Hope from the Ocean: (The Prequel to Fireflies )

by P. S. Bartlett

  At last, he cried.

  Chapter Eight

  “Patrick, come in the house now, son!” Noreen called out into the darkness. She watched him walk slowly towards her, head down. As he stepped inside, she saw him put his injured hand behind his back as if he were hiding it from her. “What’s happened to yer hand again, lad?” she exclaimed.

  “I–I fell, out in the field. I tripped and fell.”

  “Why are ye shakin’ so? Are ye ill?”

  “No. No, I’m not ill. My head was hurtin’ and I guess I just wasn’t thinkin’. I mean, I wasn’t payin’ attention to where I was walkin’,”

  She wondered why Patrick wouldn’t look her in the eye. Exactly what had he done out there? “Sit down here on the sofa. I’ll bring ye some water.”

  “No, I’m fine now. I’ll be fine,” he answered and dashed off to bed

  Noreen knew the welt on Patrick’s hand hadn’t come from a fall yet she didn’t want to imagine what had caused it. As a young girl during the rebellions, she’d seen every sort of wound imaginable. Her expertise with a needle and thread hadn’t come from mothering but rather from nursing the injuries of grown men. That’s how she met Dan. After he was injured in a rebellious scuffle, he practically crawled to her mother’s house on his hands and knees, having been told her family were supporters and would “fix him up.”

  Although she had no idea what could have caused Patrick’s injury and was too tired to speculate, she felt the tension and resistance right through his skin and hoped that by morning, it would pass. At first, she believed he may have done it to escape his chores but then expelled the thought from her mind and brushed it off in her usual way. Once the house fell silent, save for Dan’s usual snores, she blew out the last candle and crawled into bed. Sleep escaped her for hours. She first worried how she would get them through the week on what little bit of food was left but decided she would have Kevan pull a few pounds of market potatoes from the wagon before Patrick headed off to Naas. Once she believed the coming day’s problems were solved, she turned comfortably on her side and thought of tending to her gardens again and bacon and eggs for the children. She dreamed wide awake of everything they’d lost with Shorty Green and how this new employer would treat Dan right and in doing so pull them from the jaws of the beast of poverty. As much as she didn’t want to get too far ahead of herself and be completely disappointed, it was the peace of mind she derived from these fantasies which finally put her to sleep. However, an old familiar sensation was tugging at her stomach and telling her something was beyond her control.

  When she awoke, that uneasy feeling still tugged at her and pulled her upright. She pushed her feet into her shoes and raced through the house in firm belief that something was awry. The silent darkness still filled the house but Noreen wasn’t about to be fooled by such normalcy. Candle in hand, she struck a match in the kitchen and lit the wick, barely allowing the flame to take hold before reaching it into the children’s bedroom and counting heads.

  “Dan, Dan wake up!” Noreen shouted.

  “What is it?”

  “Patrick’s already gone with the wagon!”

  “Oh. I thought the house was on fire, woman. Of course he’s gone. It’s market day.”

  “So? The sun isn’t even up yet.”

  “He probably just wanted to beat the others ta the buyer. Now please, calm yerself, wife. What on Earth has ye so spooked this mornin’?”

  “Ye know me feelin’s. Ye know how sometimes me stomach…speaks ta me.”

  “And ye know I don’t believe in any a that nonsense but to get ta the bottom a this—what gave ye the feelin’s? Would there be any facts to go along with them?”

  “Last night, Patrick didn’t come in the house until after dark and I had to call him in. He didn’t come on his own accord.”

  “So?”

  “So he’s never done that before. He also made up some story that he’d fallen and hurt his hand but I know he didn’t. Most people don’t fall on the backs of their hands now, do they?”

  Dan sat on the edge of the bed and looked up at his wife. “Noreen, I can see that something with this boy has ye rattled. What do ye want me ta do?” he asked, pulling on his boots.

  “Take Tammy and ride up there ta Naas. Just go and check on the boy.” Noreen’s fingernails were at the quick and she was still going after them.

  “How long ago did he leave?”

  “I’ll ask Loch. I’ll see ye in the kitchen.”

  Noreen rushed back to the children’s room and called for Loch to wake up. He wasn’t accustomed to his mother calling out for him to rise and flew out to the kitchen without even pulling a shirt over his head.

  “What is it, Ma? What’s wrong?” Loch asked, holding his pants up with his hands.

  “What time did Patrick leave this mornin’?”

  “Patrick’s already gone?”

  “Aye. I woke up a bit ago and noticed him missin’, as well as the wagon and Boney.”

  “That doesn’t make a bit a sense,” Loch said, running his hands over his wild and wavy brown mess of hair.

  “Well, whatta ye mean, it doesn’t make sense? Out with it, boy!”

  “Alright Ma, it doesn’t make sense because he told Rory last night he could come along and Rory’s still sleepin’ like the dead.”

  “Dan! Dan!” Noreen ran back to their bedroom and nearly knocked Dan over. “How long before ye can be to Naas?”

  “It isn’t far. Maybe thirty or forty minutes but may I please have me breakfast first? I know there isn’t much but I can pick some things up for the children in Naas when I collect the money for the potatoes from Patrick.”

  “That’s if Patrick is even at the market,” she muttered.

  “Now what in the bloody world makes ye think he isn’t even at the market?”

  “It’s the feelin’s Dan! I don’t think ye should wait another minute now please get a wiggle on and go!”

  Noreen rushed about the kitchen, opening and closing bins and checking shelves. Her empty flour sack was gone, which she had folded neatly on a shelf, hoping to have it refilled within the week. Gone as well was what little food and soda bread they had left. Noreen began to tremble, pulled out a kitchen chair and flopped onto it, fanning herself with her apron.

  “What is it?” Dan whispered, trying to keep Loch from over-hearing.

  “Get to Naas and bring that boy back here. Whatever he got for the potatoes, buy them back or we’ll starve today and maybe the rest of the week.”

  Dan snatched his hat from the nail by the back door and ran to the barn. He was on Tammy’s back and up the road in a cloud of dust.

  “Loch?”

  “Aye, Ma?”

  “Put on yer shirt and boots and get out there to the back field and pull me whatever ye can so I can feed these children.”

  “Ma, I’ll be gettin’’ my wages the end of the next week too and we can…”

  “Thank ye, son, but that’s not gonna put food on the table this mornin’. Now go!”

  * * *

  Dan whacked at the air above Tammy’s ear, causing her hooves to barely touch the ground. He’d never run her so rough but it was as if she knew the matter of life or death depended on her old spindly legs and she met the challenge. The sun rose as he reached the first mile. Shortly after, his worst fears were confirmed when he finally reached Naas and Patrick was nowhere to be seen. Dan dismounted and walked Tammy to cool her down.

  “Alright ole Tammy girl, keep those big brown eyes open. We’ve got ta find the lad.”

  At the far end of the market row, he spotted Boney and the wagon, sitting empty on the side of the street. A familiar old man chatted with a corner boy near Patrick’s age who was perched on an empty barrel.

  “Ye there! That’s me wagon and horse. Have ye seen the lad who brung ‘em?” Dan called out to the peculiar pair.

  “Are ye Dan Flynn, sir?” the boy asked, leaping to his feet.

  “That I am. Who wa
nts to know?”

  “I do, sir, and…”

  “This lad was tellin’ me yer boy was first in line this mornin’. He sold the lot to a man headed north and gave him the profits to give to a man name a Dan Flynn. Since that be ye and I know it is, then I suppose this is yers,” the man interrupted, placing the money in Dan’s hand.

  “Where is he?”

  “I don’t know, sir. I know him from seein’ him at the market but that’s all. He gave me this hat to sit with the horse and wagon until his Uncle Dan came for them. I swear it to ye, sir, that’s all I know.”

  “How long since he went?”

  “Way before sun up. Like I said, he was the first in line. I figured he’d been here most of the night, I did. The man bought the lot. He said he needed to make the boat and didn’t have time to bargain.”

  Dan pulled his hat from his soaked head and walked in circles, staring at the ground. He was caught somewhere between rage and anguish. Should he run Tammy to death after Patrick or tie her to the back of the wagon and just head back home? His stomach ached from both hunger and desperation. He imagined Noreen’s grief at the boy’s brazen departure but after a few minutes of wandering and pacing, he knew even if he ran Tammy north, he had no way of knowing where Patrick would be or how to find him. He feared the boy might meet the worst outcome all alone in the city.

  “Looks like the lad’s scattered. At least he didn’t take the money,” the old man remarked with a chuckle.

  Dan placed his hat back on his head and threw the old man that ice blue stare and said, “I wish he had.”

  The old man’s face went pale and he scurried off into the crowd. The boy stood back, staring at Dan as he walked Tammy to the back of the wagon and tied her on.

  “Did ye have somethin’ ye wanted to say, boy?” he asked, climbing up onto his seat.

  “Aye sir.”

  “Well, spit it out. I don’t have the whole day.”

  “I was gonna ask ye can I keep the hat?” the boy inquired, his trembling hand holding the hat out at Dan.

  Dan shook his head in disbelief and clucked his tongue at Boney.

  Chapter Eight

  Upon hearing her father’s carriage arrive, the beautiful black-haired child leapt from her piano bench and bolted for the front door. Her father sprung from his carriage and watched her excitement with a wide smile through the large parlor window, before dashing to meet her at the front door. She nearly tore her burgundy silk dress when it caught on the corner of the stool. She pawed desperately at it to free herself and then almost stumbled over the carpet.

  “Sarah! Slow down, child,” her grandmother cried, when she was nearly tipped off the bench at Sarah’s abrupt exit. “Ye’ll not be satisfied until ye’ve torn this new dress.”

  “It’s Da! I must find out about the horses, Grandmother!” the feisty maiden replied. She pulled at the double front doors, swinging them in and tossing them each to the side.

  “Da! I mean–Father! Ye’re home!”

  “Aye, Sarah, I have returned. Now go back to yer lessons and we’ll speak after supper.”

  “But father, we’ve already had our supper,” she said with a pout.

  “Well, yer father hasn’t, so we’ll speak once I’ve eaten and had my pipe.” He patted his daughter on her head and strode through the house calling out for his wife. “Elizabeth! Elizabeth!”

  “For goodness sakes, William, here I am,” Elizabeth said, meeting her husband as he burst into the dining room and pulled out his chair.

  “Have the cook bring my supper. I’m starved and it’s been a trying day, which I spent the better part of at The Curragh.”

  “The Curragh? Ye weren’t betting, were ye?”

  “Of course not! I’m tryin’ to find a man to handle this horse business.”

  “Don’t we already have a stableman?”

  “Elizabeth, can ye please tell the cook...”

  “William, she’s already bringin’ it. I heard yer carriage and ordered yer dinner brought right away.”

  “Of course ye did, dear,” William softened, taking her hand across the polished wood dining table.

  “So ye’re actually going through with this impulse of Sarah’s to jump horses?”

  “She’ll not be jumpin’ horses dear, the horses will be doin’ the jumpin’.” William laughed.

  “Honestly, William, speaking to ye sometimes is like speaking to Sarah.” Elizabeth pulled her hand back and tipped a thick crystal glass of water to her lips.

  “The child does have my spirit and sense of adventure, doesn’t she though?”

  “Unfortunately so, but ye don’t have to indulge her every whim.”

  “Father, may I enter?” Sarah asked from the doorway.

  William shifted his eyes from her mother to meet her, and then waved her in. The room was broad and long, with draped windows from ceiling to floor. The dining table, covered in linen doilies beneath pearl dinnerware and polished silver, sat ten comfortably. The eight-foot-high doorway and the dark smooth wood floors swallowed Sarah, transforming her into the vision of a much smaller child. Always clad in the finest fashion and displaying only her delicate hands and flush cheeks, she appeared the bud of a spring flower, gliding to her seat. Her sparkling eyes and wide smile, signified her excitement at the thought of a stable full of prize equines all her own.

  William’s meal was placed in front of him by a nearly invisible girl who was not much older than Sarah. She whisked in and out of the room so quickly it seemed the plate had fallen from the ceiling. Wasting no time, he briskly sliced and hungrily thrust a fork full of seasoned beef beneath his mustache and chewed vigorously. Sarah squirmed about in her chair and appeared anxious and excited as she waited in anticipation for her father to speak.

  “Sarah, do ye need to be excused?” her mother asked at the sight of her dancing in her chair.

  “Why no Ma–Mother, I’m just waitin’ on Father.”

  “Sarah, couldn’t ye have at least allowed yer father his supper before badgering him?”

  “I’m truly sorry but this cannot wait another minute!”

  William laughed from his belly and sat his fork on his plate with a ping. He was never as happy as when pleasing his only daughter. Since he was away the whole week in Dublin, the remorse of his absences filled her wardrobes and jewel boxes with as much as they could hold. Now, she was branching outside of the home to fill the stables as well. The thought of ever telling her she couldn’t have something had never once crossed his mind.

  “Okay, Sarah, I suppose I’ve left ye sufferin’ long enough now.”

  Sarah perked up in her seat and leaned forward so as not to miss a syllable.

  “I’ve met with a few men who are very experienced in this area because as ye know, I am not. There is one man who I feel would be the best fit but alas, he has a large family and may not wish to leave them all alone durin’ the week,” her father spoke and then continued on to his potatoes and carrots.

  “But Da–I mean Fath…”

  “Da is fine, Sarah, and so is Ma. It’s yer Grandmother who insists on formalities,” Elizabeth remarked.

  “But ye do, Da. Ye leave us the whole week long and we still love ye!” Sarah remarked.

  Again William laughed heartily at the sweet sensibility of his precious daughter. He supposed one child or one hundred, a father’s absence was felt all the same. Since he’d joined the law practice in Dublin, his weekly absences had become a heavy strain on Elizabeth. Although she was a fierce and hearty woman, keeping up a large estate and managing maids, cooks and grounds keepers, not to mention her growing concerns over Sarah’s sometimes unconventional behavior, was turning out to be an excessive burden–one which he knew she no longer wished to carry.

  “I’m takin’ this weekend to think it through and come Monday, before I’m back at Dublin, I’ll send a post to my best choice and I suppose then we shall have our answer. Now, Elizabeth, please ask the cook for a second plate and my sweet
child, ye’ll have yer horses and lessons as soon as I can arrange it. May I please finish my supper?”

  Sarah flung herself into her father’s embrace and then bolted from the room.

  “I’d say ye’ve managed to be the greatest man walking the Earth yet again, dear,” Elizabeth said, raising her glass and nodding to her husband.

  “Do I detect a note of disapproval, Mrs. Jameson?”

  “William, ye do realize my difficulties in bringing up this–this spirited child into a proper young lady? Most days it’s a struggle just trying to keep shoes on her feet, let alone setting her upon a running horse.”

  “Oh, Elizabeth, the child is nine. Allow her to enjoy her freedom before ye slap a corset on her and bind her to some borin’ gentleman for whom she’ll be nothin’ more than a hostess and mother to his children.” He spoke before considering the role of his own wife but it was too late. The slap was nearly audible yet she did not flinch.

  “I have passion, William, despite what ye may believe after nearly twenty years. However, as that wife and hostess and most importantly mother, my passion now rests on the future of our daughter and making sure she is well prepared for that binding. For certain, it can be suffocating at times.” Elizabeth rose from the table slowly, “Please excuse me, I have things which need my attention.”

  William looked up from his plate sheepishly and nodded. He rested his fork on the edge of his dish and pulled the napkin from his lap, tossing it on the table. After swallowing the remainder of his water, he rose to his feet and followed his wife but watched and listened to his precious Sarah from the doorway.

  Elizabeth stepped into the parlor and watched their lovely daughter finish her lesson. Elizabeth’s mother turned and smiled, quite pleased with her granddaughter’s talent and satisfied with the results of years of teaching her. The child played beautifully and Elizabeth made sure she finished to a thunderous applause. She stepped to her daughter, still clapping.