Irish End Games, Books 4-5-6

by Kiernan-Lewis, Susan

  She was sure the three men by the names of Mac, Chezzie and Bill, were assuming a religious house would soon forgive them their trespasses and grant them their freedom. They didn’t take into account a majorly pissed off American with a strong sense of vengeance. Angelina had been only too happy to hand over the responsibility of the prisoners to Sarah and her group.

  On the day of the attack, Tommy Donaghue and Jaz Miller had miraculously shown up to lend a hand and tell their story. Within hours, John and Regan—who had had her own set-to with the would-be invaders in the garden—had helped ferry the rest of the compound men from the woods to the convent. There they were being fed and cared for.

  Sarah now knew that at least three days ago Mike was still alive. The fact that he’d told Jaz he was on his way home and still hadn’t arrived was a worry.

  And after everything they’d all been through and after all this time they still hadn’t found Fiona or the other women and children from the compound.

  Because Sarah knew Mike would be coming to the compound, it was decided that John and Regan would take turns riding one of the horses from the convent to the compound to see if they’d returned.

  On the fourth day after the convent attack, Sarah was in the garden with Sophia and the baby. They were gathering turnips for the dinner that night. Sophia carried Siobhan in the sling across her chest. Her own pregnancy was just beginning to show.

  “You know,” Sarah said, “I wanted to tell you how brave you’ve been these last two weeks, especially with Gavin gone and everything that’s happened.”

  “But he’s coming soon. I know it.”

  “Fingers crossed,” Sarah said. “Any day now.”

  Sophia stepped back from Sarah and squinted into the sun.

  “John is back early,” Sophia said.

  This was unusual. Normally who ever went to the compound stayed and waited for at least an hour in the woods.

  Sarah caught her breath and ran to the edge of the garden where the perimeter road led from the convent to the hidden trail and out to the world. John had been wearing a blue and orange sweatshirt of his father’s from the University of Florida. It was one of his favorites but it made him easy to see in the trees. Whoever was approaching was not wearing orange.

  Sophia grabbed Sarah’s hand. “Shall I ring the alarm?” she asked, fear laced through her words.

  “Wait.” Sarah could tell it wasn’t John but before the form on horseback fully materialized through the foliage of the trees, she knew it was someone she knew well.

  “Mike!” She ran toward the garden gate in the stonewall. Any moment now the figure on horseback would break free of the shielding trees. Any moment, he would be revealed.

  Mike rode to the front of the gate. John was riding behind him and quickly jumped down. By the time Sarah ran to the gate and through it, Mike was on the ground too. She ran to him and into his arms.

  “Thank God,” she said, her face against his neck, her eyes closed with the joy of his arms firm and real around her. “Oh, thank God.”

  He held her without moving for a long time. Connected again. Whole again. Finally, he kissed her and stroked her hair away from her face.

  “I’ll never leave ye, again, Sarah,” he said, looking into her face, his eyes brimming with tears. “Never. My heart can’t take it.” He kissed her.

  “The baby!” Sarah said. “Come meet your daughter.”

  “Aye,” Mike said, not letting go. “John’s told me all about her, so he has.” Sarah paused. That meant John had also told him about Archie.

  “Oh, Mike…” she started.

  “Hush, lass,” he said softly. “Joy first. Enough time for everything else later.”

  His face seemed older and there was a still healing wound over his right eye. She touched it with a tentative finger. Sophia hurried to them and Mike kissed her on the cheek.

  “Gavin’s fine, lass, so he is,” Mike said. “You’ll see him before supper time tonight.” He peeled back the cloth of the sling to look at the baby and his voice caught. “Sure, she’s a beauty, our lass,” he said in a soft whisper. “Well done, you, Sarah Donovan.” He leaned over and kissed the baby, his scratchy beard waking her up. Siobhan screwed up her face and began to cry.

  Mike threw back his head and laughed and laughed.

  Five hours later a bedraggled group of twenty-nine women, six of them pregnant, made the final trek to the convent. Gavin led the group, carrying a sleeping Ciara in one arm and Maeve in the other until Sophia broke ranks and ran to him before he reached the gate and flung herself into his arms, toppling them all to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs.

  The compound men, Davey and Terry and Kevin rejoiced as they greeted their wives and hugged their children. The screams and cries of joy carried on the evening air. Nuala’s two boys ran to John and he led all the children inside where a late dinner awaited them.

  As the light faded from the sky, the nuns lit torches in the garden and ushered everyone into the convent where they were busy setting up beds in the loom room.

  Fiona was one of the last ones to walk through the gate, supported every step of the way by Declan.

  Sarah greeted them at the garden gate and hugged her hard. She squeezed Declan’s arm and saw his haunted gaze back at her as if he didn’t know her. She kissed Fiona and felt the strength in her although her face was pale and gaunt. From the few things Mike had told Sarah before going back to fetch the others, she knew it would take years—if ever—for Fiona to move past the terrible last months of her life.

  **********

  That night, the spring air turned colder and after everyone had found their beds with full stomachs, Mike and Sarah wrapped themselves in thick wool blankets and sat outside on the stone balcony overlooking the garden. Both Mike and Gavin had visited the dungeon and spoken briefly to the prisoners. Sarah wasn’t there but judging from Mike’s face when he returned, whatever hope the men had had about being released was likely extinguished.

  Now, he held Siobhan against his chest and Sarah marveled at how she’d fallen straight to sleep as if she’d just been waiting for the solid comfort of her father’s hands to make her feel secure and safe. Sarah knew exactly how she felt.

  “Tell me everything,” he said.

  “Aren’t you too tired? It’s been such a day.”

  “I’m not too tired to listen. And I can’t sleep with the pieces all jumbled up in my mind.”

  She kissed him and relished the feel of him so near. All she had to do was reach out and feel his strength. To touch him or see his wry smile, the way his eyes gazed at her. No, she’d never let him leave her again.

  “I’ll give you the abridged version for now,” she said with a yawn. “Let’s see. Well, as I understand it, after Tommy and Jaz left you they were attacked at the compound by this same group. Tommy was in the woods and heard a gunshot and came running. But by then the bastards had taken Jaz and shot Terry. The compound was burning—”

  “Cor, Sarah, it nearly took me breath away when I showed up and saw that. The compound burned to the ground and you nowhere to be found. I’m lucky I didn’t have a stroke and fall dead on the spot.”

  “Yes, I’m sorry. I knew that was going to be a shock. I’m so sorry, Mike.”

  “Go on.”

  “So once Tommy had stopped the bleeding on his dad’s shoulder and got him and the other men into the woods, he went after Jaz in the Jeep and found her locked in a van on the side of the road. Jaz had overheard the bastards talking about going to a nearby convent and, well, you know Jaz. Tommy said the compound men were safe and Jaz was in the mood to murder someone. To hear Jaz tell it, it was like following a bulldozer through the brush. There were cigarette butts and broken branches everywhere.

  “Anyway, they ran into two men on their way back from the convent who Jaz recognized from the compound attack. I don’t have the exact details but let’s just say we still need to set up a burial detail for those two. By the time Jaz and T
ommy followed the tracks to the convent they saw Regan in the garden fighting off a big beefy guy. Jaz said it looked like Regan was doing fine without them—even with a basket of turnips in one hand—but they pitched in. He’s the one in the cell called Bill and possibly concussed.”

  “What’s the story on the other one?”

  “That’s Chezzie. He barged in on the nuns at Morning Vespers. The Sisters walloped him with candlestick holders and a crucifix. Yeah, don’t mess with the Sisters when they’re praying.”

  “So that’s five armed men and a woman? The two Jaz and Tommy met in the woods and these three in the cells?”

  “There was another one. Sophia and John dropped him in the sewer. Sister Hugo doesn’t think there’s much point in looking for him.”

  “How did they find the convent?”

  “Mac said Sinead was an unwed mother here twenty years ago. She came on some personal vendetta.”

  “You’ve already interrogated this Mac bloke?”

  “A little. He’s very compliant. Stunned, is more accurate.”

  “And Terry’s okay?”

  “The bullet went straight through. He’s healing fine.”

  “I can’t believe we all survived the last two weeks.” Mike shook his head.

  “I can’t believe it’s only been two weeks. What are we going to do with the men, Mike? They can’t live in the dungeon forever. I hate to make the Sisters feed them for the next thirty years.”

  Mike looked at Siobhan and baby-talked his words to her.

  “They’ll stand trial like the bad, bad men they are and when they’re found guilty Dada will hang them.”

  Sarah gasped. “You feel you have the right to do that?”

  “As much as anybody,” he said shrugging. “I’ll certainly not be handing them over to Dublin.”

  “I don’t know, Mike,” Sarah said, shaking her head wearily. “Since Sinead died before she could answer for her crimes, Fiona says a lot of the women hold Mac responsible for what happened to them. Do you really think he can he get a fair trial with us?”

  “We can only try.”

  “And if he’s found innocent?”

  “He won’t be.”

  Epilogue—September

  The remains of Ameriland resembled a blackened graveyard of half fallen down cottages and outbuildings. Most of the outer wall still stood but the fire had quickly spread and eaten at the dry wood like kindling. A single watchtower stood, the ladder burned away.

  Sarah stood staring at the carnage and couldn’t recognize the place that had once been home to her. She tried to remember that she had loved ones buried there. She’d given birth there. She’d fallen in love there and been happy there.

  During the last six months living at the convent, the women from the baby camp had spent their time healing—and having babies. They were crowded at the nunnery but nobody complained.

  The day after they were all reunited at the convent they laid Declan and Fiona’s infant son to rest and had a memorial service for those who had died: for Barney and Ellen, for Hobart, Father Ryan, Abby, Bridget, Kendra, and Archie. And for Fiona’s friend Julie and her baby. too.

  Mac and the other men were kept in the convent dungeon while they awaited their trials. Mac worked hard to redeem himself to the women. He spent much of his time in prayer and when allowed out of his cell labored in the garden taking over Garrett’s duties. On the first day of summer, he was tried and found guilty for serving as an accomplice to Sinead’s crimes and for killing Archie. Sarah admired his bravery in the two months before and during his trial that she’d gotten to know him. If it hadn’t been for the fact that he was the one who’d shot Archie, she would’ve argued in favor of letting him live. As it was, he was taken into the woods on the morning of the second day of summer to be hung.

  Every woman who had been held at the baby camp attended his execution. And every woman came forward one by one to forgive him and ask for last minute clemency for him. Mike released him into the protection of Mother Angelina who thanked the women for their mercy.

  The other two men weren’t so lucky. Every woman from the baby camp, with the exception of Fiona, testified that the man Bill had raped them repeatedly. He was duly taken screaming and thrashing into the woods far from the convent, the children, the mothers and the babies—and hung. The other man, Chezzie, had been too new to the gang and had not yet assaulted any of the women. While Sarah knew he’d tried to shoot John during the compound attack, the gun had misfired. After lengthy deliberation and because Mike was sick of killing, it was decided that the broken arm and two fractured ribs that the good Sisters had given him in the chapel the day of the convent attack would suffice as punishment. He was released with the warning that if he was ever seen anywhere near the convent, he would be shot on sight.

  Davey, reunited with his wife and due to the hearty food and loving care of the convent, soon regained his health. Because he could not accept his wife’s pregnancy or agree to raise the child as his own, Mike asked him to leave the community.

  Today, the first day of September, with the summer harvest in baskets, the hams hanging in the rafters of the convent, all the jams canned and a comfortable winter assured, John stood with his knapsack at his feet next to Regan and Gavin and Sophia, now eight months pregnant. Every time Sarah looked at John, so ready to go, her stomach turned. He was laughing and so happy, so ready to move on to his next chapter, and all she could see was an image of him on his way to kindergarten not that many years ago.

  “He’ll be fine, Sarah,” Mike said shifting six-month old Siobhan in his arms. “He’ll be back before you know it.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true,” Sarah said.

  “And didn’t the lad say you could write him in the meantime? That’s cracking.”

  “He said Dr. Lynch had arranged for a mail drop every six weeks. They’d pick up a letter or package from me and deliver whatever letter John sends.”

  “Almost like normal times.”

  “I can’t believe the compound is just a shell of a place now. I can’t even bear to go inside it.”

  “No reason you should.

  “We can’t stay at the convent forever.”

  “Aye. I know.”

  “It’s just…the convent is safe. Nobody would ever find us there.”

  “Hiding and praying the world doesn’t discover us is no way to live,” Mike said.

  “But what else can we do? We can’t come back to the compound. We can’t defend ourselves against the frigging government!”

  “You know, Sarah, if the Scots had said that back in 1700 they’d never have a sovereign state today.”

  “They don’t have a sovereign state today, you idiot,” Sarah said with a laugh. “England crushed them like bug.”

  “My point is we can’t run away and we can’t hide. But what we can do is build something where even the provisional Irish government won’t mess with us.”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  Mike grinned. “Presently, it’s called Henrendon’s castle. Before the bomb, it was a tourist attraction in full working order. I’m sure we’d have to do very little to get it ready.”

  “A castle? And get it ready for what?”

  “To take on the fecking world if we have to.”

  The sounds of approaching rotors made everyone look up and Sarah felt a growing throb of dread as the helicopter appeared in the sky. She remembered the last time she stood waiting for a helicopter. Then it had ended with John in her arms, finally reunited. Now, it was here to take him away from her.

  John was at her side and threw his arms around her, squeezing her tight.

  “Thank you so much for letting me do this, Mom. Everything will be fine. I’ll write and you’ll write.”

  “I know,” she whispered into his collar, trying to control her tears. “Please take care of yourself.”

  “I will.”

  She kissed his face and held it in her hands as if memorizing
his features until she saw him again. He’ll be six months older. How changed will he be then? The helicopter landed and John glanced in the direction of it. His eagerness nearly made her laugh.

  “I love you so much, John.”

  “I love you too, Mom.”

  “You’re home for Christmas, right?”

  “December tenth. I’ll be right here. I promise.”

  One last hug and she released him. He gave the baby a kiss. Mike gave John a one-armed hug and then John was off, running toward the helicopter, his knapsack on his back, his future before him.

  **********

  After John left, Sarah and Mike walked back to the car and Jeep. Regan was already in the driver seat, wiping the tears from her eyes. Gavin stood by the Jeep talking with Sophia.

  “I hate to leave you so soon after John left,” Mike said, handing the baby to Sarah and giving Siobhan a tweak on the cheek.

  “Don’t be silly. You’ve gone fishing at least a dozen times this summer and have always managed to return in one piece before nightfall.”

  “I know. But today of all days—”

  “Don’t worry about me. I have a million things to do. Did you remember there’s a birthday celebration tonight?”

  “Bugger me, there’s always a birthday celebration.”

  “Well, our group is considerably larger than it was so it stands to reason someone is always having a birthday. Which reminds me. What with Liddy and Davey splitting up, I’ve been meaning to ask you. Did Father Ryan fill out the paperwork on our marriage? Did he file it in Dublin? Are we on record somewhere?”

  “Do ye doubt you’re married to me, Sarah? Must I prove it to ye? Because I think we have time.”

  Sarah laughed. “No, I feel married. Law or no law. But that doesn’t answer Liddy’s situation. What if the lights turn back on in five years and Davey comes trotting out of the woods or wherever he’s been living and says ‘I own half of what you’ve got?’”