, turned, and come straight back. Another fifteen minutes with both groups walk
ing toward each other should certainly allow plenty of time for them to meet. If they hadn’t by then—and she cringed at the thought—then the boys must have lost their way and be wandering out there, somewhere, anywhere.
She screwed her eyes shut and tried to look into herself, tried to summon the sight to tell her exactly where Paudeen was, but nothing happened.
Maureen clenched her gloved fists. What use was the gift if it couldn’t tell her what she so desperately wanted to know?
“Malachy,” Da said, “get the lantern lit.”
Maureen waited, stamping her feet and flailing her arms across her chest, willing Malachy to get a move on.
Fidelma moved closer and put her mouth close to Maureen’s ear. “I understand what you’re feeling.”
Maureen nodded. Of course Fidelma understood, more than anyone could.
“It’s awful,” Fidelma said, “but they’ll be all right. We’re going to find them. Any minute. You’ll see.”
Maureen nodded, wishing she could believe it, knowing Fidelma was doing everything in her power to keep her sister’s spirits up.
At last the lantern’s yellow beam was reflected from a myriad tumbling flakes, but its light barely penetrated the clouds of falling snow. It might have been a pretty sight, she thought, if viewed from indoors, but here it only served to emphasize how difficult finding the boys might be.
“Right,” said Da, “follow me . . . and nobody leave the road.”
As if to give emphasis to his words, the wind increased, hurling great walls of snow so Maureen’s world shrank to a tiny sphere of weak, paraffin light.
She had no idea how much time had passed when Da called another halt. Maureen, bent over, put her hands on her knees and hauled in great, throat-burning lungfuls of frigid air. She coughed until the paroxysm passed and she was able to hawk and spit. She straightened up.
Fidelma had turned her back to the wind and stood by Maureen’s side. Da was on his hunkers in front of Dirk and Kris. He held Tiernan’s cap under each dog’s nose.
Maureen wished she’d had something of Paudeen’s to give to Da. She hoped Paudeen would have something of himself to give to her when they found him. And she wished they would meet the boys, and that Paudeen and Tiernan would be safe. How she wanted them both to be safe.
Even if—after they’d got back to the farm and the snow had stopped and melted—even if Paudeen went away to Ring and never came back, she would be content, she thought, simply knowing he was alive.
Da stood and pointed to his right. “Seek, Kris.”
The collie tore off, across the ditch—and vanished into the falling snow.
“Seek, Dirk.” Da pointed left.
The other dog ran into the left ditch, up, and across the far field.
Da moved closer to Maureen and put his arm round her shoulder. “I’m sorry, muirnín, I’m sorry, but there’s no point us going any further.”
“I know, Da. I wish I’d had something of Paudeen’s for the dogs.”
“Never worry,” he said. “The boys’ll have stuck together. When one of the dogs finds Tiernan, he’ll find Paudeen too.”
Maureen took comfort from Da’s “when” not “if.”
“Thanks, Da, I—”
“Wheest!” Da snapped and held up his hand. “What was that?”
Maureen strained to hear.
Nothing. Nothing. Then as the wind momentarily dropped, she heard the faintest, “Hellllp.”
“Bring the light.” Da, with Malachy at his side, strode off in the direction of the sound. Fidelma and Maureen followed. She was grateful for the way the two men’s bodies made a small windbreak.
“Hellllp.”
They stopped, and Maureen stood still, trying to pinpoint exactly where the cry had come from.
“Kris,” Da yelled. “Kris. Come in. Come away in.”
The dog came charging back from out of the swirling snow. He was panting like a steam engine with a boiler leak; his tongue lolled from his gaping mouth. The collie ran up to Da, turned, and looked over his shoulder before starting to lope back the way he had come—the direction from which Maureen was certain she could hear the cries for help.
“That’s Tiernan,” Da said, a great smile spreading over his frost-chapped face. “We’re coming, son,” he roared. “Hang on.”
And Paudeen would be with him. Maureen hugged the thought.
She and Fidelma followed the hurrying forms of Da and Malachy.
She could make out something small running at an angle toward her. It must be Dirk, she thought. But as the animal came closer, she saw its brush held just above the drift and its narrow muzzle and piercing eyes changed into the face of a beautiful, smiling woman. Then the fox changed direction and vanished into the swirling snow.
Maureen stopped in her tracks, trying to understand. Why had the fox-woman appeared now? What was she trying to say?
“Are you all right?” Fidelma shouted.
Maureen nodded. “Just a bit short of puff,” she yelled, before starting off again. The Shee were here. That had been the pipes she’d heard back on the road, so Connor was here too. But why? Why?
Before she could try to answer her own question, she saw Kris, and there was no mistaking him for a fox. He was sitting over the body of a man who was half covered in loose snow and lying in a deep part of the ditch. As she drew closer she recognized the coat Paudeen often wore.
Thank the Lord he was safe. And surely Tiernan couldn’t be far away, could he? It was Paudeen, wasn’t it? Please God. She knew, she just knew, that Connor had watched over them, and she wondered whether the Shee were watching Connor.
Da and Malachy scrambled down into the ditch.
Maureen waited on the road.
“Tiernan,” she heard Da say. “Thank Christ, son. Are you all right?”
Tiernan? She moved closer to the edge of the ditch. Her father was helping Tiernan to sit, brushing snow from his shoulders. Tears welled up in her eyes, tears of joy that her brother was safe and tears of anguish for Paudeen. Maureen strained to look all around her but saw nothing that resembled the shape of a man. Her man. Where was he? Why was Tiernan wearing Paudeen’s coat? Where was Paudeen?
“All right is it, Da?” she heard Tiernan say. “I am not at all. I didn’t see the ditch in the snow. It was about half an hour ago. I fell in and twisted my ankle. It won’t let me stand. At least . . .” She heard him manage a weak laugh. “At least I’m so bloody foundered that it dulls the pain a bit.”
Poor Tiernan. She could still remember the pain of twisting her own ankle last year playing camogie. At least she’d been surrounded by teammates and officials who carried her to the clubhouse. Tiernan had been out here with no one but Paudeen—and where was he?
“Hang on,” Da said. “We’ll oxtercog you out of here.” He and Malachy got Tiernan up, and each draped one of his arms over their shoulders. They hauled him, hopping, floundering, and grimacing, onto the road. Then they laid him down, and Da, Malachy, and Fidelma pulled their blankets free and covered him. Maureen took hers off and used it as a pillow for her brother.
He smiled up at her. “Thanks.”
She could see him shivering, saw how blue his lips were.
Malachy opened the knapsack and pulled out the thermos. “I’ll get you a mouthful of hot beef tea, so.”
While Malachy fiddled with the cap of the flask, Maureen knelt beside Tiernan and asked, “Paudeen?”
“He was waiting for me when I got to the road to up here. I blacked his face for him and we set off together. We turned back the minute the snow started. We’d not come far when I took my tumble.” Tiernan drew in a deep breath. “When Paudeen saw what had happened, he climbed down in there. He tried to help me get out, but I couldn’t. I told him to leave me, to go and get help, but he wouldn’t hear of it.”
If he had, we’d’ve met him coming down, Maureen thought. Where was he? He was a stranger here and even locals could get lost in a blizzard like this one.
“Aye. That Paudeen Kincaid’s a brave man, so. I told him to follow the road, not get lost, but he just smiled.”
Smiled was it? Maureen thought. She imagined his blue eyes twinkling. “Why? There was nothing funny about it.”
“He grinned and pulled out a funny-looking yoke from his pocket, a thingummy like I’d never seen. It looked like a big pocketwatch with only one hand. ‘That,’ says he, ‘is a compass. I should have got it out sooner, but I reckoned you knew the way, bye. I can find my way with it.’ ”
“He can,” she said. “He’s got one on his boat.”
“Aye, so. Them fishermen do be quare and smart about some things. Anyway, he offs with his coat and puts it on me. ‘The walking will keep me warm enough,’ says he and climbs out.”
“ ‘Slán, Tiernan,’ says he. ‘I’ll be back in no time with help.’ That was about twenty-five minutes ago, maybe fifteen before you folks arrived, but—”
“But he wasn’t on the road,” Maureen said. She heard her voice rise and felt Fidelma’s hand gripping her shoulder.
Tiernan shook his head. “He’d only gone a few steps when I heard him swear, and Paudeen Kincaid is not a swearing man. ‘What’s up?’ I yelled at him. ‘Buck eejit that I am,’ he yells back, ‘didn’t I drop my compass and tread on it with my boot while I was looking for it? It’s bust,’ says he. ‘About as much use as last year’s tide tables. Never worry, I’ll be grand, bye,’ and that was the last I saw or heard of him.”
33
Pray God, it won’t be the last anyone else sees of him, Maureen thought. We have to find him. We must.
Da looked her straight in the eye and slowly shook his head. “I know what you want, girl, but we can’t. It’ll take Malachy and me all we’ve got to help Tiernan home, and I will not have you and Fidelma out here on your own. Is that clear?”
“It is, Da.” Whenever he asked, “Is that clear?” there was no point arguing. She felt the tears start, dashed them away with the back of her glove, and managed to say, “I understand.” But deep inside she didn’t want to give up. She wanted to ignore the reality and keep trying as long as there was breath in her body.
An Irish Country Girl Page 25
