He struggled to understand his dream but the rainbow distracted him from those thoughts as he stood gazing at it until it faded into the sky. He didn’t even realize for almost the entire time, Brianne was standing next to him, holding his hand and looking up at the rainbow as well. When the sensation of her squeezing his hand finally penetrated his brain, he pulled away and looked at her suspiciously; frightened that she’d tell the others of his peculiar behavior.
“I won’t tell.”
“What?”
“I won’t tell anyone that ye were sleeping or about the rainbow.”
“What makes ye think I’m worried about that?”
“I just know. I know everythin’ about ye, Patrick. I’ve always known.”
“There’s nothin’ ta know. I am who I am. There’s nothin’ ye know better than anyone else.”
“I know ye don’t belong here. I know ye feel alone, even when yer not. I know ye’re thinkin’ of leavin’. I don’t want ye ta go but if it will make ye happy, then, well…”
“Ye’re right. I don’t think ye should tell.”
“When?”
“When, what?”
“When will ye be leavin’?”
“Soon.”
“Ye better come on and eat then because unless me Da gets this new job, there might not be enough to last the week.”
“How do ye know that?”
“I told ya, Patrick,” she said with a laugh. “I just know.”
Brianne tugged on his hand and led the way to the house. Aunt Noreen was dishing up the weak stew that was to be their lunch, and most likely their dinner as well.
“No word, Ma?” asked Kevan.
Aunt Noreen just continued about her work, handing out the bowls and spoons, but she was humming a tune and smiling, which lifted the children’s hopes as well.
“Rory helped me with the wagon today,” Patrick said to Kevan. “I hope that it was alright ta allow it.”
“I couldn’t give a care one way or the other as long as the work is done,” Kevan replied, chewing his stew-soaked soda bread.
Rory looked up from his bowl and smiled at Patrick.
“Patrick, what the devil were ye doin’ out there in the field?” Dillon inquired.
“Oh, ye saw me, did ya?”
“Well, a course I did. We all did. We were at the door watchin’ ye and Brianne just starin’ up at that rainbow like a couple a statues!” Dillon laughed.
“I suppose I was lookin’ for me pot ‘o gold.”
“Aye, as if that was possible. Ye’d stand there fer a lifetime lookin’ fer that,” Dillon mumbled.
It saddened Patrick to think his brother had become so cynical but perhaps it was more about reality than cynicism and more about acceptance than hopelessness. After all, Dillon was content. He was nearly the same height now as Patrick and thicker all over. His voice had even changed seemingly overnight and he hadn’t slept in the same bed with the girls since before Christmas. He told Patrick it seemed unnatural for a grown boy to sleep so close to a girl cousin. He spoke to their aunt about it and requested permission to make a bed on the floor, citing his concerns and she agreed that since Aideen and Brianne were growing as well, it would give Aideen, Brianne and now Rory more room to sleep.
The rain passed and they all went back to work. Dillon and Aideen saddled Goblin and Boney and raced up and down in the grassy unplowed meadow beyond the potato fields. Patrick took Rory to help him clean the barn and as Loch had done before him, he handed Rory the smallest shovel he could find and put him to work, although in a much kinder way.
* * *
As evening approached, Noreen nervously paced in the yard, occasionally sitting down on the front stoop and then rising and pacing again until at last, she saw Dan and Tammy coming up the road. She walked to meet him, calling out behind her to Brianne to check the bread and the stew and set the table for dinner. Her walk turned into a run and finally, Dan and Tammy were within feet of her. Dan didn’t even bring Tammy to a halt before swinging his leg over the saddle and hopping to the ground. Noreen stopped, catching her breath and fanning herself with her apron.
“Dan, how are ya, love? Is it good news?”
“It is good news and a little bad news as well but the good outweighs the bad.”
Noreen flung her arms up around his neck and squeezed him tight, planting one kiss after the other on his prickly cheek. Dan took Tammy by the reigns and the three of them walked slowly back to the house.
Chapter Seven
“So give me the good news first because the bad news is always just a hitch in the good,” Noreen spoke, taking Dan’s arm.
“First, let’s not tell the children until I know fer sure.”
“Well, what’ll we say to ‘em? They’re burstin’ at the seams.”
“Then we’ll have ta tell them the truth, I suppose. We just don’t know yet but we’ll find out in a few days or so.”
“That’s the bad news, then?”
“Aye, but there’s other bad news.”
“Okay, Dan, out with it. Out with it all.” Noreen stopped in the road and placed her hands on her hips.
“There’s a gentleman by the name a Jameson. He’s a lawyer from Dublin. He has a young daughter ‘bout the age of Aideen who loves horses and he wants to hire a man with experience to teach the girl ta ride and he also needs me to take care of his horses.”
“In Dublin?” she exclaimed.
“No, no, no. They have an estate a couple miles east of The Curragh. That’s how he found me. He stopped in the office and Caffey gave him me name–said I was the best. I told Caffey I hadn’t worked with Jumpers or taught in years except fer Dillon, but I know I can do it.”
“What d’ye say this man does fer a livin’?” Noreen asked, squinting at him and folding her arms beneath her bosom.
“He’s a lawyer. He stays in Dublin durin’ the week and comes home on the weekend to see his wife and child.”
“One child?”
“Aye, just the one. After this girl, his wife could no longer have any children. That’s not a crime, ye know.”
“Poor, poor dear, how does she get anythin’ done–so what of the wage?”
“That’s the good news.”
Dan moved close to his wife, took her gently by the shoulders, slid his big hands down to her elbows and stared deeply into her eyes.
“Almost as much as Shorty Green and I don’t have ta split it with anyone.”
Noreen let out a yelp. Her hand flew over her mouth and tears began to well in her eyes.
“One more thing. He has a loft above the barn and since he’s not home on the week days, part of the job is watchin’ over the family and property while he’s in Dublin. That means I’ll have to live there durin’ the week.”
“It’s not that far, I suppose, but I don’t understand why ye have ta stay there overnight.”
“Oh, come on now, wife, most days I didn’t even return from the track until dark anyway.”
“I know, but I’ve gotten used ta havin’ ye ‘round,” she said, raising her bright green eyes.
“Noreen, it’s meat and sheep and chickens and no more worryin’. Kevan is old enough to handle things and he’s got Patrick ta help.”
“Well…”
“Ye can do this, Noreen. If he takes me on, ye’ve got ta do this,” Dan insisted but took her into his arms and hugged her tight.
Noreen sniffled and wiped her eyes and then pulled back to place her hands on his face and give him a nod of agreement. While they were speaking, Tammy walked off towards the house and Brianne snatched her up by the reins. She stood and watched her parents as they strolled, arm in arm. Bellowing laughter came from their direction and Brianne knew the news must be good.
“Tam, it’s good news, isn’t it, old girl?” she whispered, patting the horse on the muzzle and stroking her shiny black forehead.
“It’s Tam! Da’s home!” shouted Bran, taking off down the road to meet his parents.
“Da! Ye’ve almost missed dinner but we waited fer ya!”
“Gather everyone into the parlor and yer Da and I will share the news,” Noreen instructed, waving him off, not yet ready to turn loose of her husband’s arm.
“Before we go in, there’s one more thing I gotta tell ye,” Dan whispered with a sigh.
“More bad news?”
“The man knows almost nothin’ about horses. He wants me to take a trip with him for few days, that is, if he hires me, to buy the horses for his daughter.”
“Whatever ye need ta do to get the job," she answered, taking him again by the arm and leading him into the house.
The children were already lined up and waiting in the parlor when they entered.
“Might as well not keep ye waitin’ children. A man is lookin’ for someone to help him purchase and train horses for his daughter. He needs that person to live at his estate durin’ the week and also oversee his land. I’ve agreed to be taken into consideration for the job and he’ll give me his answer in a few days.”
“Sounds like a fine job, Da,” Kevan remarked.
“Aye, Da. Seems odd that ye’ll have ta live there and not here through the week but we can take care of things here, can’t we?” Brianne said and gathered nods of approval.
“I’m countin’ on ye children to help yer Ma and not give her any guff while I’m away, should I get the job, a course.”
“Oh no, sir. We won’t be any trouble,” Bran cried out.
“Alright then, I’m goin’ ta go have me supper and ye children get on back to eatin’ yers, too.”
Dan walked into the kitchen to have his supper, joined by the joyful voices of his family.
* * *
After they ate, Rory was right on Patrick’s heels as he headed back out to the barn to finish up for the day. Dillon was cleaning Tammy’s saddle and putting the horses in for the evening. Patrick stood back, watching him at work and as always, marveled at the young man his little brother had become. Dillon had surpassed him in so many ways and Patrick envied his self-confidence and the calm he exuded while at work. He prayed every night that he too would someday find his own calm and the passion for what he was doing to bring it forth.
“Are we done, Patrick? I’m tired,” Rory asked, tugging at his sleeve.
Patrick looked down at Rory’s dusty face and took his chin in his hand. He gently wiped some of the dirt away and rubbed his hair back and forth, releasing even more. The loosened dirt sprayed into the air, caught the late afternoon sun, and sparkled about his head.
“Why do ye always muss my hair?” Rory grumbled, shaking his head and backing away.
“Ye go on now. We’re finished here,” Patrick smiled and set him free.
“Aren’t ye comin’?” Rory yawned.
“I’ll be along soon. Ye go on ahead. Now, scoot!” Patrick patted Rory on the bottom and pushed him lightly.
Dillon was finished as well and closed and locked the stalls, checking them twice before he pulled a rag from his back pocket, dipped it in the trough and wiped his face and neck with it. The summer heat was already beginning to move in and Dillon’s auburn hair was damp and clung to his scalp. Patrick studied his brother for a few minutes and found himself back in their hovel, looking at his mother. Dillon bore the same hair and eyes, the same deep-dimpled smile and yet was so vastly different from her in character and personality. Patrick wished he resembled his mother. Their mother was beautiful once. Their father was gallant and outgoing but it was his good nature that made him attractive—at least until he took to the drink and never stopped. Those whiskey-flushed cheeks and his alcohol-induced confidence turned him from a once moral and God-fearing man into a barely recognizable clown, whose jokes were only funny at the pub and whose sense of humor faded with every step he took closer to home.
“Patrick? Ye lookin’ for me?” Dillon asked.
“I was lookin’ at ye...not for ye.”
Dillon chuckled as he walked past him and Patrick grabbed his arm.
“What is it? Are ye alright?”
“I was thinkin’ about Ma. I was thinkin’ about how much ye look like her.”
“I’m ashamed to say it but I’ve all but forgotten what she even looked like,” Dillon said, lowering his head.
“No, it’s fine. Ye didn’t really know her when she looked like ye.”
“Well, since we don’t look so much alike, I suppose ye look like our Da then?” It made Patrick sad that his brother had almost no memory of their father and certainly none worth remembering.
“I do I suppose, but Ma used ta tell me I looked like her Da, so who knows? I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore who we favor. We’re our own selves now,” Patrick replied, putting his hand on his brother’s shoulder.
“Good news about that job fer Uncle Dan, huh?” Dillon remarked with a half-smile.
“Let’s hope so.”
“I’ll miss him ‘round here but I’m sure I’ll keep things his way.”
“I’m sure ye will.” There was a hint of condescendence in Patrick’s voice which he hadn’t intended. As he feared, his words betrayed his heart. His emotions were raw and coming to a head. He didn’t mean to take it out on Dillon; it simply happened.
“Ye know, Patrick, it wouldn’t kill ye to at least make an effort,” Dillon said curtly.
“Effort at what?”
“At havin’ a happy life. That’s all, just a happy life, but no, ye walk around here actin’ like yer better than anyone or yer too good for these people and we both know that ain’t true.”
“Ye know what, Dillon? We used to be back ta back.”
“I’m still at yer back, ye bloody fool, and ye’d notice it if ye hadn’t been walkin’ around like yer Holy Joe for three years.”
Dillon’s nose was up under Patrick’s chin and they were toe to toe. Despite how Patrick really felt, his brother’s aggressive posture caused a knee jerk reaction and he chest-bumped him, knocking him back a foot.
“Is this how it is now? Ye treat me–no, all of us like strangers and the second anyone tells ye the truth, ye can’t take it,” Dillon shouted, his arms outstretched. He was laid wide open and waiting for an answer.
“No, brother, I’m sorry, but ye don’t have to eat me head off. I’m sorrier than ye know.”
“Like Aunt Noreen says, don’t tell people yer sorry unless ye mean it and aim to fix it.”
Patrick only nodded and gave Dillon a half-smile. He was done talking and the discussion ended. What started as a simple conversation had somehow taken a horrible turn into a dark place he’d never been before with his brother. They’d been at petty odds in the past but nothing quite so honest and forthright on Dillon’s part. His brother’s harsh words stung and Patrick felt himself grow cold and even more withdrawn, as if whatever held them together all of their lives had vanished for good. The only elements remaining between them were air and resentment. What Dillon was still too immature or maybe naïve to comprehend was, it didn’t matter what he said as much as the fact he was the one who said it.
“I’m sorry too, alright? But ye’d better start ta change yer ways or ye’re gonna be a lonely man someday,” Dillon declared, placing his hand on his brother’s shoulder.
Again, Patrick nodded, then reached up and rested his hand atop his brother’s but he could no longer feel it.
“See ye in the house then?” Dillon turned, placed his hat on his head and glanced back at Patrick only once before strolling away from the barn.
Patrick stood alone watching what was left of the sun as it was snuffed out by the horizon. The conversation with Dillon and the disconnect he felt sealed his fate. He loved his brother but no longer knew him.
“They won’t even miss me,” he mumbled. “I’m just an extra mouth to feed.” He shook his head and thought about little Rory. “Sorry, laddy, I know ye’ll miss me, but me mind’s made up. Really, it’s better this way. Aye, it’s best for everyone, even ye.”
Again and again the wor
ds rushed through his consciousness, gaining strength and momentum. He closed his eyes to the final burst of sunlight and imagined riding that white horse all the way across the sea to another land and finding a place where he could reinvent himself and find his true path in life. By the time his imagination had overtaken him and solidified the decision to run, the entire reality of the three years he had spent feeling worthless and unhappy came crashing down around him. It had taken his younger brother, who knew him better than anyone else, to open his eyes to whom he had become.
Bending down to grasp a piece of straw to chew on, he realized that Dillon had been right about one thing: as much as he never wanted anyone else to pity him, the stark reality was that in all this time, his own self-pity was the true motivation which pulled him away from those who truly did love him and his selfish pride lay at the core. He had done it to himself, with no help from anyone else. Even if there was no future for him here in Caragh, he’d cut a cord that even if you pulled each severed end with a team of horses, you’d not be able to rejoin them.
Patrick looked over his shoulder at the house and listened for a moment to the sounds of the family that resided there, the family who had welcomed two orphans into their lives with open arms. Why had it been that a gentle kiss on his forehead or the offering of a down pillow not soothed him or even given him cause to smile? Every kind and decent action, regardless of how rare or faint, bestowed upon him in the time he’d been here tortured him like an unshakable nightmare. These little gestures were the first he’d ever known and yet he’d snubbed them.
As he stood alone in the field, darkness draped over him, he shouted at the heavens. “Lord, have ye too forsaken me? I’ve prayed to ye to take these demons from me soul and release me from the icy cloak of memories laid upon me, yet me burdens remain. Why Lord? Why can ye not hear me?”
Angrily, he slammed his hands against his head over and over until he thought he’d knock his brain loose. Instead, it knocked his feet out from under him and he hit the ground hard. His breath came in ragged bursts, and he half expected tears to erupt from his eyes like a busted dam, but they wouldn’t come. He was only a shadow, curled up on the wet roots and soil. If he didn’t cry soon, his chest would blow open from the pain, so he grabbed a rock the size of his fist and with as much strength as he could muster, slammed it down on his scarred hand.
Hope from the Ocean: (The Prequel to Fireflies ) Page 7