Song of the Silent Harp

by BJ Hoff

  Evan turned for one last look at the mother and her son before opening the door. It was a touching scene, he thought, reassured. The woman leaned across the bed, clinging desperately to the boy’s hand as if she feared he would be taken from her any moment; the boy lay still and quiet, his eyes closed, his sunken cheeks stained with angry red.

  Despite the fact that he knew the boy’s eyes were closed because he was praying, Evan felt a chill of eerie premonition trace his spine. There was a macabre reality about the vignette, the boy’s apparent lifelessness, that sent a huge lump surging to his throat.

  The mother was weeping. For some reason, the sight of her tears caught him up short, although why that should be, he had no notion; if ever a woman had reason to weep, surely Nora Kavanagh did.

  Turning toward the door, he attempted to swallow down his panic and effect a visage of calm.

  Lord, use me…free me of my fear and make me…adequate.

  Dragging in one enormous steadying breath, he threw the bolt and swung the door open. An armed policeman and Cotter’s two brutish bodyguards stood scowling at him. Behind them stood half a dozen or more men, all with crowbars.

  Evan stiffened, but granted them not so much as the blink of an eye as he nodded formally. “Gentlemen?”

  The bigger of Cotter’s toughs stepped up and put a hand on the door frame. “What are you doing here?” He was a decidedly unpleasant creature, Evan considered, with his skin deeply pitted from pox scars and a nose so far off center it appeared almost deformed.

  Returning the man’s contemptuous appraisal, Evan replied, “I was hoping to find Thomas Fitzgerald here.” Evan replied coldly. “I have e-eviction orders to serve on him.”

  “Well, sure and you won’t find him here!” the thug growled with disgust. “The Fitzgerald hut is down the road.”

  “I…am quite aware of that,” Evan said coldly. Praying they would not take note of his horse’s absence, he hurried to add, “Fitzgerald was not at home. Cotter m-mentioned the families were close, so I thought perhaps I m-might find him here.” He shot a meaningful glance toward the invalid boy and his mother, then shook his head with a sympathy he did not have to pretend. “Helping out with the b-boy, you know.”

  The hateful stutter was out of control again. Most likely that accounted for the blistering stares of disdain both ruffians now fastened on him. Still, if the despised affliction worked to divert their attention, perhaps he could bear it with more grace. Obviously, he was nothing more than a lame joke to these burly barbarians, and that just might work to his advantage.

  “I say,” he ventured now with affected anxiety, “this Fitzgerald chap…he’s not the outlaw his b-brother is, is he?”

  The two thugs exchanged looks, then grins. “Ah, no,” said the bigger of the two, “not a bit. Thomas Fitzgerald is just a slow-witted farmer is all. But,” he added with a sneer, “you’ll not want to be close by if his renegade brother turns up, Whittaker! He’d have you for dinner, he would!”

  All the men laughed, even the constable. It was just as Evan thought: In their eyes, he was a milksop—somewhat comical, highly contemptible, but utterly harmless. So much the better. He would play his part to the hilt.

  Thinking fast, Evan leveled his eyeglasses over his nose. “Ah, good, at least I d-don’t have to worry about him!” he burst out with feigned relief. “More than likely, he won’t b-be b-back in the village before tomorrow.”

  The big bully with the pockmarked face abruptly sobered. “What’s that you say?” he snapped, his eyes narrowing to mean slits. “What do you know about the outlaw?”

  “Well, I d-don’t know anything,” Evan said guilelessly, “other than what’s rumored in the village. Somebody saw this…M-Morgan Fitzgerald ride out of town earlier.” Again Evan dropped his voice to a whisper and leaned toward the men. “Supposedly, he’s g-gone to a nearby town for supplies,” he said slyly, “but if he’s as sweet on the wo-woman as they say, I’d be inclined to b-believe he’s gone to fetch a surgeon for her son. The boy’s dying, you know,” he said, pursing his lips and clucking his tongue. “So sad, isn’t it?”

  “What town? Did they say what town?”

  “Town? Oh yes, I b-believe it was, ah, B-Ballina. Yes, that was it. B-Ballina.”

  The two men again locked gazes. With an air of conspiracy, Evan motioned them outside the door, then followed. “Do you think that’s where the other b-boy is?” he questioned in a hushed tone. “The one you’re supposed to, ah, fetch for Cotter? He’s certainly n-nowhere around here.”

  The shorter of the two men, who had hair the color of old rust and an incredible number of ginger freckles on his face, jumped on Evan’s remark.“The younger brat? He’s not here, then?”

  “Oh no,” Evan answered, widening his eyes. “I inquired after him, knowing of Cotter’s…interest. No, he’s not here.”

  “Where did the woman say he is?”

  Evan made a small dismissing motion with one hand. “Her? Poor soul, she can’t t-talk at all, she’s simply d-devastated. Her son is dying, you know.” For emphasis, he leveled an icy look of rebuke on the man.

  The big man studied him. “You’re sure the outlaw is headed for Ballina? That’s what you heard?”

  “Well, I can’t be certain,” Evan said haughtily. “All these Irish names sound alike to me. But, yes, I b-believe that was the place. B-Ballina.” Oh, Lord, forgive me…I know most of this isn’t true, not at all, but I simply don’t know what else I can do.

  The rusty-haired man turned toward his companion. “He’s probably right about the younger boy. The brat’s forever tagging after Fitzgerald when he’s in the village. If they’re together, we could take the both of them at once. That should be worth a dear bonus, wouldn’t you say?”

  The taller, meaner looking of the two shook his head. “Our orders is to empty this place tonight.”

  “Aye, and our orders were first and foremost to deliver the Kavanagh gorsoon to Cotter! You know him well enough to know which job will please him most, presenting him with both the boy and that devil Fitzgerald, or tumbling some worthless widow from her cottage.”

  Evan saw his chance and pressed it. “Oh, I say, you’re n-not thinking of evicting the woman tonight, are you?” He reached to straighten his eyeglasses. “Oh, that won’t do at all! Why, Sir Roger would have a stroke if he knew we had tossed a widow and her dying son out into the cold! Oh, dear, n-no! I simply won’t hear of it.”

  The big man glowered at him. “It’s not for you to say. It’s for Cotter.”

  Squaring his shoulders, Evan fixed the man with a freezing glare. “B-Begging your pardon, but George Cotter is only an employee of Sir Roger Gilpin. And I,” he bit out precisely, “am Sir Roger’s assistant, and I’m telling you that you will not evict this woman to-tonight. N-not if you want to continue in the employ of Gilpin estates.”

  The two men exchanged long looks. “I think we ought to go directly on to Ballina,” said the freckle-faced man. “We’re wasting time here.”

  “We may do that,” agreed the other, “but if his honor doesn’t mind, we will first have us a look inside.” The man’s eyes were hard with an unreadable glint.

  Evan could almost feel the perspiration fighting to break out along his forehead. Did he see malice lurking behind those small gray eyes? Had he, in his haste and his nervousness, given himself away somehow?

  Please, Lord, get them out of here quickly…please…

  “Why, of c-course,” he stammered, stepping aside to allow them entrance. “You’ll want to dry out a bit before going on, I’m sure.”

  The big man motioned to the others in the yard that they should wait, then followed his rusty-haired cohort inside the cottage. They stopped in the middle of the kitchen, their gazes sweeping their surroundings until they spied the woman and the boy within the alcove.

  Evan shot her a look, but it went unheeded. It was also unnecessary, he saw at once. Nora Kavanagh was clearly up to what was expected of her. Her e
yes were fastened on her son as she wept copious tears, shaking her head over and over in gesture of desolation. She dragged her eyes away from Tahg only once to glance at the men standing in her kitchen, immediately breaking into loud sobs as if the very sight of them had triggered a fresh outburst of grief.

  “As I said,” Evan murmured discreetly, “the b-boy is in a terrible way. He’ll be gone before n-nightfall, I should imagine.” With a flash of inspiration, he added, “I say, you Irish do t-take on in this sort of thing, don’t you? She’s b-been wailing like that ever since I got here.”

  With obvious resentment, the freckle-faced man shot him an angry glare. “You think it be unnatural to grieve over a dying lad? Your own, at that?”

  Feigning indignation, Evan bristled. “Certainly n-not! But you do have so many, after all. I suppose I didn’t expect…well, you know…”

  The other man twisted his lip in disgust. “Aye, I do know.” Turning to his tall, broad-shouldered partner, he snapped, “Come on, then. It’s Ballina for us.”

  The big man with the bad skin studied the mother and her son for what seemed to Evan an interminable time before giving a short nod. “Aye, we’re off, then. But mind,” he said, scowling at Evan, “if Thomas Fitzgerald shows up here, you question him good. If he has word of his brother and the boy being anywhere else but Ballina, send a message by the bailiff. We’ll leave him in the village, just in case. Or would you rather he stay here, should there be trouble with Fitzgerald?”

  Evan’s mind raced. “Why should there be t-trouble? I’m simply going to serve his papers and be off. He has until tomorrow to leave; I’m certainly not g-going to wait around here until morning. No,” he said firmly, “there’s no need for anyone to stay. If Fitzgerald d-doesn’t show up before long, I’m going back to Cotter’s house, where it’s warm.”

  Both men gave him one more long look, then stalked impatiently out of the cottage. Evan waited until the entire dastardly crew was safely out of the yard and back on the road before shoving the door closed and bolting it. He leaned against it for a moment, his eyes squeezed shut.

  Forgive me, Lord, for lying as I did. I just couldn’t think of another way.

  After a moment, he opened his eyes to find Nora Kavanagh still weeping. Taking a deep breath, he crossed the room, going to stand at the curtained alcove. “You were splendid, Mrs. K-Kavanagh,” he said with total sincerity. “You are a very b-brave woman.”

  She glanced up, staring at him almost as if she had only then become aware of his presence. Tears continued to spill over her cheeks, but she said nothing.

  The boy finally broke the silence. “And you…are a very brave man, Mr. Whittaker. My mother and I…we both thank you.”

  Feeling too awkward to reply, Evan glanced away. “Well, now,” he said briskly, “if you’ll just tell me what to do, I shall help you with your packing, Mrs. K-Kavanagh. I suppose we should get b-busy with it, since Fitzgerald said he would be returning soon.”

  The woeful look she turned on him made Evan long to comfort her. Clearly, the poor woman was only a step this side of utter collapse. But once more she rallied and, pulling herself up off the chair, brushed her lips across the boy’s cheek. “Aye,” she said wearily, leaving her bedside vigil, “let us have done with it, then.”

  Evan had never seen such raw, exposed pain in another human being’s eyes as he encountered when Nora Kavanagh passed by him to enter the kitchen.

  Pat Gleeson had been Cotter’s bodyguard for nearly six years, long enough to know that the agent turned vicious when foiled. The memory of Cotter’s rages helped him make his decision.

  Turning to the man on the horse beside him, he said bluntly, “We’ll stop at the Fitzgerald hut before heading for Ballina.”

  Sharkey, a short, muscular man with a nasty streak, shot Gleeson an impatient glance. “For what? You heard what the Britisher said.”

  Ignoring Sharkey’s irritation, Gleeson said, as much to himself as to his companion, “Something about that stuttering little fop puts me off. He may be Gilpin’s man, but I don’t trust him.” Turning his horse, he gave a sharp jerk of his head to indicate Sharkey should do likewise. “We’ll just have ourselves a look,” he said. “I’ll not be easy unless we do.”

  Sharkey glowered, but turned his horse, signaling the men behind them to follow. “That one has never trusted a soul in his entire wretched life, I’d wager,” he muttered under his breath. “Pity he cannot see that not all men are as deceitful as himself.” His scowl deepened, as did his impatience, when a sudden blast of rain let loose from the clouds, a downpour that drenched them all within seconds.

  “Men, Da!” Katie cried, peering out the small front window. “Men on horses are coming!”

  Thomas was hoisting a trunk to his shoulders and had it halfway up in the air when Katie called her warning. Setting it to the floor, he hurriedly pushed it beneath the bed where the Kavanagh harp had already been safely stored.

  Morgan had feared that Cotter’s toughs would come to check out the cabin. Thomas’s mind raced, trying desperately to remember his brother’s exact instructions.

  “Katie Frances, did you mind what I told you? About what you are to say to the men if they ask questions about me or your uncle Morgan—or Daniel John?” Without waiting for her answer, he jerked his arm toward the small deal table in the middle of the floor. “Hurry, boy!” he whispered harshly to Daniel. “There is no time!”

  The lad scooted the table off its platform bottom, and Thomas quickly eased the wooden plank away so they could lower themselves into the hole it concealed. As soon as Daniel dropped down, out of sight, Thomas looked at his wide-eyed daughter and warned, “You’ll not forget to replace the plank and the table, lass?”

  She shook her head, but Thomas still hesitated, worried for the stark look of fear on her face. “It will be all right, asthore. Try not to be afraid—God is with us.”

  Katie nodded, biting at her lower lip. “I know, Da.”

  With a short nod, Thomas turned to the other two children. Using a hand language Morgan had helped him to develop, he once more reminded Johanna to take Little Tom to the back bedroom, and to stay there until the men were gone.

  As soon as the children left the kitchen, he followed Daniel into the hole. Total darkness enveloped him the instant Katie slid the table back to its place. The black pit was actually a tunnel that led a distance away from the cabin; he and Morgan had started it over a year ago. When Morgan was in the village, he helped with it, but Thomas had done most of the digging himself, he and the two girls. In the beginning, he had used it as storage for their precious extra food supplies. Later, when the food was gone, he’d continued to tunnel, always with the thought at the back of his mind that Morgan might someday need a hidey-hole nearby; he had never expected to be hiding in it himself.

  In the thick, unrelieved darkness, he could not see the boy at his side, but he was aware of Daniel John’s trembling. Lifting a hand, he fumbled until he found the lad’s shoulder.

  “God help us, Thomas,” the boy murmured.

  “God will help us, Daniel John,” Thomas replied, silently praying a psalm of refuge even as he voiced his reassurance.

  When Morgan found the mountain cabin empty, he almost panicked. Only the leavings of some stirabout and bread crumbs gave him hope that the lads could be found close by.

  He was soaked all the way through his cloak to his skin, his hair dripping down over his shoulders, but he took no time to dry off or warm himself. Gathering some blankets from the back room, he crashed out the door, hurriedly tugging the small mare around to the back of the cabin to a rude lean-to deep in the woods.

  As soon as he entered the shed, the immense red stallion tethered at the back began to snort excitedly. Morgan crossed to the horse and soothed him, speaking the Irish. He saddled him quickly, tossing the blankets across his broad back, then tied the mare to a lead rope.

  “Aye, I have missed you, too, Pilgrim,” he murmured, making a soft c
licking noise with his tongue between his teeth, which immediately quieted the big stallion. “But tonight we will ride together again.”

  Leading both horses from the shed, Morgan silenced Pilgrim with a sharp warning as the stallion began to fight the mare’s presence. After checking the lead rope, he swung himself up into the saddle. “So, then, where are the lads, Pilgrim? Where have they gone, eh?”

  He thought he knew. Two priests and a country clergyman had thrown up a tent near Kilcummin, where they aided those on the road with what food and remnants of clothing they could collect. The lads made a practice of helping them out in any way they could, going down in the evening once or twice a week to drop off a bit of this or that, as well as to lend a strong back where needed.

  The smudged tracings of hoofprints in the mud proved him right; at least they had headed in that direction. He had counted on finding the men at the cabin, and he resented the need to spend precious time running them down. He knew his anger was unreasonable, his impatience unjustified, but he was bone tired, anxious, and growing more apprehensive by the moment.

  His mind went to those he had left behind in the village. Try as he would, he could not imagine the frail, mild Whittaker facing down Cotter’s bully-boys. Even less would he allow himself to entertain the consequences of Daniel being discovered at Thomas’s cabin before he could get back.

  Suddenly the sound of hoofbeats and tree limbs brushing together made him look up, startled. Colin Ward and the other five lads galloped out of the woods toward him, hailing him as if he’d been gone for a month. Morgan actually gasped aloud with relief.

  He yanked Pilgrim up short, waiting. “I need the lot of you in the village,” he bit out when they reached him, wasting no time on a greeting. “Bring in any extra horses we have from the woods and ride as hard as you can.” His eyes went over the six men, resting on the biggest of them all. “Cassidy, you meet me at Nora Kavanagh’s cottage, with at least one extra horse. The rest of you go to my brother’s cabin—go down the back road, and make sure you’re not seen. Cassidy and I will meet you there.” He paused, then added, “We will be bringing my family and the Kavanaghs up here this night.”