Free Falling (19 page)

            “Wait! Wait,” he said, grabbing the side of the cart.

            “What is it?” She took a breath. “Can we talk about it on the road?”

            “I left my glasses.” He touched his breast pocket where he’d tucked a slim book of poetry. “I can’t read without my glasses.”

            This new clear-headed
reading
Seamus was kind of a pain in the ass, Sarah found herself thinking as she laid the reins back down.

            “Right, yes, okay,” she said. “Where did you have them? In your bedroom?” She was already out of the cart and back up the porch steps, not waiting for an answer.

            While she figured it was likely he’d go back to being catatonic before they even arrived at the cottage today, on the slim possibility he did remain clear and with it, she didn’t want to be the reason he spent the entire winter not being able to read. She ran to the bedroom and jerked open the nightstand. Nothing. She looked on the dresser tops, then on the floor in case they accidentally had fallen during his attempts to pack his valise. In exasperation, she was on her hands and knees looking under the bed, spending more time there than she’s planned, pushing past dust bunnies and old books, when she heard the sound of the gunshot.

It had come from where the cart was parked in front of the house.

Sarah froze.

Dear God, had Seamus found the gun?
Her first instinct was to rush out onto the porch. Instead, she stood up, held her breath, and listened. If he’d shot himself, fifteen seconds more would not make the difference in the outcome of whatever makeshift first-aid she would be able to offer him.

Voices.

She heard voices coming from the front. Silently, she moved to the bedroom wall away from the window. Dierdre and Seamus’s bedroom faced the back garden with a view of the well and the back pasture, but she’d left the front door open in her hurry and the voices carried easily to her.

There were at least two, maybe more, male voices. Her hand went to her jacket pocket but she knew, before she even felt inside, that the gun would not be there.

Shit!

She took a breath and edged herself across the room to try to catch a glimpse of what was going on outside the front door. The last time she heard voices outside a cottage door, they had been friendly ones. Just because she was terrified didn’t mean these men were necessarily a threat to her.

The first thing she saw was the immediate absence of something that should have been there but wasn’t. The cow, tied to the back of the cart, sagged against the cart in a brown mountainous carcass. The results of the gunshot, she thought, her stomach roiling.

Not friends.

She pressed herself against the wall again and tried to think of what to do. She looked around the room for a weapon. The voices were louder now.

“We know you’re in there. Come out or we shoot the old man.”

Sarah saw a shadow cross the back window. She crouched down and duck- walked out of the room just as a man stuck his head in the bedroom window. She crawled into the kitchen and wrenched a drawer open. Dierdre had already taken most of the knives and what she hadn’t packed last week, were now sitting on the pony cart outside.

“She’s in there!” the voice called from the back of the house. “I just saw her.” The sounds of splintering wood indicated that the man was not bothering to walk around to the front to gain entrance.

Sarah grabbed the only thing she could find—a small rolling pin—and scrambled up onto the kitchen counter by the bedroom door.

“Behind you, Sean!” A voice from outside screamed. “She’s behind you!”

Too late for Sean, he turned to her as he entered the kitchen and caught the force of the bat full in the face. He reached up and wrenched the rolling pin away from her as Sarah vaulted across the counter for the living room. She didn’t know if there was any kind of a weapon there but all other avenues were blocked. In the back of her mind, as she ran, she heard the sound of another gun shot and this time she felt a sudden and final pressure between her shoulder blades that knocked the wind out of her. She lay, gasping, on Dierde’s living room rag rug, all audio turned off and the world reduced to a swirling maelstrom of color and motion.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

They were arguing.

Three men, all of them seemingly talking at once. Sarah felt herself slide in and out of consciousness as she listened to the harsh voices. She was tied up and lying in the back of the pony cart. They had thrown most of the cart contents she had packed into the dirt. Seamus sat in front where she’d left him. The men had obviously assessed, correctly, that it would be more trouble to move him and that he posed no threat to them.

“Finn wants her alive, I tell you.”

“How do you even know she’s the one?”

“She’s American, you daft bugger. How many Yanks you think there are out here?” That brought about some sniggering. Sarah licked her lips. Her face felt bruised and swollen; her shoulder felt broken. The fact that they’d tied her up made her believe—hope—that she hadn’t been shot.

“Oy, she’s awake.”

One of the men approached the cart. He was large and pale, as if he had never seen the sun. Sarah couldn’t see clearly but he appeared rough and menacing to her. He had a sharp ferret-face, and his small beady eyes darted around in his head as if he wasn’t quite in control of them.

He jerked her to a sitting position. The pain that shot through her was like none she’d ever imagined. She groaned.

Another man spoke from behind her.

“I tell you, she’s the American.”

The man with his hand on her raised his fist and held it to her face.

“Say something, you stupid cow,” he snarled.

Sarah looked at him blankly.

He shook his fist.

“I said—”

“Go to hell,” she said.

He dropped his fist. The other two laughed.

“I told you,” the one man said.

“Why does he want her?” He was watching her now with curiosity. “She’s not young.”

“She’s the one
shot
him, you ejeet. Didn’t you know?”

“Bugger me.” The lout looked at Sarah with naked admiration. “And killed Ardan.”

Sarah looked back at the man. He spoke with a rough accent that didn’t sound Irish.

“Well, whatever he wants with her, he wants her alive. At least at first,” the other man said. “Okay, Granddad, here’s where you get out. Out you go, now.”

Sarah directed her attention back to Seamus who was sitting quietly as if engaged in his own thoughts. He didn’t move.

“Just kill ‘im,” the lout said, as he moved back to his horse. He pulled out a shotgun.

“It’s easier if they go into the house on their own,” the other man whined, “
before
we fire it. He looks heavy. I don’t want to have to drag—” Even when Sarah saw Seamus reach down to the floorboards of the cart, even
she
didn’t connect that he was doing anything more than just scratching his ankle, so long had she considered him a nonentity. So when he straightened up in his seat and shot the young man speaking, and then turned without waiting to watch the body hit the ground and shot the man pulling out the shotgun, she watched in shock.

Seamus shot the third one in the back as he attempted to flee. He never moved from his seat in the cart. When the sounds of the gunshots had stopped ringing in her ears, Seamus turned to her and smiled tiredly.

“Did you happen to find my reading glasses?” he asked.

 Later that day, Sarah watched John’s eyes go from hers to the window and back to hers. In a split second he had silently asked and answered his own question. It was too late to ride to Balinagh today. She hated to disappoint him. She’d already dealt with her own letdown on the long cold ride back and had rallied herself enough to focus on the joy she was bringing to dear Dierdre. The old woman had not wanted to untangle herself from Seamus from the moment they had driven into the front drive of Cairn Cottage. Sarah held off revealing any details of what had happened at Dierdre’s farm. When Dierdre asked why they didn’t bring the cow, Sarah said only that there’d been an accident and the cow was dead. If Dierdre was disappointed about it—and surely she must have been—that emotion had no room in her heart at the moment. So joyous was she to have Seamus alive—and clear-headed—that she sat next to him, holding his hand like an  awestruck schoolgirl.

It was too late for lunch by the time they had arrived back that day, but dinner was hot and filling. Dierde had roasted another chicken in anticipation of her homecoming and served it with mashed potatoes and canned creamed corn.

First thing tomorrow
, she mouthed the words to John over Dierde’s head. He nodded, resigned. She was tired, bone tired, and her back ached badly from where the big gypsy had thrown the rolling pin at her in the house. But nothing was broken. Now that she knew the face of what her fear looked like, she knew the immensity of the task ahead of her. She glanced at John and her heart hardened at the thought of someone trying to hurt him. Always before, when she thought of losing him she was filled with anxiety and fear. Tonight, the thought of someone taking him from her made her feel as cold and strong as granite, a granite that could crush and kill.

Sarah looked at her glass of red wine, one of the few bottles she and David had held back from all the trading. Tonight was for celebration, she thought. It’s for miracles, for loved ones raised from the dead. And for thanksgiving. She listened to Dierdre’s happy, girlish prattle and let it wash over her like a job well done.

One down, she thought, taking a swallow of the dry red wine and looking at the front door with determination. One to go.

Later that evening, as Sarah and Dierdre were cleaning up the dishes in the kitchen and Seamus and John sat in front of the fire, Sarah told Dierdre what had happened at the farmhouse. The old woman sucked in a sharp breath as she listened and seemed to use the table to steady herself.

“We left the cow in the drive,” Sarah said quietly as she dried a plate and glanced into the living room to see if John could hear her. “The horses I untacked, stashed their saddles and bridles in the barn, and turned them out into your cow pasture.”

“Dear God in heaven,” the older woman murmured.

“You okay, Dierdre?” Sarah put out a hand to touch her on the shoulder. “It had to be done. It’s thanks to Seamus and God Himself that it
was
done and we’re here safe. You know that, right?”

Dierdre looked at her quickly.

“Of course, I know that,” she said. “It’s just…” she picked up a mug and then set it back down again as if not trusting she wouldn’t drop it.

“I know, I know,” Sarah said, trying to whisper. “It was awful,
they
were awful. They clearly had some plan that they were going to burn the house with…with Seamus in it, like they’d done that sort of thing before.”

“And haven’t you heard that very thing in town?” Dierdre looked at her sharply. “Haven’t you heard that there’s a gang of hooligans rampaging the countryside killing and burning everything in its path?”

“Mom? You guys okay?”

“Yep, doing good,” Sarah called, giving Dierdre a meaningful look. “‘Bout time for you to brush your teeth, sweetheart?” She heard him speak to Seamus: “I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. Now I have to go to bed.”

“It’s late, John,” Sarah said. “Plenty of time to talk with Mr.
McClenny
tomorrow.”

“We’ll just say goodnight to the horses,” Seamus called to them.

“Oh, thank you, Seamus,” Sarah said and turned back to Dierdre. “Aren’t you surprised? About Seamus, I mean?”

“You mean, him not acting daft and all?” Dierdre smiled broadly. “It happens now and again, not for a long time now and sure, it’s wonderful to have him back—in every sense of the word.”

“So…it won’t last? His being lucid like this?”

“Sure, no,” Dierdre said beginning to wipe down the table. “Any time now, he’ll leave us again. We don’t know what brings it on or why it goes away.”

“Just grateful for when it comes.”

“Aye,” the older woman smiled at her and then her smile faded. “There’s something else, then, isn’t there, Sarah?” she said. “Something you’re not tellin’ me.”

Sarah stole a look out the window to see the two shapes of John and Seamus in front of the barn.

“There is something,” Sarah admitted. She sat down at the table.

“What is it, dear? What happened?”

Sarah took a long breath and felt the agony of the day wash over her in a shroud of exhaustion and, for a moment, futility.

“It had to do with the gypsies’ horses.” 

“The ones you turned out into the pasture?”

Sarah nodded.

Dierdre patted her hand.

“Sure, they’ll be fine there until we can collect them, darlin’, you’ll not be worried about that.”

“It’s not that,” Sarah said, so tired she wanted to put her head down on her arms. “One of the horses…” She turned her head as she heard Seamus and John walk across the yard toward the porch. She looked back at Dierdre.

“One of the horses was Rocky,” she said. “David’s horse.”

The next day, before light, Sarah was trotting Dan down the road toward Balinagh. After John had fallen asleep the night before, she warned Dierdre that the gypsy she had wounded seemed intent on revenge on her.

“It makes my place a little less of a refuge for you,” she said.

“Nonsense,” Dierdre snorted. “All it makes is you needin’ us here all the more.”

In any case, she and Seamus had fortified themselves inside the house and placed loaded guns by each of the windows.

When Sarah hesitated about leaving, she only needed to see John’s face to reinvigorate her conviction that she must try to find David.

Before she left, she hugged her son tightly and whispered into his ear. “Stay safe, sweetie,” she said. “God willing, Dad and I will be back tonight. Just do whatever Mr. and Mrs.
McClenny
tell you to do, promise? If they tell you to hide, you hide. Promise me.”