“Oh no, Loch! What did he do? What did he say?” cried Dillon.
“Well, I’m about to tell ye that. He walked about on that big white horse until he came upon some men in a field who were strugglin’ to move a very large stone. Now as ye can imagine, Oisin was like a giant to the men, especially sittin’ atop that big shiny white horse. The men all backed away as Oisin and the horse approached the stone and…” Loch paused, taking a deep breath and slowly letting it out, shaking his head.
“Oh Loch! Please!” Dillon cried out again.
“Oisin wanted to help the weak men because he knew he could move that big stone with no trouble at all. So he leaned over as far as he could to reach the stone and with a flick of his hand, he sent it rolling.”
“Oh, good for Oisin,” Dillon shouted, raising his fist in the air.
Aideen pulled at his arm, pushing it down and holding his hand tightly.
“What’s wrong?” Dillon asked her.
“Ye have to wait for the rest,” she whispered.
There was Loch, bent over as if he had just flicked the stone himself with his arm still in the air above him. They all took a deep breath as he wobbled and tipped back and forth, and after what seemed an eternity, he fell to the floor.
“Oh no!” shouted Dillon, leaping to his feet. “Get up, Oisin! Get up and get back on yer horse!”
“Sit down, Dillon,” Aideen said, pulling on his hand.
“But now he can never go back.”
“Not only that,” Loch said, climbing slowly to his feet like an old man, “three hundred years had passed and instantly, Oisin began to age right before their eyes as the men all looked on in shock. Oisin saw the big white horse runnin’ off in the distance toward the sea and when the horse disappeared into the mist,” Loch said softly as he lay down on the rug before them. “Oisin closed his eyes and took his last breath.”
They sat and watched in horror as Loch’s chest rose high and then he exhaled, his body lying limp before them. No matter how many times Loch had told the tale, the reaction was always the same; they all sat with their hands over their mouths, their eyes wide with fear and wonder and the gasps of shock that Loch so longed to hear.
Then the rousing thunder of applause filled the room, except for Dillon. Poor Dillon sat with tear-filled eyes at the thought of Oisin dying there on the ground, instead of riding back to Niamh.
Their cheers were silenced by a loud knock at their front door.
“It’s Christmas. Who in this world comes knockin’ on Christmas, let alone after dark?” Noreen fussed, leaping from her chair and shuffling to the door.
There in the doorway stood Liam, Dan’s assistant trainer from the Curragh race track. He was holding his cap in his hands and his head low. “Beggin’ yer pardon, Mrs. Flynn, is Mister Dan at home?”
“Well, a course he’s home, it’s Christmas in case ye forgot. Don’t just stand there, get inside.”
The children were all still sitting on the rug but Loch had climbed to his feet and taken his bow. “Okay ye lot, off to bed!”
Dan had already risen to his feet when he heard the voice of the young man at the door and met him half way into the parlor. “Liam, what brings ye out on Christmas night?” he asked, pulling his pipe from between his teeth.
“It’s Shorty Green, Boss. He’s dead. About an hour ago.” The boy’s words were quick and choppy, and sliced through Dan from his ears to his feet.
“Are ye certain of it, Liam? I saw him only yesterday and he was in good health,” Dan answered, sitting his pipe in an ashtray on the end table.
“I’m sure alright. It was me who found him in the stable, sir. I was cleanin’ up and heard him shout and then I heard him fall. I ran to see what was wrong and he was lyin’ there with his hands pulled up to his chest, clutchin’ his coat. He could hardly speak. I told him I’d run for help but it’s Christmas, sir, and when I reached the Doc’s, he wasn’t home. They’d all gone down to Naas to Doc’s daughter Kimmy’s house for Christmas and hadn’t yet returned home. I got Caffey but he’s not a doctor so he wasn’t much help. Oh, Boss, what’ll we do now?”
“So what’s this all about, Dan? Why’s this boy…”
Dan swallowed hard and said, “Shorty Green is dead.”
Chapter Four
Dan Flynn had worked at the race track as a trainer for Francis “Shorty” Green for nearly twelve years. He made a fine living working for Shorty, and Dan’s experience and ability to produce winners had made Shorty a very rich man. Shorty wasn’t but a few years older than Dan but he was as round as he was tall and he only stood five feet two if he stood an inch. Dan had bred, pulled and raised every prize-winning race horse Shorty ever owned and he was fair with him when it came to his salary.
Dan walked Liam to the door and sent him on his way without any comforting words. Liam was right to worry. He was Dan’s assistant trainer and at seventeen, the sole support of his ailing mother and younger brothers. If Shorty was dead, most likely his wife would sell off his horses and Dan and Liam would be out of a job, at least until spring. Shorty’s death was in and of itself sad news but the fallout from his demise was even worse. Noreen already knew this and was instantly rushing to count their money and trying to plan ahead.
“Noreen, we’ll get through this. Don’t go off the deep end on me now, woman,” Dan said, finding her at the table and at her wits’ end counting the money she’d squirreled away in a can atop the hearth.
“Daniel Joseph Flynn, don’t ye tell me not ta worry. We’ve a crisis on our hands and I intend to prepare for the worst.”
“Well, ye go on ahead then and do that. I’m goin’ ta bed. I’ll not lose any sleep over this but I will say a prayer for Shorty. He was a good man, Noreen. Let’s allow his soul to rest before we start countin’ pence.”
Dan patted Noreen on her shoulder and followed through with his words and went straight to bed however, not all of his words were true. As he lie awake thinking of what tomorrow would bring, the muffled chatter and rustlings of the children settling in for the night clouded his thoughts. He was concerned even if he denied it to Noreen. As the head of his household, he couldn’t allow them to see that concern and cause them unease. After all, they still had the farm and a bit of savings. He inventoried his expenses and regretted any purchases he’d made in recent months. Perhaps he didn’t need that new harness and saddle for Tammy, or maybe they could have done without adding another horse when he purchased Goblin. Goblin had turned out to be unbreakable and ate like a hog, even though Dan knew he’d be a great horse with proper training. Dan’s thoughts were interrupted by the whispers of the children, which worried him and kept him awake.
* * *
“Who was that fellow at the door, Aideen?” Dillon whispered beneath their blanket.
“Liam. He works with Da at the horse racin’ track.”
“Why would he call on Christmas?”
“Must have been terribly important, me thinks. No one should ever come ta call on Christmas, unless it’s life or death.”
“So either someone was born or someone died?”
“Let’s pray someone was born. What a blessin’ to be born on the same day as our Lord.” Aideen’s voice grew louder.
“Shush, ye two! No one was born. Shorty died today,” said Loch.
“Who’s Shorty?” Dillon asked.
“Shorty is me Da’s boss. We’ll all most likely starve now since Shorty’s wife is a greedy old bird who likes fancy thin’s. Now go ta sleep. We’re gonna need it.”
Patrick wouldn’t lose any sleep over this but Bran was sniffling as was Aideen. Dan shook his head and frowned when he overheard Loch telling them to be quiet and go to sleep. Yet again, he passed by the chance to apologize in order to find sleep for himself. It was typical of Loch to snap at them and hurt their feelings in an effort to gain their obedience. Unfortunately, the version of him in his father’s eyes was clear as day. Loch would never lose sleep over causing anyone else grie
f. He just wasn’t built that way. Dan believed Loch had no idea how it felt to be hurt. It would take a tragic set of circumstances to enlighten his lack of conscience. Dan chose not to intervene once the room fell silent.
Patrick remained silent and offered no opinion of Loch’s remark about starving. He’d spent most of his years under far worse conditions and he and Dillon hadn’t starved to death yet. Dan did wonder how these fortunate babes would be able to live on less but his mind was weary and his thoughts fell away as the children fell silent.
It was another hour before Noreen finally settled into bed. Having found Dan still awake, she explained that she had planned out their meals for the whole week, rationing here and stretching there. She’d managed to stretch their resources quite a bit yet there was the echo of fear in her voice that they still wouldn’t have enough until the spring crops came in. They’d most likely have to sell almost all of their potatoes, carrots and onions in order to make their rent and feed the livestock. She’d even entertained selling off two of the horses.
Breakfast was only eggs and bread and none of the children questioned it. Dan was up before the sun and off to the track to assess the full consequence of Shorty’s death. The horses still needed tending to and he needed answers. He headed to the track office as soon as Liam arrived to cover him, to inquire on arrangements for Shorty as well as his own personal status now that Shorty was gone.
“Good mornin’ to ya, Dan,” said the well-dressed steward, sitting behind a wide desk covered with open newspapers.
Dan rarely had call to visit the office and had perhaps only been inside the building a few times. The first was when he came to look for work and by a stroke of luck, met Shorty while he was registering his horses and inquiring about a good man to handle them. Dan was not a forward speaking man, yet the necessity of caring for his blooming family gave cause for him to speak up on his own behalf and ask for the job. Shorty hired him on the spot and the rest was history–until today.
“I’m supposin’ ye’ve come for news on Shorty.”
“Aye, that’s the purpose of me visit, Mister Caffey. I’ve also come to see what the arrangements will be.” Dan spoke with his hat in his hands and his heart in his throat.
“Well now, Dan, it’s a bit too soon for all that. I doubt Fanny has even had him dressed yet. The poor thing was stricken so with grief, she passed out right there in the street when Father O’Hara broke the news. He caught her right in his arms, he did. Thank the Lord he’s a strong man, aye?”
Caffey appeared untouched by Shorty’s passing and it was obvious to Dan that he’d most likely need to turn directly to Fanny Green for any answers regarding her intentions. He’d barely met the woman once and that was years before. The world stood still for now and it was out of his hands.
“Dan, hear me out now, ye’re the finest trainer we got ‘round here. Don’t go sendin’ yerself to an early grave as well thinkin’ yer days are numbered. Someone is always waitin’ for a spot in these stables and we’ll sing yer praises. Have no fear in that.”
Caffey’s words fell on deaf ears. Dan was already convinced his time at the track was coming to an abrupt and sour end, even though the racing business was booming. Despite the fact so many free men living in Caragh had money to spend, many of whom had been in racing and been in the horse trade longer than he, he still feared the worst. The chances of him finding anyone close to the caliber of gentleman as Francis Green to work for were as thin as the hair on a newborn babe. Being a realist and never a dreamer, Dan simply nodded at Caffey and went back to work.
“Well, did ye get any word?” asked Liam, who upon seeing Dan’s expressionless face added, “oh, we’re all for the poor house.”
“No poor house for us yet but we are at the mercy of Mrs. Green. We can only hope that she knows enough about this business to continue runnin’ these horses or her brother steps in and...”
“Brother? Oh Lord help us all! He’s a drunk and an ass, if ye ask me.” Liam dropped himself onto a stool and slapped his hands against his head.
“Now Liam, we need patience and it’s best if we just get to work and let them sort this out. We’ve got no choice in the matter. Now get these stalls cleaned out and I’ll be on to me own work shortly.”
Dan stepped out of the stables and into the cold morning. It was barely daylight and a front of warm air moved in over the cold, causing an eerie mist just above the ground. This way and that way he glanced and only spied a few young stable hands pulling in bales of hay and filling feedbags with oats. No one looked in his direction and for a moment, he was invisible in the foggy darkness.
Dan pulled his pipe from his inside coat pocket, emptied it, repacked it and slid it between his thin lips. Several times he struck a match but a cool breeze kept blowing it out. He turned his back to block the wind and as he did, Fanny’s carriage pulled up in front of the office and out stepped Fanny’s brother, Pearse.
“Did ye see? Did ye see him? Not lettin’ time waste, if ye ask me. Fur coat and no knickers that one,” said Liam, dashing out from the stables and running up to him.
“I seen him plain as day. Did he see me? I doubt it and I don’t know if he ever will,” Dan replied, shaking out the match and dropping it to ground.
“I’m tellin’ ya, I ain’t got a good feelin’ about this.”
“Doesn’t matter how ye feel, lad. Fact of life is he’s gonna look out for Fanny’s best interest–which I’m sure mirrors his own. Or it could be the other way ‘round.” Dan winked, puffed on his pipe one last time, tapped the smoldering ashes out onto the ground and smashed them with his boot.
“Don’t ever take up the pipe, Liam.”
“I won’t sir. Me Ma would kill me.”
“All done in there, are ya?”
“Aye, sir.” Liam answered with a nod, still watching and waiting for Pearse to emerge. Dan didn’t have an idea at all as to why Liam was watching because Pearse had never set foot on the backside. Nonetheless, Liam didn’t look away for more than a few minutes before checking again just in case Pearse wore his cheap shoes today.
“Keep to the backside and get groomin’ the others. I’m gonna walk Fanny’s Boy in the bull ring and warm him up. Oh, and ready that pony. This one still needs a little encouragement.”
Dan haltered Fanny’s Boy, Shorty’s most prized colt, and walked him away into the lifting mist.
* * *
“Mornin’, Mister Caffey. I suppose ye’ve been expectin’ me?” asked Pearse, taking a seat opposite Caffey and folding his hands in his lap.
“To tell the truth, no, I wasn’t expectin’ any of Shorty's kin, especially not this mornin’, yet it appears we’re not wastin’ any time. Pearse, is it?” Caffey leaned forward to shake Pearse’s hand.
“Oh, pardon me, aye, Pearse Duffy of the Dublin Duffys?”
“Of course. How may I help ye, Mr. Duffy?”
“I’ve come on behalf of me dear sister; bless her broken heart, o’er the loss of her dear husband Francis. Of course ye’re aware of his sudden and unexpected demise.”
“Why yes, Mr. Duffy. I was one of the first called to aid.”
“My sister is currently in no condition to discuss business where my departed brother-in-law’s interests here at The Curragh is concerned. However, on her behalf, of course, I’ll be takin’ care of the sale of his horses.”
“The sale of his horses?” Caffey sat up.
“Why, yes sir. My sister has no interest in the racin’ trade and I have business to attend to in Dublin, so the quicker we can manage this, the better for all involved.”
“Mr. Duffy, ye are aware of several gentlemen, men with families who were in the employ of Shorty, excuse me, Francis?” Caffey’s agitation was quickly becoming obvious.
“Of course I am. However, I’m sure that these men, if capable at their trades, can secure other employment in no time.”
Pearse’s careless attitude toward the livelihood of hard-working folk set Caffey ablaze
but business is business and if Fanny truly wanted the horses sold, he’d post it as he normally did. He took a deep breath and rose to his feet. “Well, Mr. Duffy, will ye be serving these men their notice today or shall they continue their work until the sale?”
“Of course the horses will still require care and feedin’ so they should stay on until they’re sold. I’ll check Francis’ books for the salaries and settle up with them on the day of sale.”
“That could take weeks, Mr. Duffy. Ye don’t expect these men to be waitin’ weeks for their wages?” Caffey’s pot was boiling over. The blatant heartlessness of men with more than they deserved always served to ignite him in his dealings with them. He opened his desk drawer slowly and eyed his flask but slid it closed and sat back in his chair.
“Considerin’ ye’ll be scratchin’ all of Francis’ races, startin’ today, the horses won’t be generatin’ any income so as it is, Fanny’ll be payin’ them out of pocket.”
Pockets which were lined from the backs of these men, I’d wager, Caffey thought.
“Mr. Caffey?”
“My apologies, Mr. Duffy. Well, if ye’d like ta speak with yer brother-in-law’s trainer, his name is…”
“Daniel Flynn. I know his name.”
“I was about ta say ye can find him on the backside. I’m sure he’s already warmin’ up Fanny’s Boy for his race, which o course he isn’t runnin’ today.”
“Sir, do I detect a bit of disagreement in yer voice?”
“Maybe a wee bit. I just hate to lose great horses, almost as much as losin’ fine people such as Francis. Now, if our business is done for this mornin’, I really should be gettin' back to me work.” He rose again and forced his right hand from his side to shake Pearse’s hand.
“By all means. Don’t let me keep ye from yer work. So I’ll find yer man Mister Flynn where?”
“The backside. The stables.” Caffey waved his hand in the general direction and nervously shuffled papers on his desk as if he were looking for something.
Hope from the Ocean: (The Prequel to Fireflies ) Page 4