Safe Home (The Tipperary Trilogy)

by William Patterson

  ‘Dat feckin’ brudder o’ yours,’ he said, as if spitting nails. ‘He jus’ tol’ me dat if anyt’ing happ’ned yer mudder, he would evict me from me own house. I tol’ ‘im dat ‘e oughta say it in front o’ ‘is mam, an’ he jus’ smiled like d’ fox dat ate d’ chicken. I wannid t’ brain’im wit’ dis here hammer.’

  Before Mikey could respond, Robbie sauntered in, smiling. He held a purse up and jingled the few coins in it. The smile disappeared from his face when he noticed the girl sweeping the floor.

  ‘Get ‘er outta here! I tol’ yuz las’ night dat ye ain’ welcome inside.’ So he had remembered the outburst from the evening before. He hadn’t been as drunk as his mother had thought. Morna propped the broom against the wall and, with Robbie’s eyes still on her, she walked outside into the feeble sunshine.

  Jamie addressed Robbie. ‘Dis door is rotten on d’ bottom. It’s gonna need a new one soon.’

  ‘You stick t’ yer smithin’, Clancy,’ sneered Robbie. ‘I’m d’ carpenter aroun’ here.’

  ‘I was jus’ sayin’ dat…’

  ‘I heard what ya said, I ain’t deaf, and I’ll t’ank ya t’ mind yer own business.

  Clancy put his tools into his canvas bag and left, followed by the young couple. Robert watched them go.

  ‘I don’ t’ink much o’ yer wife’s looks eider,’ he shouted after them.

  Morna turned on him in a flash. ‘Da pigs in Cark got better manners den you have!’ she spat.

  Robbie felt the sting of not having the last word and he threw the broom down onto the road in front of the shop.

  When they returned to the cottage, they found Roisin busy making preparations for the evening’s meal. It was a labourious endeavor and she had begun it almost as soon as the hearth was cleaned after breakfast. From the frenzied way she worked, it was clear that something was troubling her.

  ‘What’s the matter, Mam?’ asked Michael. She abandoned her work and slumped heavily onto a chair at the table. Morna took up cutting the spuds and turnips where the older woman had left off and Jamie stood at the door in silence.

  ‘Jamie, m’ cuishla, could you leave. This is a family matter.’ Jamie felt the sting of her words. Since he’d been orphaned at eleven, the Flynns had been the only family he’d known. Roisin saw the look on his face and she changed her mind. ‘I’m sorry, Jamie, you stay. You’re as much a part of this family as anyone.’ Mikey sat opposite his mother at the table and motioned to Jamie to join them.

  ‘If it’s me and Robbie who are upsetting you, Mam, I promise I’ll try harder to get along with him.’

  ‘I know you will, son. You’re like your father, and so are you Jamie Clancy.’ She grabbed Jamie’s hand and looked at Mikey. ‘Your father always said that Jamie was like his first born.’

  Jamie looked down at the table. ‘He was more of a da t’ me den me own farder.’

  Roisin dabbed her eye with a corner of her apron and straightened herself in her chair ‘Well Liam wasn’t perfect,’ she said sternly. ‘but I wish he was here now because he always had a plan. If anything complicated it, he just made a new one.

  ‘Like Ooncle Robbie,’ offered Morna.

  Roisin bristled at the comparison. ‘He was nothing like his brother Robert,’ she snapped. Morna felt her face flush with embarrassment at the rebuke, and she turned back to the vegetables.

  ‘Well he knew how to control Robbie anyway, but now that he’s gone …’

  ‘Liam alw’ys had t’ stay on the sod’s arse dough,’ ventured Clancy. ‘As soon ‘s ‘e took ‘is eyes off ‘im, he’d go wanderin’ off wit’ ‘is friends. If Liam had anyt’ing impart’nt t’ do he’d come an’ ask me t’ help.’

  ‘Don’t you think I know that, Jamie? But that was then and this is now. I only put Robbie in charge a little over a month ago and already things are starting to fall apart. I’ve spent nearly half our savings and soon I’m going to have to dip into the money we’ve always held in reserve for the lean years. Next month, the rents will be due and, if I let Robbie take over that job, we’ll be ruined altogether.’

  ‘Mam, let me and Jamie collect the rents,’ said Mikey.

  ‘That would only cause trouble, Michael.’

  ‘What the divil has happened to you, Mam? I never knew you to be afraid of trouble. You know it makes sense.’

  Roisin dabbed her eyes again. ‘I don’t know. I know what I should do but I just can’t do it to Robbie.’

  ‘An’ dat’s d’ problem, missus,’ sighed Jamie. ‘He c’n play ya like a fiddle, an’ ‘e knows it, an’ he t’inks you don’t. Lookit, I gotta leave an’ go do me own wark ‘r Matt’ll be raisin’ hell down at d’ forge.’ Jamie stood up, kissed Roisin on the cheek and left, telling them that he’d see them later in the evening.

  ‘I don’t know what I would have done after your father died if it hadn’t been for Jamie.’

  ‘Did you know that Robbie threatened him this morning? He told him if anything happened to you, he would evict the Clancys?’

  ‘Ah no, now I can’t believe he would say something like that,’ declared Roisin.

  Mikey shrugged his shoulders.

  *

  CHAPTER 40

  Robert was already downstairs, and Shelagh had just begun to ladle out some porridge into his bowl when Ned came down. He was smiling and his smile grew wider as he sat down opposite the old man. Robert glowered at him.

  ‘Oy never touched ‘er,’ protested Ned, holding his hands up, as if that would somehow prove it. ‘Well, Oy touched ‘er, boot Oy never … well, ya know.’

  Robert exhaled a sigh of relief. ‘Good man, Ned.’

  The young fellow basked in the compliment. ‘She just wannid to coodle, so Oy just coodled her.’

  Robert started shovelling the gruel into his mouth and Ned caught the attention of the landlady. She brought over a big bowl for him and, before he had the spoon halfway to his mouth, the sheriff said,

  ‘You know, boyo, you’re not half as daft as you look.’

  Ned took his spoon the rest of the way to its intended destination. ‘T’anks … Oy t’ink.’

  The golden-haired girl came floating down the stairs, barefoot, just as Robert pushed his bowl away from him. Mary had that same self-assured elegance the old man had seen before on another golden-haired girl. Her simple blue dress did nothing to detract from her slender, willowy form. Robert looked at the deputy and smiled. You have her right where she wants you, boyo, he thought. The three travelling companions sat and relaxed in each other’s company. This time, there was no one chasing them and no need for haste. It was a relief to all of them that events had finally stopped happening at breakneck speed.

  ‘You two sit here awhile, I’m going to see if I can get a coach to Mallow.’

  Robert strolled across the street to the stage depot and let the misty rain envelop him. The summer’s prolonged sunny spell was over and things were back to normal. It was a little over twenty-five miles to Mallow and, if he could get passage out of Macroom before noon, he should arrive just after dark. Although the fare of thruppence seemed a stiff price, he paid it gladly to save his arse from riding all the way on horseback. When he returned to the bar, Ned and Mary were locked in each other’s eyes.

  ‘I hate to break this up but I have something to give you. Let’s call it Mary’s dowry.’ He put the bag of coins on the table, imagining that it was a tax he had to pay for interrupting the lovers. ‘It’s only money, Ned, not worth losing your life over, and neither are the horses. I’ll leave you the pistol too, but only use it if you have to protect yourself and the girl. If I was you, I’d spend the next couple of nights right here. I’ll be leaving in an hour for Tipp and I can meet you in Gortalocca sometime next week.’

  Robert went up to his room, wrapped the pistol in his brat and brought it back down, putting it on the table in front of Ned. He shook the young man’s hand.

  ‘Thank you, Ned, he said, then he kissed Mary on the cheek. ‘You take care of hi
m, girl, he belongs to you, now.’

  The old sheriff walked out the door without looking back and the young couple watched him go. None of them could know that it would be the last time they ever saw each other.

  *

  Inside Nenagh Castle, loud shouting could be heard coming from the sheriff’s office and the fat sergeant who sat at the front desk smiled. Bernard Higgins was being hauled over the coals by the chief magistrate and, although the adjutant had no idea what it was about, it made him happy to know the officious prig was finally getting his comeuppance. The door opened.

  ‘I’ll see to it, your honour,’ the acting sheriff assured the judge, penitently. ‘The man will be punished severely, sir.’ The judge brushed him aside, grunted and stormed out.

  It seemed that one of the deputies, a fellow by the name of Willie Egan, had solicited a bribe by force from the bureaucrat’s favourite butcher, Charlie Quinn. When Charlie refused to pay, the deputy had beat him so severely that he hadn’t been able to work for several days. When those in high office discovered they had to procure their meat from a different vendor, they were furious and they demanded retribution.

  Back in his office, Higgins yelled for his desk sergeant, who strolled in with a slovenly gait.

  ‘I want William Egan arrested and brought before me, Sergeant.’

  The adjutant stood, slouching, which made his big belly protrude even further. ‘Willie is well liked by d’ udder men,’ he said, doubtfully. ‘No one is goin’ t’ be happy about dis.’

  The colour rose in Bernard’s face. ‘My job is not to make the other officers happy, you cretin!’ he screamed. ‘My job is to keep the peace.’

  ‘An’ a fine job yer doin’… sar,’ snorted the sergeant. He turned and sauntered out, leaving the office door ajar behind him.

  Higgins asked himself what D’Arcy would do. The Bloody Laws, which had been introduced years before, stated that any man who stole more than five shillings could be hanged, but D’Arcy had always maintained that, if hanging was to be used as a deterrent, it should only be done so for the most serious of offenses. If he was to hang a popular deputy, there was always the chance that the other men would mutiny and then redcoats would have to be called in to quell the revolt. Higgins paced his office, his hands clasped behind his back. The punishment must be severe but not so severe as to cause a rebellion.

  Finally, Bernard decided that the man would be stripped of his uniform, tied over the barrel of a cannon and flogged with a cat-o’-nine-tails. He would use the small contingent of redcoats in the castle to mete out the punishment. There was no love lost between the police and the Army. Although fifty lashes could kill a man, thirty would be sufficient to serve as an example to the other deputies and the man would then be brought out into the market and put in the stocks for three hours. This would be a public spectacle, even if it was not the hanging which the town was anticipating.

  The punishment was delivered the next morning. The contingent of police stood at attention throughout the flogging process and every time the man screamed, and scream he did as each lash bit into the skin on his back, the deputies would shift their weight uncomfortably from one foot to another. Egan passed out several times and the flogging had to be called to a halt until he was doused with a bucket of water and thus revived. After all, a whipping was only useful if the recipient was aware of each stroke. When it was done, before he was put in the stocks, a red hot iron rod, an inch in diameter, was burned through his ear. From now on, he would forever be recognised as a criminal, lucky to have escaped the gallows.

  Higgins made his way back to his office and he felt sick to his stomach. Although he had witnessed dozens of beatings during his years in service, this was the first one that he himself had ordered. Whenever D’Arcy presided over the affair, the blood hadn’t bothered him much. Now, however, he found it impossible to get the metallic smell out of his nostrils. The man’s screams had seemed more terrible too and he had found the sight of the iron burning through his ear disturbing. It was still early in the day but he wanted a drink. The brass clock on his desk read half nine as he poured himself a glass of whiskey.

  *

  There were no other passengers on the Mallow to Limerick coach when Robert boarded it and so his thoughts were uninterrupted. He had initially hoped that he and Ned would simply find Michael, then spirit him away. Now he wondered, had he taken the young deputy’s advice and gone into the mountains by way of Macroom, whether it would have made any difference to the outcome. The image of self-assurance and fierce resolve which Robert presented to the world was no different to that of his younger brother. He wondered if they were both frauds. Ah Liam, he thought, if only you were alive, we would take a walk and share our doubts, just us two brothers Flynn. Suddenly he had an urge to reclaim his birth name. When he got back to Gortalocca and started up the horse business with Mick, they would call it ‘Sheridan and Flynn.’ He liked the sound of it and mouthed it to himself.

  ‘Did ya say somet’in’? the driver called down. Robert realised he’d been talking out loud to himself and wondered was he going daft or just getting old.

  *

  ‘You know, Mam, that door Jamie fixed is going rotten. It’s going to fall off its hinges one day.’

  Roisin turned to her son and smiled. ‘I’m not surprised, Michael, it’s the original one from when my da bought the place almost fifty years ago.’

  ‘I was thinking that Jamie and I could build a new one.’

  ‘That’s a good idea, son, get Robbie to help you.’

  ‘Why don’t you just break all my fingers and be done with it, Mam?’

  ‘Ah stop. Robbie worked with your da all the time.’

  ‘No, Mam, Robbie stood around and picked his nose while Da worked.’

  ‘Go on out of that. Sure it might even bring you two boys closer together.’

  Mikey pursed his lips and shook his head. ‘The only way I’m prepared to get closer to that gobshite is if I stick me foot up ‘is arse.’

  ‘Michael Flynn! And you nearly a priest! You spent too much time down in County Cork and now you’re beginning to sound like one of those gasbags.’

  Morna overheard Roisin’s remark and stiffened. ‘Ain’t nuttin’ wrong wit’ Carkmen,’ she sniffed.

  Roisin was momentarily without words. This girl was half her size and she dared to bristle like a badger in defense of her home county and her husband.

  ‘Go build your door, Michael.’

  Morna took off her apron, threw it aside and was about to walk out the door with her husband when Roisin softened. The storm clouds in her mind had parted.

  ‘I’m sorry, Morna, I didn’t mean to upset you.’ Michael’s eyes widened. Never in all his life had he heard his mother apologise to anyone. She would perhaps do some little endearing thing if she found out she was wrong about something but ‘I’m sorry’ was just not in her vocabulary. Morna winked and squeezed his hand.

  When the young couple arrived at the old church which Liam had used as a carpenter’s shop, Mikey had to use his shoulder to push the door open. The rusty old hinges squealed in protest and, as the door finally swung open, a startled mouse scurried out.

  ‘I see Robbie’s been busy,’ he said, sarcastically. The tools were hung in tidy rows, just as his father had left them, but they had begun to rust. Boards were stacked neatly in piles and the little stool which Liam had used to rest on during his last few seconds was toppled over on the floor. Michael was filled with emotions, a jumble of grief, love and respect.

  ‘Da,’ he said. ‘I’m going to make you proud of me. I’m going to do what you taught me.’

  Hanging from the rafters were a few ancient pine boards which had been there for as long as Mikey could remember. They were almost three inches thick and over a foot wide and he thought they must have come from a once-mighty tree. Between the two of them, Michael and Morna wrestled a couple of the planks down to the floor and Mikey set his wife to work, cleaning the rust off the
tools with a bucket of lard, using some fine sand as an abrasive. The girl’s hands quickly turned red from the corrosion but she was working with her husband and that was motivation enough for her. By the day’s end, the door was nearly complete. It just needed hinges now and Jamie could supply those from the forge.

  They didn’t have to search out Jamie because he found them just as they were closing the door.

  ‘Howaya,’ said Jamie, using the usual Irish rhetorical greeting. ‘Whatcha buildin’, Mikey?’

  ‘Building a door. I need hinges for it though.’

  ‘I got some in a bucket back at the house. Don’t know what style ya want. Pick one.’

  Morna looked from one to the other, taking it all in. They all made their way to Jamie’s cottage and the girl watched while the men rummaged through the bucket. She had enjoyed working with her husband and was eager to learn more.

  ‘Dis one’s called a buck hinge,’ Jamie said. ‘Me and yer Da invented it here in Gortalocca. Ya see?’ he said, demonstrating it to Mikey. ‘Ya don’ have to cut a mortise fer it. It has teeth dat look like a deer’s horns, so ya c’n just bang it in, an’ den ya put a coupla screws in it t’ hold it fast.’

  It made sense to Morna now. Her knowledge of her native language was sketchy but she knew that ‘buck’ was ‘pocan’ in Irish. ‘Pick one’ must be how Tipperary people pronounce ‘Pocan’.

  One day, the village was to have a new name.

  *

  CHAPTER 41

  If their coach kept to its timetable, thought Robert, he would be in Limerick by that evening. His head had begun to pound, even though he hadn’t drunk anything stronger than a single beer the night before. When his coach changed horses in Charleville, he would find an apothecary and buy a little laudanum or opium for his throbbing head … penance, he thought, for Ballyshee and the hundred other places and deeds. He pulled shut the curtain which covered the little window, but even the light which escaped around its edges hurt his eyes. The jostling of the coach and the pounding of the horses’ hooves exacerbated the beating drums inside his skull.