Only with Blood

by Therese Down

  Mick smiled again. “But how can we make this work, Donal?” “Very shrewd, there, Mick. Now listen, I suggest we show our commitment by… oh, I don’t know, pledging certain things.”

  “What things?”

  “Well, if I move in here, work for nothing on your farm – just board and lodging – how about you pay for a young lad to help my father? I know just the fella. He’ll work for next to nothing and he can stay in my room above. I’ll use your horse to check on my place now and again. I don’t want wages.” Donal ensured Mick appreciated the importance of this, then moved on. “I’ll be pledging my word and good will by living here. After all, if I don’t get Caitlin, we have no deal.” He waited for Mick to appreciate how key were his charms to Mick’s acquisition of great wealth and the establishment of a dynasty. “Living here will allow me to work on her – essential to the whole thing.”

  “And what do I have to do? Just give that young fella a bit of wages, is it?”

  “A bit more, Mick. Sure the lad I’m thinking of will work for pennies a week and his board. If I’m willing to sacrifice my home to show my good faith, now, how about a down payment?”

  “A down payment? To who? You?”

  “I don’t think that’s an unreasonable request now, Mick.”

  Donal leaned back in his chair, put his hands in his pockets. “As you said earlier, I have very little – gave up a university education and the prospect of great money in the law, to come home and help my poor father.” Donal paused, stared sadly at the table. “And I have three days’ work a week above at the school, is all. And here I am, willing to work for you, Mick, because I think you are my future, and I think I am yours. I am willing to devote my muscle and brains to making the two of us the richest men in Tipperary. Think, Mick, three farms! And I hope I’ll provide for myself and you sons and heirs to all our hard work. What do you say?”

  “How much?”

  Donal thrust out his lower lip and raised his eyebrows, seeming to consider for the first time what a reasonable sum might be to seal such a contract.

  “A hundred and fifty pounds?”

  Mick’s eyes widened in shock. “That’s a helluvalot of money!” he exclaimed. “What do you want that for?”

  “I disagree, Mick,” said Donal calmly. “As an investment, it’s a mere bagatelle.”

  “A what?”

  “A small amount. I’ll use some of it to help my father – get him a horse. Sure we have to do all we can to keep things going on the farm above, while we plan. We’re not ready to run all three. The rest of the money I’ll put away – think about how I can improve the livestock and the way we do things. Consider it an investment, Mick.” Seeing Spillane’s incredulous gaze soften a little, Donal pressed home. “Have you any idea how much money we stand to make from this arrangement, Mick? Thousands! And if Flynn is dying, sure we can start to rake it in in a few months! And,” Donal smiled warmly at Spillane, “you’ll be getting me for nothing. Milking will kick off again in six weeks or so. There’s sowing to be done and pigs to get to market, ditches and turf to dig. Imagine what it would be like if you didn’t have all that to do on your own, Mick! Sure God love you, but you’re not getting younger. I’ll look after you like you were my own father.”

  Mick remained silent, his eyes fixed on Donal. The stillness of his exterior belied the growing excitement and dawning joy in his heart. Donal Kelly seemed to be the answer to every prayer Mick had uttered or thought in the last few years.

  “Of course, if you’re not interested, we’ll leave it. It would be a shame, but I’d just go back to my own farm, leave your horse, and give up my teaching job, for I cannot stand to see Caitlin three days a week with no prospect of having her. I’ll need to get her out of my head.” And he stood up.

  “A hundred and fifty?” said Mick. Donal beamed at him. “And you’ll move in straight away – help out straight away?” Donal nodded. “We have a deal.” Mick too rose to his feet, extended his hand, and Donal shook it firmly.

  “A great decision, Mick,” said Donal. “You’re a true businessman and a great man altogether.”

  “I’ll have the money for you in a couple of days,” said Mick, “after you’ve moved in. Cash, is it?”

  “It is. I’ll pack up a few things tonight.”

  Donal and Mick crossed the yard to the barn. Mrs Spillane was in there, littering the temporary pig enclosures with straw, ready for the farrowing sows who snorted and snuffled in a small field off the yard. She nodded again and smiled at Donal. “The horse is fed and watered,” she said. “He’ll just need a bit of hay tonight.”

  “That’s grand, Missis,” said Donal. “Thanks for everything, now.”

  “Go in and make the dinner, would ya?” Spillane issued the command as he slipped the driving harness onto the horse, backed the animal between the shafts of the cart where it waited in the centre of the barn. She tutted, climbed out of a pig pen, and muttered her way back to the kitchen. When the horse was hitched and Donal had assumed his seat in the cart, Mick patted the animal’s neck and looked up at Donal. “Tell me,” he said, “what would you have done if I hadn’t told you Flynn was dying?”

  Donal nodded as if he had expected the question. “Well, Mick, let’s just say it’s as well for all concerned that he’s dying of natural causes. Good luck.” And he clicked-on the horse, rolled out of the barn. Mick removed his cap, scratched his head through his springy hair, and dismissed as false the alarm set off in his head by Donal Kelly’s last words.

  “Why are you getting so thick with Spillane, son?” Dan Kelly enquired quietly over supper. The girls smirked, lowered their eyes, and waited for the answer. Since their father had asked about Caitlin Spillane, they had become very curious about their brother’s sudden fondness for Dunane.

  “I like him, is all,” said Donal. “I know what you said, Daddy, but he’s been fair with me. He’s good craic in the bar.”

  “And has he a fine daughter, I wonder?” Dan asked, looking mildly into Donal’s eyes. Deirdre giggled and Jacintha admonished her with a frown and a kick under the table. Donal blushed a little.

  “He has four daughters,” he replied. “Three of them married and one in the convent.” There followed a surprised silence.

  “Why is he letting you use his horse?”

  “Daddy,” Donal pushed away his plate. The conversation he was about to have, he had been dreading. “Listen, you have to trust me, OK?” Dan swallowed a mouthful of food and rested his wrists on the edge of the table, knife and fork pointing upwards. “I am moving in with Spillane.”

  “What?” was the simultaneous response from all three of his family members. Donal went on hurriedly, “It will be easier for getting to work at the school.”

  “What about work here, son?” asked Dan. “How will we manage here?”

  “I’ve thought about that.” Donal looked at his sisters’ faces. Deirdre was already losing the struggle against tears. Jacintha had raised an eyebrow and slumped in her seat, her arms folded. Her expression seemed to say, “Here we go again.” His father’s expression, though, was most heart rending. There was no anger in Dan’s countenance, just the emptiness left in someone’s eyes when their worst fears are confirmed. “I know a lad – a good lad,” explained Donal earnestly, “and he’ll work hard. You won’t even have to pay him. Spillane will pay him.”

  “What are you saying, Donal?” Dan’s voice was tired. He put down his cutlery carefully, sat back in his chair.

  “His name is Pat O’Meara,” went on Donal. “He’s the youngest of five sons, brought up on a farm out near Dundrum. He’ll work hard, Daddy – harder than I do. You’ll hardly have to do anything and he’ll be here all the time.”

  “Where will he sleep? In your bed, I suppose?”

  Donal nodded. Dan sighed. Deirdre asked if she could leave the table. She got up and went slowly towards the stairs.

  “Can I say something?” Unlike her father’s, Jacintha’s voice was not devoid
of anger. “Well, you’ve done it again, Donal!” Her eyes flashed at her brother. “Dumped us well and truly in the muck and swanned off to please yourself, like you always do!”

  “Jacintha…” Dan began to caution his daughter.

  “No, Daddy! It has to be said. Who was here when you collapsed on the floor? Who went with you on that horrible journey to the hospital, not knowing if you were alive or dead? Who nursed you, Daddy, and did all the extra jobs around the house and the farm? We did! Deirdre and me! And when Deirdre went back to school, sure who stayed here and held the fort? Cooked and cleaned and gave you your medicine, milked the cows…”

  Deirdre stood at the foot of the stairs, sobbing as though her heart would break. Dan bowed his head. Jacintha stood up. She leaned on the table for support but she was trembling with passion. She lowered her voice, stared at her brother. “And where were you, Donal? Huh? When I was giving up school and Deirdre and I were half dead with the work – where were you? Up in Blackwell, larking around with your friends and teaching and studying in the dry and the warm with nothing to do but read and write!” Her voice rose in pitch again.

  “Jacintha, that is enough!” Dan exclaimed, his voice raised. He was afraid of where his daughter might take this outburst. Jacintha turned to challenge her father.

  “That’s right, Daddy, defend him – you always do! Donal can do no wrong. Well, what if I decide to go? Had you thought of that?”

  “No, Jacintha!” Deirdre half screamed from across the kitchen. She rushed forward and threw her arms around her sister’s neck, sobbing into her shoulder.

  “Ah, come on, Jacintha,” started Donal. “Come on, now…”

  “No, Donal!” Jacintha turned her body so that she could hold Deirdre but she looked over her shoulder and glared at her brother. “I have had enough! You are not the only one who doesn’t enjoy skivvying on a farm. So you can bring your… boy into our house and you can skip off again, but I’m not hanging around to pick up the pieces again – Daddy getting depressed and Deirdre missing you like hell, me with no life, all on my own out here. Fine by me, Donal, if you’re replaced.” She looked at her father, kissed Deirdre’s head. “Let’s see if ye can all do without me.” And she pulled away from Deirdre’s fierce embrace and walked determinedly across the kitchen, went upstairs.

  “Don’t go again, Donal,” begged Deirdre. “Don’t leave us again. What’ll we do without the two of ye?”

  Dan rose to comfort his daughter and she flew to him, burying herself in his arms.

  Donal got up, strode across the kitchen, grabbed his coat from the back of the door, and went outside. He was greatly affected by the upset he had caused, grieving already at the prospect of leaving his family. But he had to stay focused. Whatever else he did or did not do, Donal had to get O’Meara installed on his father’s farm. He did not have to work the next day and planned to drive Spillane’s horse the almost twenty-mile round trip to collect Pat O’Meara. As he cooled off in the dark February evening, Donal tried to work out when exactly his life had become so badly out of control.

  Almost four hours after the doctor had left, Jack regained consciousness. For some minutes he lay still, staring blankly at the space above him, occasionally closing and reopening his mouth. His lips seemed very dry. Caitlin did as the doctor had instructed and approached the bedside, offering him water on a spoon. Still he did not look at her; he responded to the moisture instinctively, like a baby bird, thought Caitlin. She spooned water into his mouth until the cup was all but empty then he turned his head aside as if sated.

  “Are you all right?” Caitlin’s voice was soft, concerned, but he did not turn his head to look at her. She wondered if he could hear her. “Are you in pain?” she asked. “Will I get you a tablet?” He did not respond at first, but then, as she began opening the packet of aspirin the doctor had left on the cupboard beside his bed, he lifted his right hand in a gesture of dismissal. She did not know what else to say or do.

  Suddenly, with a monumental effort, he turned over in the bed. Caitlin jumped back in alarm. Still, he did not look at her. His mouth was open and his breathing came fast and noisily. He moaned occasionally – low, animal moans of pain – but he pushed himself onto his elbow. Shaking all over, he sat up. The blanket fell away from his upper body and he sat – hunched, thin, dishevelled – on the side of the bed.

  “I don’t think you should be getting up,” said Caitlin. “You need to rest, the doctor said…” Again, he raised his hand, said nothing. “Do you want something?” Caitlin wrung her hands in nervous helplessness. Flynn slipped his feet to the floor and, bracing his weight against his arms, pushed himself up from the mattress till he stood hunched over and trembling. The transformation in his appearance and demeanour since the day before was startling. It was as if the incident with Donal Kelly had used up a last reserve of strength or will and he had awoken, like Samson, to discover he was weak.

  Like a man twice his age, Flynn turned step by painful step until his back was to Caitlin and he was facing the bed. Then he slowly, slowly bent his knees and began to lower his body to the floor, holding on to the mattress when he reached its height. Caitlin watched, trying to guess his intentions, until he took his right arm away from the mattress and, holding his head and upper body straight, felt blindly about under the bed. All at once she realized what he wanted. She had not emptied it. “Hold on, there,” she said. “I’ll get that for you.” She hunkered down, spied the chamber pot beneath the bed, and pulled it out carefully. Jack closed his eyes as she lifted the pot, half full with cold urine. “I’ll empty it. Be back in a jiff.”

  When she came back, she placed the pot near the bed. “I’ll leave you to it,” she said quickly, adding, “Can you manage?”

  He stood hunched, struggling for breath, hands hanging limply by his sides. As she looked into his face, he frowned sorrowfully and closed his eyes again. A tear was dislodged by the action and his mouth puckered and trembled as though he were trying to fight more. Caitlin left him, full of wonder at the pity in her heart.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Pat O’Meara was chopping wood when Donal Kelly pulled into his father’s farmyard, scattering chickens and ducks before him. One of his brothers, a burly man with fair curly hair, was wearing a rubber apron and boots and carrying a very large, recently sharpened knife. He stopped on his way across the yard to a shed where he had earlier strung up a large pig by its hind feet, ready for slaughter. The pig was squealing loudly, relentlessly. Spillane’s horse, sweating and blowing hard after its long journey, rolled its eyes and snorted in alarm at the sound. Donal got down from the cart and secured the horse as the two men watched him. Saluting Phillip, Donal approached Pat, and the former continued on his way. By the time Donal was close enough to Pat to begin a conversation, the squealing had become a sustained, ear-splitting scream and Spillane’s horse pulled at the reins which tethered it to a fence post and neighed shrilly. Donal had to wait some time before the pig’s agonized cries subsided, then stopped. “How’re you, Pat?” he began quietly. Pat eyed him uncertainly. His hair and forehead were damp with sweat and his shirt sleeves were wet from armpit to elbow from the effort of chopping logs into firewood. But there was a look of fear in his eyes which accounted partially, at least, for the way his chest heaved and the tremor in his hand as he reached to grasp Donal’s in a handshake.

  “Is it time?” he asked. Donal looked into the young man’s clear blue eyes and pitied him. Pat’s brother slopped out of the shed in his gum boots, covered in blood, wiping his hands on a rag. He stood, legs apart and hands on hips, monitoring the flow of blood away from the slaughtered pig and into the runnel which led from the shed to a drain.

  “Almost,” said Donal. “You have to come with me now, Pat.”

  Pat nodded. “I have a bag already packed, like,” he said. “Let me get this wood into the barn, OK?”

  “I’ll give you a hand.” The two men loaded firewood and logs into baskets, swung them onto th
eir shoulders, and balanced them there as they walked the wood from the yard to the barn and threw it onto a large pile in one corner of the building. Pat’s brother had gone back into the shed and placed a small tin trough beneath the profusely bleeding pig. His mother always made black pudding with some of the blood.

  “I’m away for a while,” shouted Pat to his brother through the shed door.

  “Are all the logs cut?”

  “They are – they’re in the barn. There’s enough for a couple of months at least, I’d say, now.”

  “Right so,” said his brother, looking up from the blood pooling in the trough. He didn’t seem to require an introduction to Donal but nodded at him, then looked back at the trough. He had enough. He bent and moved it away from the wound and the pig continued to bleed into the gutter.

  “Can I water the horse?” asked Donal, as he and Pat walked towards the cart.

  “You can, of course. There’s a bucket over there.” Pat nodded towards a metal pail by a pump. “I’ll away in and fetch my things.”

  “Right.” Pat emerged having changed his shirt, washed his face, and combed his hair. He carried a holdall in one hand, thrown back over his shoulder. He looked worried but he smiled at Donal as they climbed onto the cart. When they had pulled away and were proceeding at walking pace up the lane from O’Meara’s farm, Pat turned to look at Donal and asked, “Do you think we could be killed, like?” Donal didn’t look at him.

  “Not you, Pat, no.”

  “Why not?”

  Donal smiled and turned towards him. “Ah, now, you strike me as the lucky kind.” His smile broadened to an open grin. “Come on there,” he urged the horse, and it broke into a leisurely trot. “I’d like to be home before it gets too dark.”