Free Falling, Book 1 of the Irish End Games

by Susan Kiernan-Lewis

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  As she had every freezing cold morning since he left, Sarah left her warm bed, started the cook fire in the kitchen and went to the front door window to see if she might glimpse him coming down the main drive. As if her watching for him might make him come. She knew it was possible that David just hadn’t finished the work he’d agreed to do for the girl, but she couldn’t imagine he wouldn’t come home to tell her that. It wasn’t like David to just…not come.

  She turned back to the kitchen and pulled out a covered bowl of dough and began forming it into biscuits. She would make enough for all three of their meals today. The pan she had set on the stove was boiling so she poured the tea. A little-boy groan from the bed brought a smile to her lips.

  “Morning, sweetie,” she said as she mixed precious sugar and goat milk into a mug for him. “Sleep okay?”

  John made a muffled response.

  She brought his tea to him and set it down on the table next to the bed.

  “Dad here?” he asked sleepily.

  “Not yet,” she said. “I’ll bet he’ll get in later this afternoon.”

  “That’s what you said yesterday.”

  John sat up in bed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He reached for his tea.

  “Blow on it,” she said. He looked like such a little boy. Who would he be when they finally made it back home?

  She went back to the kitchen and felt a weight press down on her shoulders.

  Where are you, David? Your family needs you here.

  She slid the biscuits in the stove and sat down at the kitchen table with her own mug of tea.

  Today, she and John had to go collect the sheep and bring them in closer. The woman she’d traded with for the six sheep had come the first day after David left and collected her sheep and the wine. She wasn’t friendly and Sarah worried that she saw the woman looking around, taking inventory of the cottage and barn.

  Will I ever be able to trust people again? she wondered.

  Sarah decided they needed to be able to see their sheep. Besides, they had lost two to the cold in just the last week. As her son reminded her: “We don’t have an endless supply of sheep, you know.” They would move them to the patch of grass on the other side of the paddock. When David got back, they would move them back to the pasture and take turns watching over them as they grazed. (“Just like real shepherds,” John had said.)

  The rabbit traps had been empty for several days now and Sarah doubted they’d catch any more until spring. There was still some canned food in the root cellar, three chickens and one rooster and plenty of flour for bread. It might be a relatively meatless winter, but at least they’d survive.

  Sarah stood up and went to the front door again.

  “You said probably this afternoon,” John said from the bed.

  “That’s right,” she said. “I was just looking.”

  John climbed out of bed. “You were watching,” he said.

  She turned to look at him. “You’re right,” she said with a smile. “I guess I was.”

  It was when David had been gone a total of two weeks that John began to push to go after him.

  “I know the way to Balinagh,” he said. “It’s just straight down that road. Even you did it in the pouring rain and it was no big deal.”

  “He’s not in Balinagh,” she said for the hundredth time. “I told you—”

  “It doesn’t matter, Mom,” John said with exasperation. “Someone will know where she lives. Everybody knows everyone in Ireland.”

  They’d had scrambled eggs for supper with toast and what was left of the jam Dierdre had given them the month before.

  “He might need me,” John said, pushing his plate away. “He might be hurt somewhere and needing me to come.”

  Sarah could feel the tears coming.

  “This, we have to give to God.” Sarah sat down next to him and put her arms around him. “God has given us a full plate and it’s all that we can do to handle this.” She waved her hand around the room to indicate the cottage and the barn. “He may just want us to let Him handle when Dad comes back to us.”

  “You mean, like accept we can’t do anything?”

  “Well, we can pray, you know?”

  “I DO pray, Mom,” John said earnestly. “I am praying all the time that Dad comes back.”

  “I know you are, sweetie. We both are. But if you really accept that God will deal with it, you don’t keep worrying at it and agonizing over it. You accept it.”

  John stood up. “No,” he said.

  “Now, John…” Sarah said.

  “God helps them that helps themselves,” he said stubbornly. “I think God’s wondering how long it’ll take before we get up and go look for him. I do, Mom.”

  Sarah felt a catch in her throat as she watched her boy, so resolute, so sure of himself. She covered her eyes when she began to cry.

  “Mom?” John sat back down next to her. “You okay?”

  She forced the tears back and smiled at him. “I’m fine,” she said, patting his hand. “You’re right. We’ll go first thing in the morning.”

  “Are you serious?” John jumped again and clapped his hands in his excitement. “Can we go now? Why do we have to wait ‘til morning? It’s nowhere near dark yet. It’ll take me two secs to saddle everybody up.”

  Sarah put a hand out to calm him and felt a strong rush of love and certainty, as if God were, in fact, blessing the enterprise.

  “First thing in the morning,” she said.

  The next morning Sarah and John stood in the doorway of the barn with their reins in their hands and watched the rain pour down.

  I hate Ireland, Sarah thought.

  “We’re still going, right?” John asked, looking from the rain to his mother’s face as if trying to decipher her thoughts.

  Sarah sighed but forced a smile on her face for his sake.

  “We are still going,” she said. I must be crazy. “Put the dogs in the stall with their water bowl and mount up,” she said, looping the reins over Dan’s head. “Wear your hardhat, John,” she called after him. “I don’t know when you stopped wearing it but…” She didn’t bother finishing. He was back in one of the stalls not listening anyway.

  He rejoined her, his hardhat on and buckled, and climbed onto his pony.

  “Put your shirt collar up,” she said. “Else the rain’ll go straight down your back.”

  “Mom, I’m good,” he said, moving Star out into the rain. “Let’s go.”

  They walked at a steady, slow plod for nearly an hour. The rain hammered them the whole way. The road had turned to slick mud and Sarah forbade John to even break into a trot. She kept the gun in her unsnapped holster and let Dan find the best spots on the road to walk while she scanned the bushes and the horizon for any sign of gypsies or anybody else who might want to do them harm.

  Although what lunatic would be out in this weather?

  She and John spoke very little. She could tell by the determined look on his face that he was thinking of his father, possibly envisioning scenarios of rescue or, at least, reunion.

  Hope is a wonderful thing, she thought. Did she think they would find David? Could it really be that simple? If he were in town or nearby, he wouldn’t have stayed away so long. She hoped to find a clue in town, or a piece of information that would lead them further down the trail. But it was beyond even her usually hopeful imagination to believe that the day would end with their arms around their beloved one.

  It wouldn’t have mattered if she hadn’t been lost in her thoughts when the sound of the thunder crashed down on them. She still would have lost control of Dan. She had been riding just long enough to be, if not cocky, at least confident that she wouldn’t come off him at a walk.

  She was wrong.

  The horse shied at the loud noise and wheeled sharply to gallop back the way they had come. Sarah didn’t survive the turn. She tumbled from the saddle onto the hard, muddy road, cracking her helmet as she hit. Somewher
e in the distance she could hear John yelling and then everything went peacefully black.

  Julie slipped out of the bed, peeling the dirty sheets back and trying to ignore if anything moved or crawled as she moved. She looked over her shoulder at Mack still asleep. Unusual for him. He normally didn’t sleep. He had come to bed late and drunk. There had been no conversation.

  How different from Arden he was, she thought, before she could stop herself.

  There was no point in going down that road, my girl.

  She crept out the door of the trailer. The camp was quiet. Most of the men and the few women were still asleep under blankets and molding quilts scattered about on the ground near the now-spent fire. Julie tiptoed to her spot in the woods and relieved herself. The air was icy cold but she didn’t bother putting her shoes on. She looked up to inspect the sky between the trees in the copse surrounding the camp—dark clouds were moving in—and have a brief moment for herself. He would be awake when she got back. It had been a rare gift to have awakened first. She would need to hurry if she didn’t want to spend half the morning calming his anger.

  When she came back to the bedroom in the trailer, he was sitting up, his arm bandage dirty and blotchy with dried blood—she couldn’t remember if she’d ever seen him bathe—waiting for her.

  “Sorry,” she said, slipping back into bed, careful not to let her cold feet touch his. She’d paid the price for that mistake early on.

  “Anybody else up yet?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  That seemed to please him at least a little. She knew he liked to be the first one awake.

  “Did you make tea?” He asked it as if he expected an obvious affirmative. She cursed herself for not thinking of it. Should she lie?

  “I put the water on,” she said. “But I might’ve forgotten to boost up the fire.” She pulled the covers back to jump up and amend the oversight when he stopped her.

  “Never mind,” he said. “Someone will be up soon and they’ll do it.”

  She returned to her place in bed, watching him.

  “How long would you say the Yank has been at your Mam’s?”

  The question surprised her. Under Finn’s orders, she had lured the American to her mother’s farm nearly five weeks earlier. Until this moment, Finn had not mentioned it again.

  She licked her lips. “About a month, I think,” she said.

  “And you checked on him a few weeks ago?”

  She nodded. “I went to visit me Mum,” she said.

  “And saw him?”

  She nodded again. “He…he had had an accident,” she said.

  Finn’s eyes flashed to hers from the spot on the ceiling he had been studying.

  “What kind of accident?” he asked.

  “He…I…I think he fell,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t kill her. She had seen enough evidence of his cruelty to his men and the occasional wandering traveler to know what he was capable of.

  “But he’s still alive.”

  “Yes, yes,” she said. “He’s alive, but…but…”

  “But what Jules?” The look he gave her was as deadly as any pit viper’s, she thought, trying to calm herself enough to answer him.

  “But me Mam’s got him restrained…from leaving, you see,” she finished, feeling a thin residue of sweat developing on her upper lip.

  Finn looked at her and then burst out laughing.

  “‘Restrained from leaving’?” he asked, still laughing. “That’s beautiful.” He grinned her. “How about we visit her today? Would you like that, Jules? So we can relieve her of her responsibility.” Julie watched his gaze return to the invisible spot on the ceiling, his smile slowly fading. “Yes,” he said more to himself than anyone else, “I think today’s the day to be doing exactly that.”

  “Mom! Mom! You okay?”

  Sarah felt the cold and the wet before she opened her eyes. It was dark out but whether that was really the case or just her head, she couldn’t tell. John was kneeling down next to her, his hand holding his pony’s reins.

  “Mom, you fell. Are you okay? Oh, gosh, Mom, can you please be okay? There’s so much blood and I’m not really sure…”

  Hearing the panic and fear in her son’s voice, Sarah struggled to swim back to full consciousness and reassure him. It was so dark, she couldn’t see his face.

  “I’m okay, John,” she heard herself saying. “I’m okay.”

  “Oh, Mom, I was so scared. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Her head hurt badly. She put a shaky hand up to her face and saw John wince as she did so.

  “You’re bleeding, Mom,” he said. “A whole bunch, like everywhere.”

  “Where…where’s Dan?” she asked, pulling away her fingers, slick with her blood.

  “He’s over there. He ran for a while and then he came back. But he’s all trembling and he’s limping, too. I think I saw him fall down.”

  Oh, Jesus God.

  “Help me up, sweetie,” Sarah said.

  “Are you sure, Mom?”

  “Just to sit up.” Sarah had to admit, between the rain and the blood pouring down her face, it was difficult to see. Worse, what she was seeing was slightly double.

  Great. A concussion.

  “Is it…is it night already?” she said, trying to look around. She had landed squarely in the middle of the road which was lined on both sides by short, sparsely-leafed trees.

  “It’s kind of night,” John said, standing up and absently patting his pony. “Or maybe it’s just the storm making it feel like night.”

  “How long was I out?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe fifteen minutes?”

  “That’s a long time.”

  “Well, maybe it wasn’t that long. I’m not good at times.”

  “It’s all right, sweetie,” she said, feeling like her breakfast was about to come up. “Can you go bring Dan over here and let’s check him out?”

  Glad to have something specific to do, John led his pony over to where Dan was grazing in the rain. Sarah threw up onto the road.

  How far were they from Balinagh? she wondered, trying to wipe her face with her jacket sleeve. She eased her helmet off. She could feel the crack in it and wondered if wearing it broken would be any help at all. When she saw how badly Dan was limping as John led him over, she realized it didn’t matter.

  Nobody was going to be riding anywhere.

  The night was nearly unbearable. The rain never let up for a moment. It took her an hour just to climb back on her feet. At some point, without her having to say the words, John realized they would not be going the rest of the way to Balinagh. It was arguable at this point whether they were closer to home or the village, they honestly couldn’t tell. It never occurred to Sarah when they set out walking down the road toward home that they might not make it before morning. She underestimated how hurt she was and they had to stop frequently. She and John took turns riding Star but, even so, it was clear they were all exhausted and would do better to hole up some place for the night rather than try to forge on.

  “I remember a place, maybe,” John said to her when she was eyeing a likely ditch for their bedding down. “A kind of broken down cottage or something across the pasture a ways. I saw it when we came out this morning.”

  Was it really just this morning? It felt like a week since they’d set out on their journey to rescue David.

  “Is it far?” Sarah’s head ached fiercely and it seemed that Dan’s limp was becoming more and more pronounced. “What if there are snakes or rats inside?”

  “No snakes in Ireland,” John said cheerfully, and then more soberly: “Besides it’s the wrong time of year for them. Let me just ride ahead and check it out, okay? It’s better than sleeping out in the open.”

  She couldn’t argue with that and she was so tired and miserable, she honestly couldn’t see how things could get much worse. She let him go.

  She felt like she hadn’t taken ten steps when he was back, trotting whe
n she’d begged him to keep at a walk, and excited to lead her back to the place he’d found.

  It would do.

  The shed, and it wasn’t more than that, was shelter from the rain and the quickly dropping temperatures. It was open on one side, like a lean-to so they were able to hobble the horses at one end of the shed (“Seamus showed me how, Mom.”) while they huddled in the other. John begged for a fire, but Sarah wouldn’t allow it.

  Together, the two of them endured a long wet night, punctuated once with what could only have been the sound of a gunshot. Not near, but not far enough away, either.

  At one point, when Sarah thought he was asleep, John asked her: “Is this a message from God, do you think?”

  Sarah couldn’t help but laugh. “You mean, like maybe He wants us to leave it to Him, after all?”

  “Do you think?”

  “I don’t know, sweetheart,” she said tiredly. “Maybe He wants us to try harder. Maybe it’s just bad luck and it doesn’t mean anything at all.”

  John ruminated for a moment.

  “I’d hate to think He sent a lightning bolt our way,” he said finally.

  She kissed him on the cheek. “Try to get some sleep, sweetie.”

  “Mom?”

  “Yes, sweetheart?”

  “We’ll try again to find Dad as soon as Dan is better?”

  “We will, dear boy. I promise. Now go to sleep.”

  Sarah leaned against a wooden support beam, the gun in her lap, and slept more than she stood sentry.

  In the morning, both horses had hobbled out into the surrounding pasture and the rain had stopped. Her forehead was crusted with dried blood, the cut over her right eye where she had fallen, sore but not deep. Both she and John were badly chafed from having slept in their wet clothes.

  As soon as it was light enough to see one foot in front of the other, they began the three-hour trudge home.

  Dear Mom and Dad,

  Well, David’s been gone for a little over a month now. John and I tried to go out and find him a week ago but ended up with a lame horse and never made it to Ballinagh. We’ll try again as soon as Dan can walk again without limping. I don’t really know what happened to him but John thinks he fell. (I did, too, but am fine.) He probably twisted an ankle or something. He seems to be getting better, thank God. I know I couldn’t shoot him if it came to that but I guess you’re supposed to. Anyway, Christmas is next week and it’s really, really cold here. John and I haven’t seen a soul since the people came last month to collect the sheep I’d traded them. David was the one who brought us news from Dierdre and Seamus and without him; we don’t even know how they’re doing or what’s going on. It’s so cold that, mostly, John and I stay indoors even in the daytime.

  We do the chores we have to do, clean out the stalls, feed all the animals, and that’s about it. We moved the sheep up closer to us which isn’t working out great (for them or us!) but I’m afraid if I move them back to the pasture I won’t have any sheep left come spring. At the rate they’re dying, even here at the farm, I may not have any left anyway. I know it sounds gruesome but when one dies, it’s usually because of the cold so, well, we eat them. At first, John and I would drag them away from the flock and just let the snow cover them up. (My feeling was kind of like: let David deal with it when he gets home!) But now, it seems such a waste. I cut their wool off too. I don’t know. I don’t want you to think we’re at our resources’ end here or anything, because we’re not, but I don’t feel good about wasting what we have. I figure it might make the difference to us down the road.

  As far as David being gone so long, I won’t lie to you, I’m pretty worried. I cannot imagine what would prevent him from returning home, unless he’s hurt. I’m dying for us to ride to Balinagh, find out where this Julie lives, and go bring him home. I cannot go alone on John’s pony and leave John here by himself. If Dan doesn’t snap out of his injury soon, we’ll walk to town. We did it once before. The problem with that option is that there are rumors of roving bands of thugs going around robbing travelers and the less time spent on the roads, the better. Poor John is so worried. It really is agonizing, not knowing.

  I know, in my heart, that David hasn’t come home because he’s being prevented somehow. I don’t know how, I can’t imagine how. And it’s so hard keeping an optimistic affect with John when I really want to scream myself.

  Prayer helps. Like with every trial we’ve faced these last few months since the crisis, prayer helps a lot. In fact, as bad as things seem right now—and I know this is going to sound strange—I can’t help but feel that God is holding us all in his palm. Isn’t that weird? I mean, right when things are so awful, I actually feel that God knows what’s going on and it’s okay. I don’t know if that means things will turn out okay—or okay in the sense that John and I think of as okay—but I know that God has this covered. Somehow, I just know that.

  So, take care of each other, you two. I hated missing Thanksgiving this year and now not being with you for Christmas. We’ll make it up in all the wonderful holidays to come. Promise.

  Love,

  Sarah

  P.S. We celebrated John’s eleventh birthday this week. It wasn’t very jolly and I had nothing but promises to give him for a gift. (Although I did give him a coupon good for one free week of no stall mucking!) When I think of all the money and effort I’ve spent on his birthdays in the past, from moon walks to booking entire game rooms, it’s a little amazing that, aside from not having his Dad there, it wasn’t too bad.

  Christmas Day marked six weeks plus three days that David had been gone. Sarah and John both knew that David not getting home for Christmas was not a good sign. It meant there was now not a hint of a possibility that he wasn’t somehow being prevented from coming back to them.

  If he were still alive. Sarah sometimes allowed the unthinkable to appear in her thoughts, like a dangerous enemy she was always on the look-out for.

  “Pretty crappy Christmas,” John said brushing the fur of the young dog, Patrick, by the fireplace. The other puppy, Spongy, patiently waited his turn. He was curled up on the floor, his chin resting on John’s knee. To mark the special day, Sarah had allowed a fire in the hearth.

  “Is that my hairbrush you’re using?”

  John tossed the brush on the couch.

  “No presents, no turkey.” He paused and gently pulled Patrick’s ear. “No Dad,” he said quietly.

  Sarah had been curled up in the big chair by the fire, one of the two large rugs she had knitted from their sheep’s wool across her lap. She had a steaming mug of hot tea in her hands and given all that she knew she had lost, felt strangely content.

  “A savior was still born today,” she said.

  He made a face.

  “Well, he was born all those other Christmases, too,” he said. “And it didn’t stop us from having presents and stuff. I didn’t think it was an ‘either or.’”

  Sarah smiled into her mug of tea so he wouldn’t see her amusement.

  “I know, John,” she said. “We’ve got the best part of Christmas, though. That’s what we need to remember.”

  “How can it be the best part with Dad not here?” John absently picked up the hairbrush again and began grooming Spongy. The dog closed his eyes while John brushed him.

  I can always wash the brush.

  “We just need to have faith he’ll come back to us,” she said, staring into the fire. “Today of all days, we just need to believe.”

  Before the words were barely out of her mouth, there was a knock at the door which made them both jump. Sarah spilled her tea and John bolted for the front door.

  “John! Wait!”

  But he had already snatched the latches off and pulled it open, expecting, Sarah realized later, his father to be standing there, probably with a Christmas goose in one hand and an Xbox 360 in the other.

  By the time Sarah untangled herself from the heavy throw around her fand stumbled to the door, John was already off t
he porch and pulling boxes out of Dierdre’s pony trap that stood directly outside the cottage. Dierdre, herself, stood on the porch, her coat wrapped around her shoulders, a tremulous smile on her lips.

  “Happy Christmas, darlin’,” she said. “We brought Christmas dinner.”