by Erin O'Quinn
“But—” Brindl started to protest, and I gave her one of our childhood hand signals—two downward-pointing fingers that said, “Best to remain quiet.”
Before Liam set me back on my mare, I asked him, “Did you already know that Thom would go?”
“I did, Cat. We talk every day. The reason my speaking…get better.”
“You scamp,” I told him fondly, and I reached up and caressed his cheeks, then his mouth. “I love you beyond words.”
Mindful that we were in public, Liam took my hand and held it, then brought it to his mouth and barely sucked my fingers while Brindl and Thom were looking at each other. Then, putting his hands around my ungraceful waist, he lifted me to Clíona’s back. Brindl and I left our husbands squatting in the dirt, Liam drawing a crude map with his finger and Thom eagerly watching and listening.
As we rode, I told Brindl what Liam had said about the twins. “No matter if there be two women or twenty, we need to know how to care for them. Liam thinks we should ask Quince and Persimmon.”
“You know, Cay, I think both of us are fortunate to have married very wise men. Would you mind if I go with you to their house?”
“I would love that! Let us fly like the swans of Ravenscar.”
We both grinned at the memory, and we were off.
Soon we were sitting in the neat little teach that Quince and Persimmon usually shared with one or more women too elderly or sick to take care of themselves. Since Nuala had left, they had no boarders.
The twins sat across from us on comfortable benches, and they looked so different from each other that I remarked on it. Quince still wore her hair past her shoulders, spread like a gold-wefted mantle. Her sister’s hair, by contrast, had been cut just below her ears, and it swung and bounced as she moved. Quince wore bright-patterned clothing, whereas Persimmon favored muted colors.
Quince laughed outright at my comment. “I remember the time when we dressed alike, we wore our hair the same—we even finished each other’s sentences. We had gotten so used to life on the stage, dancing and singing and talking at the same time, it was hard to break the practice.”
“And then my beautiful sister laid her eyes on a dark-eyed man named Luke,” Persimmon said drily. “And then it became important to be truly herself.”
“Shall we speak of dark-eyed men this morning, O Simmi?” teased her sister.
Instead of blushing—as I surely would have done—Persimmon tossed her bright head and laughed. “I think Caylith and Brindl are not here to speak of our personal life, dear Quince.” She looked at us, her clear, blue eyes level and calm. “Are you?”
I shook my head. “We are here to ask your advice, ladies. And to tell you a story that is still a secret, lest word of it get to the wrong ears.”
Brindl began our story at the villa three years ago when we returned from Lindum to find our old home torched to the ground. I admired her fortitude as the told about the dead left behind—her soon-to-be betrothed and his parents—and about our flight into the woods, escaping from the long arm of the murderous duke.
I told them about my mother’s visit a month ago, the face she had seen at the church, her reluctant telling of her captivity. I recounted how I had traced her voyage in my imagination and later aloud to Owen and then Murdoch, and our conclusion that she had been taken to an area west of Inishowen, off the coast of Tyrconnell.
I did not know how to broach the subject of Murdoch’s booley to find the island, so I simply told the truth. “Murdoch, bless him, thought that he might find the island if given a chance to go on a quest, asking the local fishermen and others. And now he has sent word back through our kin Michael and Brigid. He found the island. Now we are almost set to travel there to rescue the unfortunate women.”
“What do you know of them?” asked Quince.
Brindl spoke. “My husband Thom has—has left with a small party north to find out the details. We will know in about a week how many women there are and what their state of health is.”
Persimmon inclined her head and looked at us very seriously. “And you want us to—what? To tell you how to care for these wretched souls?”
I spoke for both of us. “In a word Persimmon—yes. We know not how to bring them back, how to care for them along the way, and most important—how to confront their inner suffering. Can you give us advice?”
Both women sat back and looked at each other and then at us. At last Quince spoke. “We can help you somewhat, once we know what shape they are in. And how many there are, and how old—or how young they are. But nothing will take the place of actually being there and caring for them. You will need caregivers.”
“We–we have the Glaed Keepers—” Brindl said.
“Yes, just as you did back in Newport,” said Quince. “You had great hulking men to care for a group of ill women. Forgive me, dear Brindl and Caylith. But I remember that the plan did not work so well.”
“And so we recruited you and your sister,” I said. “And Rowan, and Ashe, and a group of other women—”
“Women,” said Persimmon. “We need women to care for women, I think. We will use the Glaed Keepers, for I think they could carry the women like playthings, if the need arose. But these abused women will need the tender touch and understanding of other women.”
Quince leaned forward. “Will you excuse me and my sister for a few minutes while we talk it over?”
Brindie and I exclaimed “Of course” with one voice, and the twins walked outside, leaving us looking at each other.
When they returned, Persimmon said, “I will speak for both of us, for we are of one mind and one voice on this. We have decided that we will accompany you on your journey to the island.”
“Ah, no, it is too dangerous—”
I hardly spoke before she continued. “Please forgive me, Caylith. But you promised to let me speak. As I said, we will go along. Both of us somehow made it to this fair island on a voyage fraught with peril. Both of us have been taking care of the unfortunates that no one else thinks about or knows how to care for. Both of us have been acting as one all our lives. And we are as one now. We will go. And in the week before your, um, advance squad returns, we think you need to do a few things. Are you ready to hear it?”
Brindl and I nodded dumbly, and she continued. “First, gather your healing potions, or powders, or concoctions and have them ready, along with cauldrons and cups and whatever you will need to dispense your medicines.
“Second, all of us can beg and borrow extra blankets and comforters and clothing for the trip. Third, I think we will need some of the special vehicles that Nuala Sweeney rode in when she arrived here, and rode in when she left. Extra horses would be a boon.”
“Yes,” I said. “I will have Liam’s cousin Michael construct more of them. We will not have the trained horses to hitch them to, but I will make sure I find gentle mounts.”
As if on cue, both women stood, and we did, too. We spontaneously began to embrace each other, and I felt tears tugging at my eyelids. “How can we ever thank you?” I began, and they hugged me even tighter.
“We are like the Glaed Keepers, my friend,” said Quince. “It is our nature. It is what we do best, what makes us happy. Let us know a day or two in advance of our departure, and we will join you on the road to salvation.”
Chapter 18:
Cherished Friends
Very early the following morning, I went to find Brother Jericho and found Luke instead. He was sitting on a bench at the school, waiting for his thirty-some students to gather. His elbows on his knees, his face in his hands, he looked more doleful than I had ever seen him. Even his greeting seemed dispirited.
“Ah, Caylith,” he said, just barely raising his head. “Have you finally come to tell me about your trip, now that Quince is part of the rescue?”
I sat down next to him, suddenly guilty about not keeping my promise. “Oh, dear friend. Can you forgive me? My mind has been so full of turmoil, I forgot to tell you.”
“Because I needed their advice on how to take care of the captive women—”
“Because you needed. It is always about you, Caylith.” He raised his eyes to me, and I saw that he was deeply troubled. “What about all the other people who were harmed by what the raiders did? Do you think it never affected me, that my life went on as it always had? That I would care not about news that affected your mother and my friend Brindl?”
The way he said “my friend Brindl” made me flush deeply, and I realized for the first time that I had never fully appreciated Luke’s steadfast friendship. I had known him since I was a young child, and not once in all those years did he show me anything but respect and fondness. He had always been the giver, and I the taker.
Once again, as always when I was confronted by my own shallow self-interest, my throat closed up and I felt heavy tears behind my eyes. I would not be able to patch over this rift with my usual indifferent stitchery. “You are right, Luke. I deserve your scorn. I hope someday you will forgive me.”
I jumped up from the bench and fled for the door, full of remorse, wondering if I would ever win back his esteem. I had never even thanked him for his valuable work on Owen’s chariot, and now it was too late to say anything without seeming to curry favor. As soon as I opened the door, I heard his voice behind me.
“Cay. Please come back.”
I turned. He was halfway to the door, his eyes stricken, one hand sifting his hair in his telltale gesture of inner turmoil. “I apologize. I was talking out of selfishness.”
“You? Selfish? Luke, you are the most giving person I have ever met.”
We both moved outside the door, for several of his students had arrived and were listening with rapt attention.
“I never thanked you, Cay, for introducing me to Quince. She has become the center of my life. And now she tells me she will be going on a trip to places unknown, to confront murderous men.”
He began to pace in front of me. “I am heartsick. And it is not your fault. She and her sister made that decision, and they would do it a hundred times over if it meant helping other people.”
Luke’s words poured out with a passion I never thought him capable of, and I could not believe the sheen I saw covering his dark eyes. Those could not be tears!
“First, Luke, there is no need to thank me. You asked me to introduce you, remember? Second—she will not confront those brutes. They will be trussed and led away before she ever sets eyes on them. You have my promise.”
My next words spilled out in a rush before I had time to consider what the outcome might be. I walked close and extended my hand as though to touch his face. “And third, what is stopping you from going with her? She may want a strong man to be at her side.”
He stopped in midstep, his mouth open in surprise. “I could go? Luke, the least martial man you have ever met? Luke, who still quails at even petting a horse?”
“Why not, Luke? I think Quince is no rider of horses, nor wielder of weapons. Sometimes a company of soldiers needs talented civilians. Give it some thought. And while you are thinking, please think about my next words. I am humbled by your friendship. I love you dearly, and I would never hurt you on purpose.”
Then I touched his smooth cheek, feeling his tears, fighting back my own.
He put his hand over mine. “Caylith, to me you will always be the shiny-eyed little girl who craved a life of adventure. Now you are making it happen, and all to help other people. Just like my Quince. You have my loving friendship, now and always.”
We stood together for a long moment, and at last I began to recover my good humor. “In one week, Thom will be back from his spy mission, and I would like you to be part of the small group who will hear his tale. You and Quince, too, of course, and her sister. Then, after you hear what he has to say, let me know your decision about leaving with us. Is that fair?”
He rewarded me with his large, crooked grin. “Fair. I will see you then. And now, I have a fine point of grammar to discuss with my students.”
He turned, and I saw him quickly run the back of his hand over his eyes. He went back into the school, and I set my shoe tips for Brother Jericho’s teach.
The monk had willingly given over his own house to Owen Sweeney’s mother and two of his daughters when they arrived in Derry some five months ago. Nuala had gone from Jericho’s teach to the “care center” at Quince and Persimmon’s home, and after about a month, Cara and Orla went back to their husbands, the O’Cahan brothers of Coleraine. The monk would gladly have given his own quarters even longer if anyone had asked him.
I felt a warm rush of friendship for the monk as he opened the door. His wide, calm eyes crinkling with the joy of seeing me, he opened it all the way to allow my ample figure to enter. “Caylith, I am joyed that you have decided to visit me. Please sit.” He indicated a bench near the one small table in his house.
I sat, smoothing my tunic over my stomach, wondering how to begin. Jericho sat on a bench across from me, his fair brown hair falling to his shoulders, his tonsure gleaming in the morning light. “Let me guess, young lady. You are not here to ask blessings on the head of your unborn child. You are not here to learn more about the Lord’s Prayer, as you once told me you wanted to. I wonder…could it be you are here at last to ask me to drop all my commitments and accompany you into the great unknown? Again?”
I laughed, a bit uneasily, wondering how this time I could win Jericho’s agreement. In the past, he had gone with me on the trip to Ballysweeney to rescue my mother. Then, less than a year later, he had trekked north to free Liam from his own bonds of captivity. In the meantime, he had been the unfortunate one chosen to escort the vulgar lout Fergus MacCool to the monastery of Father Patrick, and as recently as February he had traveled to Limavady to help Mother Sweeney open up her life of secrets.
I sighed visibly. “Brother Jericho, you have been a huge asset to me and my mother, and my husband, too. If I have failed to thank you—”
“Please, Caylith. I neither expect nor want gratitude. I am a humble Christian. Forgive me for having a bit of jesting at your expense. I am waiting with great excitement to hear your plea for help.”
His smile told me everything I wanted to hear, and I began to speak, starting with the devastating fires that had gutted my childhood home. “…Father Patrick cried as he spoke of the smoke and ashes, the charred bones. Even he was convinced that my mother, along with Brindl’s betrothed and his family, had been killed.”
I told him how my mother had recently seen one of her captors—one of the men who had bought her and her companions for an unknown price—and how I had slowly pieced together her story. I told him of Murdoch’s dedicated quest, how he had found the remote island where the savages were apparently still keeping slaves.
“This very morning, Thom left with two other marine-trained spies to find out more. How many captors are there? How many women? How sick are they? He will return in about a week, and that is when we need to be ready.”
“We,” Jericho said slowly. “And who are ‘we,’ Caylith?”
I counted the likely participants—ten marines, ten Glaed Keepers, Brindl and Thom, Quince and Persimmon, several Forest Wardens I had not yet met, and of course Liam and I. “And possibly even Luke,” I added, telling Jericho about Luke’s concern for Quince’s safety.
“And Brother Jericho,” he said.
“Well, I can only hope you will want to be part of our small army. I know that the women will be sorely in need of your prayers and solace.”
“I agree, Caylith. You do not need me—but the women do. I shall clear my duties and be ready to travel—how soon? In a week?”
“Yes. Do you want to be one of the group that hears Thom’s story when he returns?”
“I think I need to hear it, much as it will grieve me. The Lord teaches us that we need to carry out our mission even in the face of tribulation and evil.”
“Brother Je
richo, I must tell you. My mother and Liam, too, refuse to punish the evil doers. When they return, they are to be taken straight to Father Patrick.”
Then it was Jericho’s turn to sigh. “I wonder how many thieves and murderers he can save, Caylith, before they turn on him to rob and murder. I blame not your mother and your husband. They are thinking and behaving as true Christians. But I fear for our beloved Patrick.”
“Perhaps Patrick will allow us to conduct a civil moot—an assembly of citizens—to punish wrong doers. After all, Emain Macha is a monastery, not an outpost for criminals.”
Brother Jericho rose. “We can talk with Patrick about that when he comes here in a few months. Come, Caylith, walk with me to the church. I will pronounce a blessing on the head of your unborn child.”
“Brother Jericho, I cannot tell you the depth of my gratitude—my love—”
“Hush, little friend.” His eyes were kindly and full of the same love I felt for him. I clasped his hand in mute thanks and followed him.
The morning was still in her blooming youth, the heat not yet chafing Macha under her saddle blanket, as I rode to our homestead construction site to see Michael. I found him directing the setting of a window frame, and I paused to marvel at the progress of my growing homestead.
The glass had been fired and poured into wooden molds, the molds themselves then set into square frames to fit the window holes. I saw that there were not quite as many glass windows as I had hoped for, but their beauty made up for their scarcity. The components of the sand, whatever they were, had caused the fired sand to make the cloudy glass a light aqua color—not green as my eyes, but a lighter green that complemented them and bathed the interior of the house in a cool, sea-washed color like a Roman pool.
“Do ye like it, Caylith?”
“Michael, I feel that I am in a waking dream.” I saw how the light streaming in from the many windows caused the floor boards to glow. The planks, oak and cedar interlaced, seemed to dance in the light. I thought they were more beautiful than those of the high king himself. The fragrance of the fresh wood made my senses spin. For the second time that day, I felt a strong emotion welling from my chest, and I had to clear my throat a few times in order to speak.