By February, Liam and Peter had in fact been taken on by another trainer on the Curragh and although making less than they had with Dan, they were employed and had a salary they could depend on. As a trainer, Dan was undeniably the best around. However, for some odd reason there were no offers of a new position and he attributed it to Pearse. Frightened men are capable of the worst deeds. The fear Dan inflicted in Pearse that day at the track had left its mark and Dan believed he was paying for it and may be for a long time.
The children were adjusting to their new leaner diet and continued with good health and cheer as they always had. Loch found new stories to tell and Dan was pleased to see him finally engaging in conversation after Sunday mass with Lucy, instead of staring at her from behind. Conversation was presently the limit of their courtship but those rough edges were smoothing out a bit and perhaps even being polished.
By spring, Dan had divvied the crop into what to sell and what they would need to live on but as time passed into autumn, the family’s portion began to shrink until one by one, their sheep and other livestock had dwindled to none, save for the horses and chickens. Dan worked with the horses daily and had taken Dillon completely under his tutelage. Noreen’s spirits were low from time to time but the children had plenty to spare and they lifted her up with their graciousness and their ability to adapt to their new lifestyle. Christmas was sparse yet as with every previous year, they bundled up and walked to midnight mass and prayed for a more prosperous new year.
“Dan, as much as it pains me so, ye’ll just have to sell one of the horses. These children need meat and we have none left. The rent has to be paid and the small ones need milk. If we could trade one for a cow…”
“Noreen, I’ve already arranged to sell Frost.”
“Frost? Why Frost? Why not that devil horse?”
“Goblin isn’t a devil horse. Dillon’s worked wonders with the animal and it would hurt the child to let it go.”
“What about the others? What of Rory?”
“What of Rory? The boy is growin’ like a weed. Noreen, it’s settled. I’m sellin’ Frost to Liam’s boss as a companion horse.”
“Will ye have enough for a cow?”
“Aye. A cow it will be and milk for the children.” He excused himself to his chair and watched the children at their studies. He’d given up his pipe months ago, unable to justify the expense of tobacco. His cough still lingered but mostly in the mornings.
* * *
Another winter was upon them and they were holding on and getting by. Patrick barely noticed the change but for the fact that Noreen had her cow and no one was starving. Rory was older and was now allowed to sit in on the evening schooling and reveled in Loch’s wonderful stories afterwards. Loch had taken a job as a grounds man at the track at Dan’s insistence, when he heard from Liam in town one day that Caffey was looking for help. He knew the land well from having tagged along many times with his father. Having helped to run the farm from an early age had shown he had a knack for it, and they certainly needed his wages.
Patrick carried on in his own existence, doing his chores and was efficient at his work, although not enthusiastic or with any purpose other than what was required. Dillon, on the other hand, practically lived in the barn. Dan had schooled him well and he became an expert rider and trainer at only twelve. It was obvious to Patrick that his uncle believed the boy had a very bright future and figured if he never again set foot on the track, Dillon would carry on for him in his way of doing things.
While the other children studied and played, Patrick would still occasionally withdraw into his daydreams of living another life. He knew for certain he was not a farmer or a horse handler. In these activities he found no passion whatsoever and he still hadn’t found a single chore or activity he was any good at except for daydreaming. The only thing he’d ever done well that actually mattered to him was taking care of Dillon and his services were no longer required.
He’d struck up a friendship with a grubby man at the market who made weekly trips up to Dublin. With Loch now working at the Curragh track, Patrick was put in charge of taking the potatoes to the market and there amongst strangers, he felt at ease. He could be anyone he wanted to be and play a part. No one knew he was an orphan or that the Flynn’s weren’t his parents. No one cared where he came from. They were all too busy trying to get the best price and come home with an empty wagon.
“Good mornin’ to ye Mister Flynn. What do ye have there in ye wagon this fine day?” said a burly man sitting tall in a large wagon.
Patrick pulled alongside of the man and nodded before jumping down from his seat and climbing into the back of the flat bed. “I’ve some nice clean potatoes for ye sir.”
“I look forward to yer wagon, lad. Ye save me time and time is money.”
Patrick assisted the man with loading his wagon and he took the lot. It was barely six o’clock in the morning and he was in no hurry to return home just yet. Thursday’s were his days to explore but best of all, to talk with the large, chatty man on his wagon and hear of other places and experiences that reached far beyond his own imagination.
“These ships, where do they go?”
“Why, they go all the way across the sea, lad. England, Canada, America and beyond.”
“Have ye been there, Mr. Mackay?
“Oh no, lad, but I’ve carried many a load to the boats and watched them sail away. I’ve never travelled beyond Dublin. Ever been to Dublin? Oh what a place that is,” Mackay said, laughing. His breath blew a musky scent that made Patrick wince and draw back.
“How much is a ticket for such a long journey?”
“Since I’ve never inquired about the trip, I can’t tell ye, but there’s people goin’ aboard in fancy duds and them that’s in their bare feet. I’d guess it all depends on what ye can afford to pay.”
Mackay went on with his usual banter as Patrick imagined what kind of worlds were beyond Irish soil. He asked question after question and even asked what happened if the ship sank. Mackay twirled his words and embellished his stories but Patrick’s knowledge of this sort of man cut through the romance of his tales.
“All I know is, if she sinks, ye better be a mighty good swimmer because there’s creatures in the sea no man has laid eyes on until he’s been swallowed whole by one.”
“What if…” Patrick said and then gave a long pause.
“What if what, lad? Spit it out, will ya?”
“What if I wanted to go to Dublin? Would ye take me there?”
“What about yer kin and yer farm? Won’t they miss ya?”
“Na. There’s plenty of ‘em to do the job.”
“I’ll make ye a deal. If ye want to go with me up to Dublin, I’ll take ye but ye have to unload me wagon at the ship as payment.”
“That’s a deal.”
“When do ye want to make this journey lad?”
“I’ll let ye know when I’m ready. Thank ye, Mister Mackay.”
Regardless of Mackay’s entertaining company and his offer, by noon Patrick began his journey home. As weeks passed into months of the same drudgery, his independence grew as did he. Finally, in the spring of 1844, his fifteenth year was drawing to a close. He was still a bit small and skinny for his age but that didn’t hold him back. In his heart and mind he was an adult and had lived through more than any grownup he knew. He believed himself world wise far beyond his years and had reached a place in his soul where he could either stay put and live a banal existence, caught in this reality forever, or run for his life.
He decided to run.
Chapter Six
“Well, good mornin’!” Aunt Noreen shouted as she normally did when the children flocked into the kitchen for breakfast. She was strangely cheerful and the children were befuddled at first but quickly and joyfully welcomed her mood.
Uncle Dan was nowhere to be found and Dillon was of course the first to remark on his absence.
“Aunt Noreen, where is Uncle Dan? He’s not havi
n’ breakfast?”
“Let me finish up and take my seat with ye all and I’ll fill ye in on the good news!”
Aunt Noreen rushed about as she used to years before, flopping plates on the table. What barely filled the plates was of no significance this morning to her or the children. Whatever good news she was withholding for now took precedence over their stomachs.
Once she finished and the final fork had been handed out, she lowered her head to give thanks and said the grace. Patrick often wondered why none of the children were ever asked to give it but he had no complaints over his aunt’s impassioned words, and looked forward to them every day. Aunt Noreen always provided a deeply moving prayer, even during the most meager of meals and today, she obviously had something bordering on miraculous to share. Brianne quietly took his hand and squeezed it tight, as did Rory. Rory had been taken with Patrick as a baby and still felt a strong attachment to him—even if Patrick did keep him at arm’s length.
“Oh heavenly Father, thank ye for all of our blessin’s. Sometimes we can be selfish and ungrateful but we’ll work on that. Thank ye for the continued good health of these children ye’ve blessed us with and thank ye on this beautiful mornin’ for sendin’ our husband and father to meet with a man on The Curragh about a job! In Jesus name, amen!”
All of the children followed her with their amens, before they realized what she’d said. Bran was the first to cry out, “Ma! Did ye say Da’s at the race track about a job?”
With Bran’s question, the children began a ruckus, all vying for her attention to answer their questions, until finally Aunt Noreen stood up and shouted, “AYE! That’s what I said, children! Now let us all pray together and pray hard that yer Da comes home with a new job.”
“Oh Ma, we will! We will!” shouted Aideen.
“Ma, does this mean we ain’t poor no more?” asked Bran.
“Now let’s not put the cart before the horse, children. Even if yer Da doesn’t get this job, I know the door has opened and soon, he’ll be back ta work doin’ what he loves and what puts more money in his pockets and food on the table,” Aunt Noreen responded, shaking her napkin and placing it in her lap.
“Now go on and eat! There’s still work ta do ‘round here!” She smiled.
“Plenty of it, too!” Kevan added.
* * *
With Loch at the track by sunrise, it was left to Kevan to mind the younger children and for Patrick to load the wagon. Although this wasn’t a market day, tomorrow was, and they would make preparations and cover it with a tarp to have it ready. Patrick found it almost impossible to not think of his plan to leave Caragh and run off to Dublin in search of his future. He’d barely slept and was groggy and weak, and it took him nearly twice as long as usual to complete the task. Rory ran up to him and took the other end of the sacks of potatoes, trying with all of his might to help Patrick lift them up into the wagon.
“Rory, aren’t ye supposed to be helpin’ the girls pull the weeds in yer Ma’s flower garden?”
“I don’t want ta pull weeds! I’m a man, not a girl!”
Patrick smiled and lifted him into the wagon. “Here, I’ll hand ye the sacks and ye make sure they’re set correctly. How’s that?”
“Is that somethin’ a man would do?”
“A man would make sure the weight was even so that the sacks don’t tip the wagon. It’s a very important job”
“Well, I’ll do it then.” Rory was growing into a tough little fellow. The poor boy had no memory of life before the leaner times hit. He was altogether different from the others and was already mature and serious. Patrick thought him similar to how Dillon was at the same age. As much as he’d struggled to keep the harsh realities of life from Dillon as a small child, there was no way to hide going to bed with an empty stomach and waking up to one as well. His uncle never allowed them to starve or even go a day without eating but a life of rations and the knowledge that you could be out in the street the first of every month seeps its way into your psyche and either thickens your skin or peels it off. Although Loch’s stories were a welcome distraction to their plight, life would have to turn on its head before Rory would believe more than what he saw right before his eyes.
Spending the morning with Rory put second thoughts in Patrick’s mind about leaving. He knew how to handle the doubts and pessimism which had become engrained in Rory over the past couple of years better than his brothers and sisters and doubted his aunt and uncle even noticed. Several times he’d heard his aunt remark on Rory’s less than pleasant temperament but only to chastise him for it. They didn’t have time to see the differences. They barely had time to see him at all. Aunt Noreen could be tender at times and had shown him on the day Goblin stomped his fingers she had it in her to reveal a sweeter part of herself but only under the most immediately necessary situations. The cheerful spirit was always present on the surface yet beneath that beat the heart of a woman whose purpose had been laid out for her from childhood. Aunt Noreen was a task driven woman and almost nothing, not even the emotional needs of her children, got in the way. Since they purchased the cow, the majority of her days were spent making cheese. The rest she spent cleaning, gardening and somehow managing to feed ten people on food enough for five, if that.
“It’s about to rain, Rory. Let’s get this wagon into the barn,” Patrick said, lifting the boy down.
The first few drops came down hard and fast and left dark wet spots on the dirt three inches wide. Within moments, a heavy downpour covered County Kildare as far as the eye could see. The water ran through the land in streams where the level grassy plains folded together and the smell was fresh and sweet. Patrick and Rory sat silently in the back of the wagon, looking out through the open barn doors. Before long, Patrick lay back over a sack of potatoes and within minutes was dozing in and out of sleep.
Rory made a run for it to the house. Patrick surmised that the lack of company left him bored and Rory mentioned he was getting hungry as well. Patrick’s nap took him to a dream which left him questioning everything and every thought he had. His obsession with running away weighed heavy on his mind and often found its way into his dreams in one form or another. This dream, however, was the most vivid and foretelling as any he ever had.
He felt as if he’d been sleeping for hours until he heard Brianne at the barn door, calling him to lunch. When his eyes opened, he saw the largest, brightest, most colorful rainbow he’d ever seen in his life. He sat up in the wagon for a moment and rubbed at his eyes, thinking himself still asleep and yet caught up in his dream.
In his dream, he was riding the big white horse to Tír na nÓg. He was Oisin and he’d lived to return but he couldn’t find his way back. The horse just galloped in circles over the sea and was getting weary and slow. He was frightened that the horse would exhaust itself and they’d fall into the sea and drown. Out of nowhere a woman’s hand emerged from the mist surrounding him and he pushed it away shouting, “I’m lookin’ for Tír na nÓg. I won’t take the hand of a sea creature and drown. I must find the island.”
A voice spoke to him which he believed belonged to the woman who’d reached out for him. “Oisin, it’s Niamh and I’ve come to help ye find yer way.”
“I don’t believe ye. Show yerself or I’ll deem ye an imposter come to kill me.”
“I cannot. I cannot leave the island without my horse but if ye reach far out into the mist and take my hand, I can lead ye back to me.”
Patrick did not trust the voice and chose not to take the risk. The horse faltered and then stumbled, falling into the sea with a splash that covered Patrick with the salty spray and nearly knocked him into the water.
“Please, horse. Don’t kill us. I don’t want to die. Swim. Swim.”
The horse turned and spoke. “If ye do not trust the offering of our rescue then I can take ye back to Ireland. That is our only hope, or I shall certainly drown us both.”
Patrick leapt from the back of the horse and began to swim as fast as he could.
He swam for hours until he weakened. He felt regret for not taking the hand offered. Even if this was some evil sea creature, being pulled under the waves and eaten was appearing a better fate than dying this slow, agonizing death, trying to find land yet certainly in the end to face his demise. Then, just as he believed all was lost and he was about to sink into his watery grave forever, he began to float. His eyes burned from the salt water and his arms and legs weighed a thousand pounds–yet he was still alive.
The thick fog swirled around him and then lifted like a veil, leaving a clear blue sky above him as the sun warmed his face. A moment later, he hit something hard and the waves pushed him onto a beach. He rolled onto his back and mustered the strength to rise. Before him, blocking out the sun, stood Niamh, sparkling on her big white horse. She said not a word and only shook her head and turned back to the sea.
When he stood and looked around, he realized he was back in Ireland after all and a deep sadness fell over him. He crawled on his hands and knees until he found himself at the water’s edge, crying out for Niamh to come back, but she didn’t. There was no sight of her or the horse. He knelt for a very long time and stared out at the horizon but she never returned for him.
The next thing he knew, he was standing in the middle of the potato field, soaking wet and staring at this stunning arc of color. He tried to imagine where it began and where it ended or if it simply wrapped around the entire earth, starting and ending on itself like a giant circle. He was too old to believe in Leprechauns and having never seen a real pot of gold, cared not to find the end of it if there really was one.
Hope from the Ocean: (The Prequel to Fireflies ) Page 6