“An’ to Kevin.”
“Kevin? I don’t expect to see him, but, sure, if I do, I’ll tell him you asked about him.”
“Call me when you know your plans for comin’ home. Goodbye.”
It was another cloudless night. Joe Loon slept. Simon was tending the fire; they had allowed it to burn down to a warming fire. Grandmother and Young Sister sat at the fire as Simon stirred the flames and sent a twisting flurry of sparks dancing.
Above and near the horizon, as the night sky cleared, the Northern Lights began to shimmer. Simon was watching the show when the sound surprised him. It was a sound he had never heard before, coming from the lake, or across the lake. There was a sucking whoosh followed by a crash. He stood, but it was too dark to see anything on the lake. He heard it again, and much later it happened one more time.
He slept much of the night, waking when Grandmother stirred him to build the fire.
Brian sat in a chair in his hotel room, Dutch sat in another, and Mary Fobister stood by the bathroom door, the children bathing in the tub together behind her. Brian told them the latest news about Joe Loon and Simon, and of the scheduled rescue for the next morning. He was trying to convince Mary they should stick with their original plan for the evening, to go hear some great blues music, and Dutch was helping, but Mary shook her head no as she wiped her hands on a bath towel.
“I am thinking of Simon and Joe Loon all of the time. I will stay here.”
“You will be thinkin’ about them if you stay here. But not if you come with us.”
“I do not wish to celebrate when they are cold and hungry.”
“You bring ‘em neither warmth nor nourishment by stayin’ in tonight.”
“Yes. I do. I keep them in my prayers. They feel this. When I keep them in my heart, they know this. It keeps them warm. This is what my people believe, and I believe this to be so.”
Brian nodded. “My people believe this, too, yeah. Sometimes we need some remindin’.” Then he asked if she would lead them in a prayer right then, for a safe night and an early rescue. They stood just outside the bathroom door. Dutch closed his eyes, Brian bowed his head, and Mary lifted hers up as she spoke the language the Great Creator gave to the Original People, who gave it to her ancestors.
“Great Father. I have traveled far from the place of your people, but you will know the voice of Brown Wren. I stand in the white man’s great city of mountain shelters. In this noisy place please hear me speak to you, here in this place called Che Kowago.”
Little Stevie looked up from the bath at the sound of prayer in his mother’s voice, and he saw them standing there. He touched Grace O’Malley’s shoulder for her attention. They both leaned forward, their chins resting on their hands resting on the side of the tub, her naked white body and his naked brown one pressed together side by side, for warmth, for touch, and they watched together; Little Stevie listened to the prayer and Grace O’Malley listened to the sounds and for any words she might know.
“I ask Great Father to look after Joe Loon and Simon. Joe Loon has lived in your forests for many years. He shows you great honor every day.” Grace stood, and Little Stevie stood with her, and they held hands, and watched. “He respects the Ancestors. He honors the spirits of all the Animals of the forest. He protects the River every day. You see him teach the love of your forest and your River to his grandson. Please make the night a peaceful one for all of your children. Please make the morning clear and calm for all of your children. Please bring Joe Loon and his grandson safely back to his people.”
When it was clear she had finished Brian crossed himself and whispered the Trinity, Amen, and Dutch sat on the edge of the bed, silently considering what else he might do to assure the morning’s rescue. Mary had tossed the towel on a chair before they prayed; she retrieved it and returned to the bathroom to get the children out of the tub.
While she dressed them in their pajamas, Brian was able, finally, to convince her to at least come with them for the first part of the evening, and they called the switchboard to send up the babysitter.
Dutch, Brian, and Mary sat at a table near the stage of the blues club on Chicago’s South Side that Brian and Maureen visited every night they were in Chicago once they discovered it. Willie Smith was fronting his own band, playing the harmonica and singing “If you don’ start believin’, when I tell ya I am leavin’, one day you’re gonna wake up… an’ I’ll be gone” backed by bass, electric guitar, and drums.
Dutch leaned forward, his fingers in his white hair, a great smile on his face. Brian sat back in his chair, hands folded behind his head, his eyes closed. Mary sat between them, sipping her ginger ale through a straw as she studied the exotic setting. She had seen a black man before, during one of her infrequent trips to Kenora, but only that one time, and he was all by himself. This room was filled with black men, and black women, and she was entranced by their beauty.
And she had never before sipped a drink through a straw.
Brian rocked forward until his chair sat on all four legs and edged a bit closer to Mary as the song was winding to a close, then spoke when the music stopped.
“What’a you say to that?”
She nodded approval and smiled.
“Think the village would enjoy it?”
She nodded again and her smile grew when she imagined her family and friends from her village there with her.
“We’re flyin’ back first thing in the mornin’. So if our help is needed there hain’t a thing we can do to get there sooner. If you wanted to, you could relax an’ enjoy the music.”
She nodded a third time. “But if I decide to go you will have someone take me back to the hotel and the children?”
“Whenever you say so, yeah.”
Dutch joined the conversation.
“And since I’m flying tomorrow I won’t want to stay real late anyway.”
Mary nodded one more time.
“There is magic in this music. Much magic. It is very loud and that makes it hard for me to hear all the magic. But there is much magic.”
“Last year when Maureen an’ I were here we learned how natives to this place, I mean the regulars here, how they dance to it. They called it the Slow Drag.”
“I would like to dance to this music.”
Brian was out on the dance floor doing the Slow Drag with the club owner’s wife; the club owner and his wife taught the step to him and Maureen on their second trip there.
Dutch sat at the table, alone, sipping the one beer he allowed himself whenever he had an early morning flight, enjoying the music.
In a far corner of the club, behind a half wall that blocked much of the room and absorbed some of the loudness from the music, Mary Fobister of the Loon and Sturgeon clans, was dancing; it had started out as a traditional Ojibway dance step, though this music’s powerful back beat was transforming it into something else, into something she’d never danced before. Two regulars, black women who had been leaning on a wall far enough away from the music so that they could talk, stopped complaining about their boyfriends, and watched Mary and her moves. They began to bob and weave their shoulders and heads, feeling what Mary was feeling, and smiling their support for it when she saw them.
Maureen awoke in the early dawn and looked in to discover Kevin’s bed empty, then found his car was gone. She made herself tea and bottled it, wrapped some food left over from supper, collected her blanket and all her papers, and headed out to the Proleek Dolmen again, just as the sun was rising, just as the day was awakening.
She had her notebook open and was reviewing her notes for the Stormont mission and checking on the questions that needed answers when she heard a call in the wind, and the sound was joyous. She tucked her notebook under the blanket as a boy and a girl, she in her late teens, the boy in his early twenties, both of them dressed as service staff of the nearby hotel, crested a rise and headed for the Dolmen.
They were surprised for a moment to find Maureen there and said good m
orning but were happy to then ignore her and stand together on the opposite side of the tomb, hidden from Maureen’s view. Their sounds were sweet, hers and his.
In a moment Maureen’s attention was attracted by a small stone skipping across the top of the dolmen’s capstone, bouncing off one of the other stones before it fell to the ground accompanied by a cry of dismay from the girl. A few moments later another stone, tossed with more arc, landed on the capstone and bounced and bounced and slid to the ground, and this time the girl called out her confidence in “My Ryan’s” next try.
And the next toss was successful, as the stone hit two others and came to rest between them, joining the others atop the capstone, and the boy and girl laughed together. She led him boldly by the hand around the tomb towards Maureen, and they were both smiling. She let go of his hand as she walked up to the edge of the blanket.
“You’re our witness.”
Maureen smiled at their delight.
“Gladly so, but what exactly have I just witnessed?”
“The stone Ryan tossed stayed a’top of the Giant’s Load.”
“Yes, then I’m a witness, though I never heard it called the Giant’s Load.”
Ryan spoke. “S’what the Proddies round here call it, yeah.” And he tried to sneak a tickle to his girlfriend’s side as he said, “Proddies.”
“That’s ‘cause it was a Proddie who brought it here, the great Scottish giant Parrah Boug MacShagean himself carried the capstone over his shoulder you see, from his homeland.”
“Yeah so, an’ the Irish he found here knew there was plenty a’ stones all around, no need to be importin’ ‘em from Scotland.” Again, the boy’s joke gave him permission to touch her.
Maureen smiled at them.
“Tell me Ryan, why’d you toss your stones so?”
“If two sweethearts stand together and toss a stone that lands on top of the Giant’s Load and it stays there, if it don’t fall off, legend says they’ll be married inside of a year.”
“An’ that’s your intent?”
The girl answered. “Our intentions and our plans and our hopes and our prayers.”
“An’ a source of constant sorrow?”
“Why would you say such a thing?”
“I’m right in seein’ you’re one an’ you’re the other?”
The girl laughed.
“You mean my Ryan a Catholic and myself a Proddie?”
“That’s what I’m guessin’ by your carryin’ on.”
Ryan laughed.
“You’re right ‘cept you’re wrong. I’m the Proddie an’ she’s the follower of the Holy Roman Faith, the One True Church, Amen.” He treated this as another tease, and tickled her delight. Maureen let them enjoy the moment before she asked, “An’ so now you be my witnesses an’ tell me what sort of sorrows come your way in these parts from proclaimin’ your love is more important than which Jesus is the best Jesus an’ God damn the others.”
The girl answered.
“All our friends only marry within their own faith, that’s true. But we both know of a mixed marriage that is makin’ a go.”
“It’s simple. Do the parents accept? Mine accept, no problem.”
“And mine… well just look at my Ryan and tell me who wouldn’t love him?”
“An’ your children?”
The lovers turned to each other, and he questioned her with his look. She nodded yes as she said, “Tell her. Let me hear you say it.”
“Just yesterday you said keep the secret still.”
“There’s no one she can tell… We’re going to get married and then we’re going to America. To Boston. Ryan’s uncle moved there ten years ago. It won’t make a difference there what we do about raising our children in which ever faith that we decide.”
“Oh honey, it makes a difference everywhere. But you got a far better chance of it in Boston, I have to agree to that.”
The couple was eager to get on with whatever their love drove them to next, and they departed as delighted as when they arrived. Maureen listened to the joy of their voices from the other side of the Giant’s Load for another few minutes and then smiled to see how their bodies played off each other through their long journey to the top of the ridge.
She opened her notebook. She found the list she had started on the plane over, a list she ignored once she arrived. It was the list of reasons why she should simply visit her mother for her birthday and attend the Holy Communion of her niece, and then return to Kenora as soon as she could.
Seeing the list made her angry, and she ripped it from the notebook, and burned it.
Then she began ripping one page after another, pages with notes about the Stormont raid and questions about Kevin’s brigade, and one at a time she twisted them into wicks, and she burned them all.
A small flock of warblers were working their way along the edge of the grove from her left, slowly leap frogging each other in the branches until they were nearly overhead, briefly, before hopping and flitting; first one then the others darted across the open space to a nearby smaller grove, away from the smoke, in the full morning sun, and the source of the early morning’s most vibrant bird song.
Maureen saw none of this as she continued burning all the papers she had. When she was finished she spread any remaining ashes around the base of the tomb.
Kevin was waiting when Maureen returned mid-morning.
“You must leave Ireland as soon as you can Lady Girl.”
Maureen’s smile covered her surprise at Kevin’s words.
“That’s what I was just now decidin’, Kevin.”
“I mean now. Fast. It seems the gentleman who first took your call is suspected of bleeding Orange.”
“Tell me what’s happenin’ then.”
“I don’t have a specific warning, but the breach in our ranks seems greater than any of us suspected. You need to get in your car right now and get to the airport as fast as you can.”
“I’ve got to see Mum first. Then I’ll go.”
“I’m not sure that is the wise course.”
“I’m thinkin’ Kev, because of what I’ve done, all I’ve done now… that I may never come back.” The full weight of that hadn’t occurred to her before. “So I’m goin’ to visit her, an’ tell her, an’ see if she will come with me. Then we’ll leave.”
“I insist you go now.”
“You can’t insist anythin’.”
“Then move quickly and carefully.”
“An’ you, Kevin Coogan. Why not come with us?”
“Live with you and Brian and your Indians?”
“You were always quick to see it as Eden.”
“To live with you in Eden.”
“The fishin’ camp is growin’ like blazes, which means the business side of things keeps gettin’ to be more an’ more an’ Bri has little interest in that, in the business side of things, he’d be the first to agree. An’ then the bush plane business is startin’ to come back again after all the business we lost, an’ Dutch has said countless times he’d like to go back to flyin’ full-time if we could find someone to run NOA.”
“And what would I know about running an airline?”
“We’re makin’ all this up as we go along, Kevin. Brian an’ I don’t know how to run a bush plane airline or a fishin’ camp an’ so we just keep makin’ it up… even better I’ll bet you’d figure out lots of ways to help us manage our relationships with the pulp mill operators an’ the dam builders an’ all the rest who want to spoil our Eden.”
“It does occur to me at times that your love is more wisely invested than my own. You’ve got Brian and Grace, your Indians… your Heaven on Earth. And I’ve got this fight here in front of me.”
“Your love needs to be your life. This fight’ll be your death.”
Kevin smiled at the truth of that.
“I wish you wouldn’t cross back into the North.”
“I’ve got to see Mum.”
“Yes, I see.”
&nbs
p; They embraced.
“Sorry Kev.”
“Don’t be.”
“This could be the last time I see you.”
“Who knows? I showed up once unexpected; I just might surprise you and Brian again.”
“I pray to God that be so.”
She stepped away, then turned back.
“You know I’ve always trusted you. An’ that I’ve always loved you?”
“Be safe Lady Girl.”
Maureen drove her rented car back north on the road from Dundalk to Dungannon. The roadblock was still there from two days before. There were only half as many men, but she recognized the senior officer and he was looking for her. He waved her over.
“It’s the light of day, mam, and anyone crossing the border in your pattern is suspect, every solicitor agrees that’s reasonable.”
“If I’m suspected of thinkin’ that the lot of ya’ disgrace this land you’re standin’ upon, I’m guilty.”
“Get out of the automobile and stand next to that constable there. If you would like a cup of tea, let him know. He’ll be happy to fetch it for you.”
“The damage to the car hain’t felt by me if you decide to tear it up lookin’.”
“Looking for what?”
She stepped out of the car, and opened her handbag, offering it to the officer to examine.
“Lookin’ to terrorize anyone who speaks of the murderous crimes you an’ your sort has perpetrated against the true Irish for four centuries now.”
The officer examined her bag then handed it back to her, and she stepped out of the way of the approaching uniformed men.
“I’m sayin’ it’s a hired car, yeah, an’ I’ll make sure to give ‘em your name as the one responsible for any damage done to it.”
The officer rubbed his hands, and turned to the men who were waiting to do damage to the car.
“Give it the best search you can without costing the Crown.”
“Without costin’ the Crown? You talk that way? You actually say ‘the Crown?’ ”
“Get her some tea. Maybe that’ll shut her up.”
Maureen waited until the constable left her to get the tea before she turned just a bit and slipped her pistol from her sleeve into her handbag.
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