Flight of the Earls (47 page)

“Well, he can come today,” Clare crossed her arms across her chest and raised her chin, “and he will face the full wrath of a woman.”

Father Quinn seemed amused but unconvinced. “These are hard times, Clare. You'll need to be practical for the benefit of the children.”

“I think I'm done running. My father had a few things right.” The words seemed foreign to Clare, but she embraced them as her own. “This is our land. Our people.”

“Hmmm. Did you know that your father received a letter from Seamus?”

“What?”

“Yes, he did. A letter posted from Mexico that I delivered myself. It must have had money in it, because all of the sudden your father was buying provisions. And given the choice to buy food for his family, he spent just about all of it on those tuber roots. Despite two seasons of failure.”

The words stunned Clare for a moment. “I hear what you say, Quinn. But this seems to be our best chance. This is what Hanleys do.”

He gazed at her with sadness and sighed. “Suit yourself, Clare. But there's one last thing. The tinkers have been spotted in the area. Not too close to here, but you must be on guard. You worry me something awful being all alone out here.”

“We'll be fine,” she said.

Clare watched the young priest walk away. The wind howled around her, and for the first time since she came back, she felt afraid and alone. Trying to shake it off, she picked up a hoe and headed out to the fields to continue her father's work.

A raven's foreboding caw captured Clare's attention, and glancing up, she saw a dark cluster of clouds heading their way.

Later in the evening, long after her siblings had fallen asleep, Clare found herself alone, staring into the fire. Outside the rain and wind punished their stone hovel, and steady drips flowed from the roof to buckets and bowls scattered along the floor.

Clare rocked gently in the chair she had acquired just the other day. It reminded her of Grandmother Ella, as did the Bible which lay in her lap.

But as the drips plopped, the fire crackled, and her chair creaked with each sway, Clare realized how lost she had been. The anger inside, the disappointments in her life; they had all conspired to push her away from this book.

Inside, there was a question that ripped at her soul.

She sat there for the longest time before she could find the strength to ask God the question buried deep within her heart.

Do You remember me?

As soon as she asked, an instinct, a vibration, or some inner voice alerted her that something was amiss. Her pulse surged and she saw Caitlin had experienced it as well, as her younger sister awoke and sat up stiffly in her mattress, looking to her with alarm.

She signaled to Caitlin with a finger over her mouth to be still, and with her senses raging, Clare tried to discern anything above the hammering of the rain outside. Nothing. Nothing.

Then.
Rap. Rap. Rap.

In a panic, Clare went to the door, and as quietly as she could, she slid the wooden bar into the latch. Then she scrambled to the hearth. After pulling a poker off of its hook, she positioned herself between her siblings and the door and squatted down to stay out of the window's viewpoint.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock.

A man's voice muted by the walls and downpour sounded as if he was shouting to another in the distance.

Davin was now up and was clinging to Clare's leg and whimpering softly. Caitlin pulled her brother tightly to her.

“Are they here to take the house?” Caitlin whispered.

“No.” Clare wished it was the house wreckers. “It wouldn't be them. Not at this time in the night.” But Clare was all too well aware of who it was.

She grasped the iron rod in her hand. Whoever it was would be walking into a real donnybrook. Clare was tired of being run over and was determined to defend her siblings to her last breath.

Clare was ready to take a final stand.

Another shout echoed but this was more distant and trailing.

“Are they leaving?” Caitlin said.

“Let's find out.” Clare unwrapped her brother's grip from her calf. Then she crept to the window and slid the curtain back ever so cautiously, fearing at any moment she would be face-to-face with her enemy.

She eased her head up to see outside.

Slowly.

Finally able to look out, she saw a man preparing to step into the passenger seat of a wagon, which had a canopy protecting them from the rain.

The full moon brought enough glow through the drenching rain that she hoped she would see who it was, but the stranger's back was to her. Then in a flash, the man turned as if to look at her house one last time and then mounted his seat, and the wagon lunged forward.

“No!” she screamed. “Wait!” Her feet bare, she ripped open the door and tugged at her hems and skittered through the mud in mad and unbridled pursuit.

“Andrew! Andrew!”

But the wagon, which had several lanterns on either side, had already gotten a good start down the road. Clare picked up her pace, ignoring the splintering pain caused by the rocks in the dirt digging into her soles.

The ruggedness of the road worked to her favor as the cart labored to make it down the road. But it was one of these same divots that caught Clare's foot, twisting her ankle and causing her to tumble into the rain-splattered mud.

Now on her knees, the torrent from the angry clouds coming down on her and pain thrashing through her body, she screamed again. “Andrew!”

The wagon stopped. And shortly thereafter, a shadow hurtled toward her through the showers. She struggled to her feet.

“Clare!”

“Andrew!”

They cradled each other with all their strength, and Andrew lifted and spun Clare in one fluid movement, laughing full throated in joy. Then they wept together and sobbed with the music of love in each other's ears.

Pulling back, she touched his cheeks and stroked his hair, making certain he wasn't some moonlit apparition. But it was her Andrew, real and alive and looking deep into her eyes with longing and passion.

Slowly, he drew her close and kissed her as the water drenched their clothes, hair, and lips. Clare swayed to the sweet symphony of the rain.

Chapter 44

Sowing and Reaping

As the wagon driver Andrew had hired snored in the corner of the room, covering himself with his jacket and using a sack of grain for a pillow, the four of them cuddled around the emblazoned peat fire. Clare clung to Andrew tightly and rested her head on his shoulder, wanting this moment to last forever.

Davin hid behind Caitlin and giggled, and his sister elbowed him.

“What is it, young sir?” Andrew said, his face full of joy.

“Go ahead, Davin,” Cait said. “Tell him what you told me.”

He shook his curly locks with bashfulness, but then spurted out, “You're the one.”

“I'm the one?” Andrew seemed baffled.

“Yes.” Davin laughed, as if it needed no more explanation. “You're the one I prayed for. So my sister wouldn't be alone.”

“Davin,” Clare said with a tilt of her head.

The boy's face turned serious. “How did God get you here so quick?”

“Oh,” Andrew said with a groan. “I can promise you there is nothing quick about crossing the ocean in that horrible ship. I'm sorry to tell you that your sister Clare has grown fond of a complete coward.”

Clare fisted Andrew on the arm. “Stop that, you.” She turned to Davin. “This is a very brave man, I'll tell you. He rescues me all of the time.”

“This is true.” Andrew smiled. “As long as it doesn't take place anywhere in the vicinity of large, dark, breeding pools of tumultuous, nausea-inducing, dreadful salty, fishy water.”

“So,” Clare started, “was that you watching my ship leave the harbor?”

“Guilty, I'm afraid. It was me cowering in the shadows. In fact, if not for the benefit of Irish ingenuity, I wouldn't have made it on the next ship the following day. Although that one day cost me one month. It was a much slower ship.”

“Irish ingenuity?”

“Actually, it was a bottle of Irish courage. First time I ever drank a drop and hopefully it will be the very last. Being afraid is not a good thing when you're spending most of your time bent over the rail of a ship.”

“Clare says drinking is the devil's spit,” Davin said.

“And she, my little friend, is entirely correct. He spit all over me, and me on him. Several times.”

“He's funny.” Davin giggled.

“And handsome,” Caitlin said with a puckish grin.

“And hungry.” Andrew rubbed his stomach.

“Of course.” Clare sprang to her feet. “How impolite of me.”

“I agree,” he said to Davin and Caitlin. “Maybe she doesn't want to share her food. What do you think?”

“Clare always shares,” Caitlin said sternly.

“Then it's a good thing, I suppose, I brought a whole wagon of food to share with you all. Although, at least it started off being full. I met quite a few friends on the road.”

“I'm surprised there's a bit left at all.” Clare hung a cauldron of water above the fire for the oats she was preparing.

“Clare?”

She noticed a shifting in Andrew's tone which worried her. “Yes?”

He stood up and squared before her. “I brought something else with me as well.”

“Oh? And what would that be?”

“I have passages back home. For all of us. And a few extra it seems.”

Clare froze. “We are home, Andrew. It's not much, I know. But we aren't going anywhere.”

“I know, Clare. I can understand your love and concern for your people. Your land. With all they are going through. But someone needs to tell this story. Maybe that's what God has been preparing you for all along.”

“I suppose it could be so.” She would have never imagined such a grandiose purpose to her life. “How does one really know?”

He smiled warmly and held her hand. “Just ask Him.”

“My grandmother spoke to God all of the time. They said she was crazy.”

Andrew looked deep into her eyes and then raised an eyebrow. “I believe you're crazy now as well, aren't you?”

Clare laughed. “Perhaps. How could you tell?”

“That's the best news of all for me. Headline. Top of page.”

He was so beautiful to her now, handsome and nurturing, a genuine gift. Then something stirred inside her and she leaned back and stared into the fire.

“So, you're going to leave us, aren't you?”

He put his arms around Clare and kissed her on the ear.

“Where you are, Clare Hanley, is where I'll always be.”

“There have been some . . .
concerns
regarding your present situation,” Father Quinn said uncomfortably, nodding toward Andrew, who was chasing after Davin in the field.

“Stay out of the field, you fools!” Clare sighed deeply.

She turned to Father Quinn as she shook her head. “What are you talking about? Speak plainly.”