Idiots! Are they just back here having a smoke and wasting time? A thought hit him that they might be deliberately planning to sabotage his efforts on this trip. They knew Mac was under pressure to procure women. Would they benefit in some way if that didn’t happen?
Annoyed and determined to force that bastard Dickie to respect his authority, Mac straightened to his full height and strode down the path toward the voices.
“Yer bleeding sommat bad, Dickie!” Chezzie said. “It’s all down yer face like!”
What the…? Mac quickened his pace and took the last curve in the path which revealed his two men standing, talking to each other and, indeed, smoking. They both jumped, startled, to see him. Dickie threw his cigarette down in the grass as if not wanting to be caught needing it.
At their feet lay the body of a young woman.
**********
Mac pushed past Dickie and Chezzie and dropped to one knee. The lass was dead, her tongue was protruding from her mouth and her eyes were glazed and staring at nothing.
“It weren’t my fault!” Dickie said hotly. “The bitch had a knife!”
Mac stared at the body and then up at the back of the house that overlooked the yard. Someone stared back. He felt the weight of the handgun against his chest where it rested in his holster.
“You strangled a woman to death,” Mac said, his words coming in pants as his anger built. “In the space of fifteen minutes, you—”
“It weren’t his fault, squire,” Chezzie said. “The bitch come at us with a knife. Lookit Dickie’s face!”
Mac stood up and looked at Dickie. “Where is the knife?”
“Sorry?”
“The knife. Where is the fecking knife she came at you with?”
Chezzie stepped back as if to look for it on the ground but Dickie’s face twisted into a snarl.
“I don’t care what she came at me with. A knife or her fingernails. No bitch is gonna cut me without paying the price.”
Mac looked back at the body on the ground. Well, perhaps Sinead will be a little less enamored of her new procurement team after she finds out the bastards can strangle a woman as easily as bring her back to camp.
“There’s someone in the house,” Mac said between clenched teeth. “Go see if she had a sister or something.” He put his hand on Dickie’s shoulder to stop him. “If it’s a woman and you kill her, I’ll kill you. Understand?”
“Oh, I understand, squire,” Dickie said, jerking his arm from Mac’s grasp.
When they left, Mac knelt and picked up the body and carried it through the back yard to the house. He laid her on the floor of the back porch. She wouldn’t be the only body not to get buried proper. Nowadays most bodies were just left to go naturally back to the earth in their own time. But if this one had people, hidden away for whatever reason while she’d fought for her life in the garden, they could bury her decent.
Mac heard shouting from inside and imagined it was Dickie coming face to face with whomever Mac had glimpsed in the top window. He sighed, touched his gun for comfort, and moved into the house.
“That your sister out there?” Dickie yelled from upstairs. “I let you live and you gonna stab me in the back?”
“No, I swear, she’s nothing to me,” the young man’s voice said, wheedling and high.
Mac ran up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time and found Chezzie holding a tall young man by the arms while Dickie faced him, his fists clenched.
“Are you a relation to the girl downstairs?” Mac said. “I saw you watching from the window. I know you know what happened.”
“I don’t know her, I swear. I just came in two nights ago and she and her da gave me dinner and a place to stay.”
“Where’s her father now?”
“I don’t know. Something about watching the sheep or like that.”
“When was that?” Mac asked.
“What difference does it make?” Dickie said. “He knows what we done. We can’t let him just walk away.”
“Yes, you can! Please! She’s nothing to me. I don’t care what happened to her.”
“Even though she fed you and gave you a bed?” Mac said. “Are ye really such a scumbag?”
“Yes! Yes, I am. In fact, if ye don’t kill me I can show ye where you can find women. I heard this lot say you were looking for women, aye?”
Mac narrowed his eyes at the man. “I’m listening.”
“I know a place where there’s four women—and just an old man and a kid to defend them.”
Mac felt a shiver of excitement tremble through his shoulders.
“What’s your name, lad?”
“George Bailey. And I can lead ye right to them.”
Chapter 35
Four hours after they’d left the compound, Sarah and the rest of them had only gone a half mile. Sarah sat on a large rock, her legs too shaky to move on. Every time she thought she could get up and go forward, she was slammed by a wave of exhaustion. Had she truly waited three effing days only to be too tired to walk more than forty minutes?
They’d spent nearly three hours in a clearing. She knew Archie was anxious because they weren’t far enough from the compound to be safe. And now they were sitting out in the middle of a clearing, more vulnerable and visible than ever. It was clear they wouldn’t make it to the convent. Not that night and not the next day. Sarah was done.
Archie spoke to John briefly and John grabbed up his traps and disappeared into the woods. Sophia and Regan were positioned at the front and back of the trail. Neither of them had spoken in at least an hour. Their faces were serious and worried. Archie came over to where Sarah sat, his limp noticeably pronounced.
“How are ye feeling, lass?”
“I’m not in labor yet.”
“Sure you’re not. Never said ye were.”
“You sent John off to find dinner.”
“Whatever we do, we have to eat.”
“And you’re limping again.”
“I could use the rest, so I could.”
“I’m so sorry, Archie,” Sarah said, her eyes filling with tears. She got emotional over the flowers budding these days but now she really did feel like she was letting everyone down. What if the reason they were all killed was because she couldn’t haul her gi-normous butt a measly eight miles through the woods?
“Whisht!” he said. “Naught to be sorry about. You’re having a baby is all.”
“I can’t believe this is happening,” she said as the tears spilled over her lashes and down her cheeks. She had no idea why she was crying. She knew it upset Archie but she just couldn’t seem to stop herself.
“Come on, lass,” he said, patting her knee, “let’s get you back to your own bed.”
“The convent’s not really a day’s walk away, is it?” It didn’t matter. She couldn’t walk two more hours. She wasn’t entirely sure she could make it back to the compound.
“Nay. So unless you want this baby born under a lettuce leaf like in the fairy stories, we need to get back to Ameriland now.”
**********
Had she just been stoned on pain killers when she gave birth to John? Because Sarah really didn’t remember it hurting this bad. The walk back to the compound consisted of her staggering a few feet, bending over and groaning, begging to be allowed to sit or lie down and then being carried with John on one side of her and Archie on the other. In this fashion, she was able to make her way through the gates at Ameriland a mere six hours after they’d all left that day.
“Never have children!” she muttered to Sophia and Regan. “Sorry, John. I didn’t mean that.”
“I know, Mom,” John said. He was smiling but she could tell he was worried.
They all were.
She couldn’t believe she hadn’t asked Sophia or Regan before now if they’d ever helped with a birth. She’d been so sure that Fiona would be back by then or, worse case, they’d be at the convent.
Why the hell weren’t they at the convent?
; “I am not having this baby back there by the pig sty!” she shrieked when they stepped through the gates. She stopped, bent over, holding hard onto Archie and let out a long moan. By the time she straightened up, her eyes were full of tears and everybody else just looked terrified of her.
Was this really going to happen like this? Was she really going to give birth all by herself?
“Don’t worry, Sarah,” Regan said. “We’ll take care of everything.”
“You’ve done this before, Regan?” Sarah asked.
Regan glanced at Archie and then slipped an arm around Sarah’s waist to help her up the steps to her cottage.
“Well, no. But I know the basics.”
“Dear God, save me,” Sarah said as she finally staggered through the door of her cottage.
“It’s going to be fine, lass,” Archie called from the door but he sounded no more believable than Regan had.
“Wash your hands, Regan,” Sarah said as she moved to her bedroom. “You, too, Sophia. Just do it and then get back to me as soon as you can.”
Both girls bolted for the porch.
“Tell John to boil some water!” Sarah called.
The next contraction took her by surprise and she screamed for the entire length of its duration, ending up on her knees in front of the bed. She lay her head down on the mattress, her knees still on the floor. She was too exhausted to stand and get in the bed. She tried to remember the last time she’d laundered the linens. Then she remembered—she hadn’t. Not since they’d left more than six months ago.
She wanted to weep but began to feel the telltale signs of another approaching contraction.
Where are you, Mike? she thought as tears slid down her face and she gripped the mattress tight with both hands. Why aren’t you here? Why couldn’t you have waited? I need you.
**********
John clenched his jaw at the sound of his mother’s scream. He looked at Archie who stood next to him on the porch. The old man’s face was bone white. Both girls were inside the cottage, although what help they’d be was anyone’s guess. How long was it going to take? John rubbed his hand over his face and realized it was a habit of Mike’s when he was stressed or worried.
“Oy, lad,” Archie said. “Go to the catwalk over the front gate and keep watch.”
“I thought you said that was useless.”
“Not if it gives you something to do. And advance notice is always useful. Go on with you now.”
John knew he should run and check his traps but, honestly, nobody was hungry and he couldn’t bear to leave his mother now—so vulnerable and the place not a bit secure.
God, please don’t let anything bad happen tonight.
He climbed to the catwalk over the front gate. From there he could see the beginning of the nearest pasture as it bordered the main road. Two leafless elms grew in one corner. At this point in the spring, there should be buds. Maybe the trees were just too far away to see buds. He hoped that was the case.
The road out front of the compound appeared deserted. He glanced behind him and saw Regan run to the center fire pit to retrieve the kettle of water he’d placed there for boiling. She dipped a bucket into the large kettle, wrapped the handle in a rag and then hurried back to the cottage with it. A long scream emanated from the cottage when Regan opened the door. He knew his mother was brave and he knew the last thing she wanted to do was worry him. He couldn’t imagine the agony she must be feeling to scream like that.
He turned to face outward again and watched the sun inch downward in the cloudless sky.
Take care of her, God, please. Her and the baby. Bring them through this safe. And fast would be good, too.
An hour later, the light was dimmed to where all he could see were the shadows in the bushes by the side of the road being moved around by a light breeze.
“Lad, you all right?” Archie called to him.
“I’m fine,” John said. He hadn’t heard any more screams coming from the cottage but neither had he seen Regan or Sophia come out to say the baby had been born either. He wasn’t sure what that meant.
“Come down for some tucker,” Archie said. “Then move yourself to the north watchtower.”
John felt a tension in his shoulders. He knew he should be tired. Not just because of the walk today but the worry and constant surveillance of the outside surroundings was exhausting. Yet he felt wired and energetic like he could run a mile if he had to.
He dropped to his feet from the catwalk ladder. Archie handed him a piece of bread and a chunk of cheese.
“I hate having the fire going in the night,” John said. “You can see it for miles.”
“Aye,” Archie said wearily. “But there’s nothing for it. If some blackguards choose this night to come at us then we’re just banjaxed, so we are.”
“Could our luck be so bad?” John said as he ate the food and walked toward the watchtower.
“Careful the banshees don’t hear ye and get ideas,” Archie said, crossing himself. “Our luck can always get worse.”
Chapter 36
Regan sponged the sweat from Sarah’s forehead. Sarah wasn’t thinking or talking like her usual self and although Regan knew there was a good reason for that, it still made her uncomfortable. It reminded her of when her mother, Ellen, had become someone different even though she looked the same. Sarah was always so in control. To see her helpless and even out of her mind, brought true terror into Regan’s heart. If Sarah’s not herself, what’s to protect any of us? What if someone does try to come tonight?
Sophia came into the room with another bucket of hot water. They had stripped and remade the bed with clean linens twice. There was nothing else clean or dry in the cottage. Next time, they would have to start raiding the other cottages for something clean. Sophia’s face was solemn and grim and she was sweating nearly as much as Sarah.
Regan knew that the fact that she had done what she had to do not two days earlier—killed a man when Sarah was nowhere to be seen—brought a splinter of reassurance to Regan. Sarah wasn’t the only one who had balls and could do what needed to be done, she reminded herself. That was a good thing, too, because right now, Sarah was seriously out of the picture when it came to making decisions.
Sophia’s hand shook as she set the hot water down next to the bed. She took in a long ragged breath. It occurred to Regan that Sophia might be thinking that in six months time this will be her on a bed just like this squirming and moaning. The thought made Regan feel a little better.
Sarah brought her knees up and grabbed them with her hands.
“Go time,” she rasped. “It’s coming!”
Regan jumped back like she’d been stung and was surprised to see Sophia plunge her hands into the hot water.
“Hand me the soap,” Sophia said.
Regan handed it to her and watched her scrub her hands, rinse them and then grab up a towel. She tossed the wet towel to Regan and then gently touched Sarah’s knees. Her delicacy surprised Regan. It was pretty clear someone could hit Sarah with a sledgehammer about now and she wouldn’t feel it.
Sarah screamed and Regan jumped forward to dab at the sweat pouring from her face but Sarah batted her away.
“Sarah, I see the head!” Sophia said.
Sarah collapsed onto the bed when the contraction released her and groaned.
“Regan,” Sophia said, “you need to get behind her and give her something to push against.”
Regan hesitated and then climbed onto the bed pillows, pulling Sarah into a half seated position in front of her.
“Now what?” she said.
“Now we wait,” Sophia said grimly. “How are you, Sarah?”
Sarah nodded. Her eyes were shut and the sweat was pouring down her face. She licked her lips.
“As soon as it’s out,” she said, panting, “as soon as he’s born…”
“Brace yourself, Regan,” Sophia said, frowning, as she peered between Sarah’s legs.
“…I’m going after hi
s father.”
“Push, Sarah!” Sophia said. “Push hard!”
Sarah gritted her teeth and screamed.
**********
Mac stared at the front of the wooden fort. They’d driven within sight of the front gate but no further so as not to give advance warning of their presence. A thin curl of smoke was visible in the evening sky above the compound. Bailey had driven the van with Mac in the passenger seat holding a pistol to his head. The four Dublin men were crammed in the back and not happily.
Now they sat in front of the compound, the gate securely shut.
“What are we waiting for?” Dickie said. “Smells like puke back here.”
Mac’s excitement at Bailey’s words had simmered into a low-grade agitation. Could they trust the bastard? Were there really four defenseless women in there? Or was he walking into a trap? On the other hand, the idea that he could come back to Sinead with four childbearing women—and go nowhere near the convent—had energized him beyond what he thought possible.
“Tell me again how many are in there,” he said to Bailey.
“I told ye. Four women, an old man and a kid.”
“And you know that how?”
“Me and me mates had a go at ‘em two days ago,” Bailey said.
“Where are your mates?”
Bailey didn’t answer. His face became flushed and a nervous tic jumped out over his left eye. In Mac’s experience, that meant the bastard was likely lying.
“They’re buried up the road,” Bailey spat out. “The head bitch had me dig their graves with me own hands.”
“So they’re armed?” Dickie asked. “Or are you just missing your balls?”
“Yes, they’re armed,” Bailey said.
“So not quite defenseless,” Mac said. “How many guns?”
“It only takes one,” Bailey said. “The kid shot Willy and then the old man knifed Arnie. By the time I came running out to see what was what, one of the little bitches had sliced Benny’s throat and I was looking down the barrel of the kid’s gun.”
Irish End Games, Books 4-5-6 Page 68