Melting Away

By Brogan Broyce

Hello, my friend,

Thank you very much for showing interest in my book. As for me, I was raised on the far southeast side of Chicago. I was a typical boy with typical interest (sports and play). However, all throughout my school days, I was told that my essays were stimulating and my poetry interesting. I didn't pursue either until thirty years later. My family was my life. I had married my high school sweetheart, and we raised our five children together. I worked as an electrical lineman for thirty-three years, and after retiring early, we moved to Tennessee.

It was there that I discovered an article about the misfortunes of Ireland during the potato famine (1845-1849). The more I peered into Ireland's history, the more interested I became. Then at the onset of COVID, I had more sympathy for Ireland than ever before. Hence, I researched and put together a novel even as our world also contended with a dreadful malady. And here we are today.

Thank you for your interest, and good reading to you.

Brogan Broyce

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: May 15, 2023
• ISBN: 9798887931722

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Melting Away

Brogan Broyce

Copyright © 2023 Brogan Broyce

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2023

ISBN 979-8-88793-171-5 (pbk)

ISBN 979-8-88793-172-2 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

The Locals

Let’s Walk

Decisions

Fair Game

My Sweet’s Wrath

Kilkee

A Thought Would Do Nicely, Lads!

Damned Irish Luck

As Death Clawed at Our Feet, We Danced

Expect the Unexpected

Deceit, Lies, and Ice

Riley

Something Is Amiss!

Nameless

Lies, Deception, and Lies

Deceit Is Good

Travelers

Green Man

Ire of the Land

County Clare, 1845

Whisperings I have heard of late—vile and menacing they are. Concerning the sly glances I receive all too often, be assured that I know from where they originate. The bitter stare I receive from those possessed of special knowledge has found my very step. Yes, subtle warnings in the guise of friendly advice have been given me. You see, I have discovered dark secrets, though much by accident I must admit. And yet because of what I innocently stumbled upon, I have been shunned and maligned by many of my so-called prestigious peers.

My position and standing have greatly diminished, and my assignments are now menial. Some say that I have taken leave of my senses, and yet those of understanding seem to think otherwise. I do not know to whom I can turn to for help. At times, it has become difficult for me to distinguish friend from foe. No more influence within the lofty circles do I enjoy for in its stead I’ve gathered suspicion. The expressing of concern has harvested me contempt, and I now walk the crooked furrows of the pitiless plow of doom. I cannot escape my suspicion that a bitter harvest is near, and it is most anxiously awaited.

My current assignment was forced on me some four days ago. Still, though, for some reason, I feel relieved. Make no mistake, I do miss the tiled corridors that line the great halls, and the gleaming cliffs of Dover bring me great delight. However, there’s a certain peace I feel here. The bright green rolling hills pleasantly strewn with wildflowers and spring-fed brooks paint a picture of serenity within my troubled mind. And the smiling faces of a people whose future rarely extends beyond the boundary of the small plot of earth upon which they endlessly toil give me renewed satisfaction with humanity that’s otherwise rarely fulfilled.

Most here have little, if any, knowledge of things other than potato farming. They delight in simple gossip, a bit of ale, music, and dance. Trusting they are, and with a smile and a handshake they’ll kindly greet a stranger and send him on his way as well. They have not fallen under the vile spell of greed, ruthless ambition, or a senseless lust of power. No, for these simple people are simply hungry. How long will they continue as such I must wonder. I sincerely hope that my suspicions prove unfounded and that I’ll find a little quiet time for myself.

My journey begins here in the peaceful, pleasant town of Ennis, of County Clare. The narrow, winding, cobbled streets are noisily brimming with shoppers bargaining with merchants and tradesmen alike. The entire town is filled with the merry sounds of children playing and friends gathering. Ah…yes! This is much to my liking. A fine afternoon this twenty-first day of June 1845 it is. And…mmmmm! I say, that smells delightful. Where does it come from?

The weary traveler of proper English ancestry attracted no little attention when he stepped down from the weathered cart and slipped upon the damp cobbled stone. Of course the ever-present brigade of nearby children laughed heartily at the well-dressed visitor.

After all, he had plopped downward upon his backside rather solidly. Several ladies giggled reservedly as they gathered around and quickly expressed concern for his well-being. Well, now, he said as he stood up and brushed his trousers, I must be a tad shaky from the journey. I do hope I haven’t caused anyone undue duress. Then after glancing at their smiling faces, the gentleman politely inquired, Would there be a place nearby where I can obtain a spot of tea and a bite to hold me over?

Why, yes, good sir, came a friendly reply from a young lass. Just down the lane on the left is Flowers Bakery. Fine fare they have. Good day to ya now. The young girl giggled as she skipped away.

The bakery was well-organized and filled with fresh breads and fine pastries. After a few satisfying whiffs, it took but a moment for the visitor to acquire his fill. Upon exiting the establishment with a mouthful of very satisfying pastry, he again inquired, Young lad there, would you know of where I can obtain lodging?

That may prove difficult, the lad responded, as the town is filled with buyers. However, the lad continued as he glanced northward, I know of a cottage some twenty furlongs away.

Hmmmm! Well, lad…that’s something, I suppose. Are you certain there’s nothing closer? The tired traveler was hoping for a more convenient room in town closer to his business. I know nothing of the area, and I am worn through from my journey.

Beggin’ your pardon, sir, the lad continued with a mild tone of reluctance, "perhaps for a stiff price a clerk may find something, but be assured that all decent rooms were let a week ago…if you get my meaning."

That I do, young man, the gentleman acknowledged as he sipped his tea. I believe I’ll be heading north. Then realizing he was unsure of any road out of town, he again looked at the local lad.

However, before he could speak, the friendly young fellow offered his assistance. Once the lad smoothly climbed aboard the cart, he took hold of the reins in one hand and offered his other, saying, I’m pleased to meet you, sir. My name is James.

Oh, dear, the reluctant traveler blurted out, recalling that he had not properly introduced himself, just where are my manners? As James pulled him aboard, the traveler continued, My name is Charles, young sir, and the pleasure’s all mine. As the cart lurched forward, from the corner of his eye, Charles noticed two men standing aside the lane, gesturing toward him and whispering. When he turned to see better, the men stepped back into the alley and out of view.

Charles gave the sight no further consideration. He leaned back on his seat and took to admiring the medieval style of construction around him while munching on his bread.

James effortlessly guided the cart through the narrow lane, smoothly winding in and out of the slow-moving clusters of shoppers. Within minutes, they were away from the crowds and proceeding north on the well-traveled and quite dusty main road.

Gazing about the countryside as they loped along, Charles’s thoughts returned to his voyage over. The gently rolling hills of the surrounding land reminded him of the huge swells they had encountered not long after leaving England. The white flower-strewn hills seemed like seabirds floating atop the waters, and the rutted road was not unlike the choppy waves that jarred the vessel from time to time. Suddenly, an unusual queasiness over took him for he was not fond of the vastness of the dark waters they encountered. As the cart swayed from side to side, the nervous passenger clung tightly to the rails, wondering, How shall I eat this horrid stew with us bobbing about like this? Drat this slop, and he flung the tin bowl to the deck. The weather is fair, he voiced aloud, and yet these cursed waves continue to impede our progress? We should be there by now. Then when he attempted to sip his tea, the cart shifted, causing the tea to splash in his face.

Damn it all, Charles swore, causing the helmsman to wonder what was wrong. This sea is revealing something. It’s as if the deep’s agitation is telling me to return. We must go back, he forcefully demanded. "Helmsman, can you hear me? Turn back, I say!"

At that very moment, James jolted the less-than-jovial voyager back to the present, and pointing across the bow, he softly said, Here it is!

Charles noted they had stopped aside a small, unassuming cottage. I’m hopin’ it’s to your liking, sir. The helmsman smiled.

Charles, still slightly confused, reoriented as he looked around. A moment passed, and while rubbing his face with his coat sleeves, he asked, Why are my eyelids sticky? And tell me, lad, why is my bread scattered around the cart?

James laughed softly, and while leaning his elbow on the plank seat, he faced his passenger and kindly suggested, Do ya not mean the ‘deck,’ sir? Realizing Charles was slow to grasp his meaning, James clarified, When the cart jolted, you lost your grip, and the stew—err…the bread—flew about and the tea splashed.

Charles, sensing James was covering for him, winked and quipped, These voyages can be rough on a fellow. Then glancing at the cottage, Charles agreed, I believe that this will do nicely.

Although the cottage was little more than three meters by four meters, it appeared clean and sound. The roof was dry as was the stone flooring. The hearth appeared ample, and a small iron kettle hung neatly in the corner, along with some cooking utensils. A sturdy cot was in the far corner near the window. James waited patiently in the doorway for Charles’s okay. Hmmmm! Yes it is, lad, clean and neat!

Charles stated with a grin as he looked at James, A fine abode. Can you tell me, please, what sort of neighbors can I expect?

Please sup with us this evening, James replied as he turned and stepped out the narrow doorway, and have the good pleasure of seeing with your own eyes. We’re three furlongs north of the creek on the small trail, which veers to the right. We’ll tend to your donkey.

Charles wondered as James proceeded northward, A polite fellow to be sure…quiet and thoughtful and…let me see…and pensive. Yes! The boy has much on his mind. There’s more to him than meets the eye. And his enunciation, it’s slightly different. I can’t be certain that he’s native to this area, and yet I feel the boy is. Circling the room while pondering his assumptions, Charles eventually concluded, Something’s odd. Oh, well, time enough for that later.

After Charles unloaded the cart and fed the curious birds that seemed to fly in from nowhere, he focused his thoughts toward more tender concerns. I wonder what the missus is doing now. She’s probably chatting with the neighbors as she usually does about this hour while her delightful soup is on the boil. Mmmmmm! I would very much enjoy a bowl about now. I wouldn’t mind a squeeze or two from my dear lady either. That would be most—

Tap…tap…tap.

Surprised, Charles quickly faced the door and said aloud, Now who could that be? Oh…why, hello there. He held out his hand to the unexpected visitor.

Are ya gettin’ along well enough? the elderly fellow curtly asked as he extended his hand across the threshold.

Why, yes, thank you, Charles replied as they shook hands. Charles’s soft, white hands seemed pale and weak compared with his visitor’s. The caller’s hands were rough and callused, and both index fingers were bent at the knuckles, obviously broken more than once. But the man’s grip was strong, and his eyes were clear. Charles knew that the visitor was assessing him as the man glanced around the room. And the curious visitor knew Charles was doing the same to him.

Suddenly, the robust fellow raspingly stated, Edward’s my name, Edward O’Brien.

After that, they spoke at length. O’Brien was most inquisitive as to why Charles was there. Charles, however, was cautious about what information he shared, being a stranger and all. O’Brien knew the Englishman was holding back; he expected it. However, once satisfied that Charles was not a threat, O’Brien abruptly changed the subject, asking, Where will ya sup this night?

After replying, Charles asked, Do you know of them?

That I do. James’s father you’ll meet, he responded with satisfaction, a fine man and husband ta Heather. She’s a dear lady, witty, capable, determined, and a lovely woman as well. Brian, brother ta James, you’ll be meetin’. A smart lad he is, strong and quick.

With that said, O’Brien, who suddenly appeared to be lost in thought, turned away and gazed south beyond the window as he muttered something beneath his breath. At that moment, Charles glanced at his timepiece and remembered he had to unpack and ready himself to leave. Although O’Brien was facing opposite Charles, the spry fellow knew what Charles was doing and thinking for he continued, Don’t be hasty now. I’m almost through. You’ll do well ta meet the McGregors. There’s William, a fine man whose bloodline, it’s said, can be traced back some eight hundred years. Then with softened voice, he continued in a tone that seemed more like serious advice. A true friend he’ll be but only ta those that are true ta him. Tread softly. At that, the wily fellow abruptly walked out and looked skyward. They’ll be a-waiting. Good evenin’ to ya. And the nimble white-haired man was gone as quickly as he appeared.

Goodness me, Charles said out loud, when that fellow has a mind to, he comes and goes in a flash. I did enjoy conversing with him, although in the future, I’ll take care to ask him shorter questions. I best be on my way now too.

The late-afternoon sun glowed unabated as Charles rumbled northward. Above him, myriads of flying creatures flew wildly, darting high and low while performing their daily ritual of daring acrobatics. Some of the braver swooped closely, causing Charles to bow low as he laughed at their amusing antics. Then suddenly, he recalled a distant thought; whether reality or imagined, he could not tell. Looking between the weathered boards beneath his feet, the certainty of the moment faded, and the clopping sound of the donkey’s hooves became rhythm-like and distant, not unlike the boot strikes of many troops heading into battle. Thoughts stirred within, bitter and deadly remembrances of times long passed. And yet, though his thoughts were drifting aimlessly, he had enough presence of mind to continue the advance northward. Plagued by fear, though the late afternoon chill had begun, the beleaguered soldier perspired as if it were noon in an open place. Confusion ruled, and his vision began to blur. Unable to recall where he was headed, he became frantic, pulling harder and harder on the reins and causing the timid beast of burden to kick back and bray loudly. Somehow he realized that he was near his destination, but he didn’t know where he was. He yelled aloud as he panicked. Seek cover, lads, they’re all about us. Then as an unknown approached, he tried desperately to face the enemy, but his body would not respond. When he thought that all was lost, a distant voice called to him.

He regained some focus, and looking down amid the confusion, he heard You must be Charles. She was a charming, well-spoken young lady, and she was bathed with the peaceful rays of the late-afternoon sun. She seemed a vision as she held her hand out to him, and with a most inviting smile, she gestured as she spoke. Do allow me to escort you to the Joyces’ cottage.

An image of splendor, Charles thought while trying to still his heavy breathing and gain proper composure. As he awkwardly inched himself from the cart, Charles smiled and agreed, That would be most kind of you, dear lady, and he clumsily reached out to her.

This seems more troubling for me than descending a rocky slope. Recognizing that the visitor was unsure of foot, the lassie took hold of his free hand and, placing her forearm against his back, guided him down. As his senses returned, Charles stood erect on the hard-packed road. He groaned loudly as he stretched. Embarrassed, the gentleman shrugged and raised his eyebrows as if to apologize. Paying no mind to his unnatural sounds, as Charles’s wife would always say, his dainty guide introduced herself.

My name is Magdalene McShean, sir, she said with a smile. I think it best I name the others when you see their faces. Here we are.

The Joyces’ cottage faced northwest and was of fair size. It had a wider-than-average arched doorway that was neatly outlined with stone and accented with a heavy oaken door. A well-laid walkway curved slightly and led round a firepit on both sides. The home was graced with two stone chimneys, north and south, with was unusual for that area. There were windows on all sides, and it was obvious that the occupants not only enjoyed the sunlight but also processed a keen sense of order. Charles all but forgot that he was to be introduced until he heard Good evening, Charles. We’re pleased you’re here. James told us about you. It was James’s mother, Heather, and their neighbor, Molly.

Although the ladies received Charles most kindly, they sensed he was a bit uncomfortable. Heather called to her younger son, Brian; he quickly fetched Charles a mug of ale. How he brought it to me so quickly and without spilling is beyond me, Charles thought. The ladies were most interested with the doings of London. They asked their guest questions pertaining to the many shops and restaurants and the latest in stylish women’s wear. As for Charles, he couldn’t help but wonder at how striking the lovely ladies would look in the latest fashions, seeing how pretty they already were in their homespun clothing. They smiled when Charles blushed as he looked at their pretty faces, and they inquired about the many conveniences of the larger hotels. They were most impressed. Shortly, after Brian appeared with another fill, the ladies politely excused themselves and continued with preparations.

A moment later, Charles heard Why, Brian, it’s been a while since such a dapper fellow come to visit, has it not? It was Daniel, the eldest son of the O’Shays, who resided across the road—an impressive young man to be sure! He was six feet tall, flawlessly fair-skinned, and had a grip like a vice. Daniel greeted Charles with an English accent as proper as any. Shall we retire to the villa for a snort or two, old chap? They all laughed. It was obvious to Charles that Daniel was intelligent, charming, and handsome. A dangerous combination!

The lads conversed with Charles for a spell and were quite taken with the doings within the Parliamentary circles across the pond. Intrigued with the latest inventions and England’s constant naval expansion, they wondered at England’s ever widening influence.

Their quarries were varied and many and interlaced with jokes, insults to each other, and wise quips. If only our late-night sessions at the Commons were as interesting, Charles thought, or nearly as productive.

Time with the lads passed quickly, and before Charles realized they had left, he was watching James’s father, Patrick, approach. With brown hair and eyes to match, his advance was welcoming and his greeting warm. Charles felt at ease with Patrick. He noted that Patrick’s movements were smooth and his words kindly and to the point. Charles detected no deception.

Are you being taken care of proper, Charles? Patrick inquired. He then guided his guest around the firepit to the seating stones. Patrick had a calmness that made Charles feel relaxed and secure. As they walked, he asked Charles if his accommodations were adequate.

Charles thanked him for his concern and stated with a sigh, All is satisfactory. However, the day has been too long. I seem to be spilling everything I touch. I’m sure I will again before long.

Think nothing of it. Patrick laughed. I’ve done the same more than I can count. Sit with me here, away from the flying embers, and we’ll enjoy our stew without getting burnt.

They spoke of current events a while, laughing together at the silliness of long-winded politicians in both Dublin and London. Charles thought it interesting how Patrick could poke fun at any political office and make his point, positive or negative, without damaging anyone’s creditability. His company proved most pleasurable to the weary Englishman.

A short time later, Molly returned, accompanied by her husband, William. Together they appeared a salient couple, and the Celt in them was most apparent. The flickering firelight magnified Molly’s lovely features while adding a certain mystique to William’s. His dark eyes gleamed in the firelight, and his hair was the blackest Charles had ever seen. Compared to Molly’s lovely feminine form, William’s frame appeared all the more formal. He stood six foot three at the least, was broad shouldered, and possessed strong arms with a grip to match. Charles couldn’t wait for William to let go. He, like Patrick, possessed a mild countenance, only he was quicker to laugh and loudly at that. Charles was very much at ease with both of the men, and as the ale flowed, he was caught up with Patrick’s comedic wit and carried away with William’s contagious laugh. Charles never did stop spilling his ale except when he was spilling his stew.

Eventually, the men sat together away from the others, and in typical Irish fashion, Patrick questioned Charles about his business as William, for the most part, silently looked on. They listened attentively as he explained the nature of his work in England and why he had traveled to Ireland. At one time while they spoke, Charles thought that he recognized Patrick and William as he gazed through the fire at them. However, the image quickly faded, and their company proved to be a pleasant relief from the incessant ramblings of the House of Commons. Charles admitted to himself, That place will drive a man to drink. Hah! Just you look at me for proof.

Later that evening, Charles noticed that James, the gentle lad who assisted him earlier, had the habit of abruptly leaving and would return a short time later without saying a word. He did it several times. Patrick, understanding Charles’s thought, kindly explained, It’s just his way. After the loss of most of last year’s late harvest, James has the habit of scrutinizing every plant. Over and over he will cover with dirt any part that the light can reach. He’s making sure that we won’t endure another loss such as that. Then Patrick peered into the darkness to the east. When it comes to our sole means of living, few things escape James’s sight.

Aye, said William as he nodded in agreement, the lad has a keen eye. A thoughtful silence followed for a moment or two.

Have ya not noticed the chimneys on our home, lad? Patrick abruptly asked, breaking the contemplative calm.

It’s a good thing this mug is almost empty for a change, Charles gratefully thought.

Yes, sir, I have, Charles acknowledged as he detected a delightful gleam in Patrick’s eyes. Looking over his shoulder, Charles added, But does it not use more fuel to do the same?

That’s the thing of it, Charles. We’ve figured it uses a third less peat at the least. And it’s of no matter which way the wind blows because the draft pulls the heat through. It’s warmer than before. With an ever widening grin, the proud father concluded, He’s a good lad.

Charles readily agreed, William smiled, and they lifted their mugs to James’s health. Shortly after that, Charles dozed off and vaguely recalled the rather cool ride back to his cottage.

Early the following morning, the sun cautiously peeked out from her resting place beyond the eastern ridges, yawning as she warmly touched the higher pathways. She treaded slowly at first, careful not to pass over the least of her children nestled quietly within the dimples of her beloved domain. The living creatures stirred, stretching their furry arms as they stood upon their unsteady feet. The growing things soon joined in, reaching ever outward, hoping to benefit from the warmth of her tender, glowing embrace. Suddenly, the misty dawn had become of age, and the land had now fully awakened from its nightly slumber.

As life bathed itself with the sun’s glowing influence, a heavenly serenade settled peacefully upon the ears of all earthly dwellers, adding to the beauty of another day. However, a steadily increasing number of the choir chose to comfortably perch upon a certain sill of a certain cottage next to what appeared to be a certain pile of dank rags.

What the bloody hell is this? Charles snapped as he sprang up. The screeching symphony continued, all but ignoring the startled visitors’ numerous request to shoo. Have you followed me from England to vex me further? Why are you here…oh…I remember now. The bread! Yes, yes! I have more. But I’ll chuck it around some other cottage—be certain of that.

For the next hour or so, Charles could do little more than sip tea and gaze beyond the open door at the grassy knoll across the road. He loosely thought of what he had learned thus far, which was a bit disappointing. Still, he noted that the crops appeared normal and that expectations were that a healthy early harvest was expected. Good news for the locals here and the treasury back home, Charles thought. However, there was the ongoing issue concerning proper meal allocation. He spoke aloud as he wrote.

Meal distribution appears to be…

"Appears to be what?" Someone barked a challenging question from the doorway that set Charles’s heart racing and caused him to spill hot tea over his hand.

Why, pardon me, my good fellow, Charles responded as he nervously set his cup on the table. I didn’t realize anyone knew I was here.

It’s my business ta know who comes and goes around these parts, the unwanted visitor spat. The name is Keene. The slender yet muscular man stepped in, and standing next to Charles, he rudely peered at the freshly written note.

The man’s menacing presence angered Charles, but he thought, I best keep my wit about me. At least until I know what he’s up to. Still, I wish he’d step back a little. I don’t know how long I can take the stale odor emanating from him. It’s like standing aside the Thames during a dry season. I don’t much care for the pushy twit reaching over me with that sweaty, sinewy arm of his, and snatching my note has become too much to bear.

Now see here, Keene, Charles protested, you’ve no right to…

That’s Deputy Keene to ya, Limey, and what’s your interest concerning the meal?

Well, sir, Charles began, his frustration now in check, my employer sent me to see if all was in order, pertaining to things such as quantity, quality, proper allocation, and…

You may take note of its worth, the agitated deputy blared, "but we shall distribute it as we see fit. Besides, he continued as his anger eased, it’s not wise to mingle with the locals—one can get hurt." The warning was given with an annoying smugness.

Perhaps… Charles attempted to say, but the man angrily spun round with clenched fist and a crazed look.

Thrusting his ruddy face into Charles’s, he threatened, "You will get hurt."

Face to face and breathing heavily, Charles wondered how he could possibly protect himself. Where’s O’Brien when you need him? What am I to do? Even the birds are gone. This fellow is obviously a mental twit, not to be reasoned with. If only that William fellow were here.

Sweating profusely, Charles noticed the deputy’s hand grasping something behind his back, and detecting his foe tensing, he wondered, What can possibly defuse this frightful predicament?

Suddenly, from the window aside the road came a timely greeting: A fine mornin’, don’t ya lads think? Instantly the men turned to see the lovely young lady smiling as she casually rested her slender arms upon the worn sill. The discreet lass looked expressionlessly toward the deputy, paused, then to Charles she said, Perhaps, Charles, you would be kind enough to accompany James into town tomorrow?

Before Charles could respond, the intolerable deputy rested his arm next to Magdalene’s, saying, Our table awaits, Magdalene. Shall I make the arrangements? A moment passed, and when Keene attempted to touch her hand, a definite look of displeasure crossed her face.

Pulling back slowly, she softly responded, My business is with the gentleman. She then stepped away and glanced back to Charles. They’ll be here by eight. Good day to ya now.

Well, that’s quite a turn, Charles gratefully thought. With but a few words, a glance, and a smile, the dainty lass put a threatening situation to rest.

Charles’s thoughts were suddenly interrupted when from the doorway, the frustrated Keene muttered, You’ll do well to heed my advice if you intend to see Wycombe again. Then leering lasciviously at Magdalene as she walked away, the angry deputy cursed, spit toward Charles, and headed south in a huff.

That filthy lout, Charles voiced in disgust, his advice is not fit for a rat’s ass. I will speak to his superior, and then we’ll see whose advice will be heeded. That smelly dirt sack!

Charles’s angry murmuring continued as he wiped the spills and set the kettle to boiling. After his mug was again filled and the steeping aroma began to calm his nerves, something else stirred his inquisitive nature, and he took to wondering, I can’t figure out that young Miss Magdalene! I’m somewhat intrigued with her. She’s genteel and kind but seems to have a certain…something I cannot yet grasp. And yet what of that dog’s statement, Our table waits? Is there something between them? Something recent, or was there something between them in the past perhaps? It seems much more than unlikely to me. At that moment, Charles paused, wondering what the wretched deputy had said beneath his breath as he stepped out. Keene’s garbled words had the feel of familiarity, but Charles simply was unable to hear them all. Oh, well, sighed the now composed gentleman, "these matters are not my concern. ‘Keep to the subject,’ I’m so often reminded. And so I shall. As for now, I have a much more serious concern.

My dearest Sarah…

The Locals

The next morning dawned fair and bright as did William McGregor. He emerged from his cottage with vigor and a grin. His hair gleamed in the light, and his voice boomed as he neared the Joyces’ cottage. Come now, lad. Quit your layin’ on your backside. Ya know ya can’t keep a lady waitin’—let’s tend to her. A moment later, the cheerful lad exited his home and handed William a mug of tea. The excited suitors then headed south toward Ennis.

As they walked, William questioned James concerning his future. He wondered if James still planned to attend school in Belfast for it was well-known that James had displayed special skills in structural engineering. James responded, I do enjoy the work, I admit, but to do so for a living is another matter. I would surely miss my family and my friends. And with questionable harvests, my help would be better used here. No, I don’t believe I am yet able or that I should.

Ha! laughed William. Molly and I have noted the arch work you’ve done on your cottage, and now, William continued as he glanced at James, she wants me to make ours the same, thank ya so much. William grinned. And, laddie, take my word, you’re ready. With their eyes upon each other, they sipped and laughed and walked.

Before long, the lads stood in front of Charles’s dwelling. Unnoticed by Charles, his friends quietly watched as he waved his arms to and fro in a vain attempt to shoo the ever-growing flock of English blackbirds that befriended the reluctant traveler. After a minute or so, Charles slapped his hands on his thighs, saying, Okay, birds, enjoy yourselves for now. It won’t last. Then when he turned and saw his guest, he laughed and assured them that he wasn’t bonkers, just a little tired.

William and James waited patiently as Charles fumbled with the large buttons on his heavy overcoat. Then looking up, he asked, Should I bring my umbrella?

There’ll be no need of that, James kindly assured their overly prepared friend. The weather has been warm and dry lately. Then as he looked at Charles’s overcoat, James added, It’s your choice, but it’s not really a formal doing. Charles got the hint and unloaded, and the unlikely trio proceeded south.

As they walked, Charles again took careful note of the tranquil surroundings. There were many sheep ready for the shear, and there were clusters of well-groomed horses grazing peacefully, blending in naturally with the well-fed cattle around them. Hogs were about, grunting and snorting as they vied for their scraps. And there were a great number of goats. Although all appeared normal, Charles observed that the area fell far short of its potential. Substantial areas were not being used, and that was unacceptable in a land that could scarcely feed its people.

The land north of Ennis is not cultivated to the extent it should be, Charles formally noted. The rocky soil does present various issues, but it’s most apparent that as far as the town leaders and the landlords are concerned, any clearing will be too expensive and too bothersome. The will to expand the agricultural output is greatly lacking. As for the town’s infrastructure, it’s obvious that far too little has been spent on maintenance to support increased shipping even if the need occurred. And though the bridges over the river and surrounding streams are functional, some are old and deteriorating. One cannot help but wonder what has become of the funds from aboard. His notation ended.

As they passed by the cottages nearest the road, they were usually offered more tea and a generous handshake. After a short exchange of anything newsworthy or not, they continued along until the next handout.

When the intrepid trio was still several furlongs north of Ennis, they arrived at a quaint dairy farm belonging to Stephen and Margaret Connelly. Charles was delighted at the orderliness of the outbuildings and the overall cleanliness of their land. As he inspected the main gate, the cottage door swung open with a bang.

It’s about time! Margaret loudly stated as she stepped out the door. Why don’t ya’s visit more often? And ya brought a friend too. An Englishman no less, she said as if surprised. Ya coulda told me, ya know. She grinned as she patted Charles on the shoulders. Well, come in, all of ya’s. I’ve warm bread and somethin’ ta drink. In with ya’s now, came her invite as she gently herded William and Charles just as she would a couple of her cherished calves into her rather-spacious-for-the-area home. William smiled at Margaret as he stepped past, and she smiled back. Then when the unsuspecting James was in reach, the boisterous woman clutched him by the back of his head and neck and pressed his face to her breast. Everyone except James couldn’t help but laugh as the shy lad gasped for breath for the stout, ample woman was as strong as she was loud.

Upon release, James, who was as red as the penned-up highlander that Charles noticed near the gate, politely asked, Can we see her now?

No! Margaret flatly responded. Not till ya tell me all ya know, and all ya don’t. She trailed off with a smile with her elbows resting on the table and anxiously stared across at her captive informants.

As they conversed, Charles realized that the intent of their visit was to purchase a cow, an Ayrshire. A product of a sturdy breed from southwest Scotland, the cow was well-suited for the rugged terrain and cold weather of the area. Their milk was good, and they produced a fair amount of it. A wise decision, he thought.

Charles gathered that it was at James’s insistence that the four families had thrown in just about all their monies to make the purchase. It was a risky venture. If their crop failed even the least amount, they would have little or perhaps no funds to purchase seed for the late planting. That would be devastating to them, and it was apparent to Charles that they were not the kind to accept handouts. As the others rambled on, Charles gazed out at the docile highlander, wondering why he was separated from the others. Though stout and strong, they were not known to use their strength for harm. Naturally tranquil, they mixed well with animals and humans alike. Quiet yet intelligent, they needed little and gave much. Yes, a unique breed, Charles thought. At that moment, and although he didn’t mean to, Charles unwittingly looked at James and pondered, How long can the likes of him be held back? He might for a time perhaps, not unlike the wooly highlander, but for how long a time? Even this passive beast might rear up if he thinks something is threatening his fold. But James is almost oblivious to the petty trials of life, and he lets pass things that would bother most others even as the unseen wind strikes hard against one’s face, yet little can be done but look away.

Charles’s thoughts were suddenly broken when Margaret blared, Blighted seed potatoes, there are, from the Americas. Whose ta say where the seeds have been sent? James, lad, I’m certain ya recall the crop failures of ’36, ’37, and ’39. How ya’s made it through all that, I can’t tell. And what about last year’s sickly harvest? Then slamming her palms to the heavy table, the spirited woman paused and quickly filled everyone’s mug with something a bit more satisfying than tea. As soon as she took another large swallow, the gracious host emphatically continued, What’s ta say it’ll not happen again? Loads of spoiled potatoes there are, movin’ about from country ta country. At that, she loudly gulped down the contents of her large mug with one breath, wiped her mouth with her sleeve, and trailed off. Bad business that! Then when she gazed into her mug, she sighed, Mmmmmm! Blessed is Blessington ale. Mmmmm!

Her guests laughed at her antics, of course, but not at the content of her words. What she said was simple truth, and it fit in with what Charles had heard back home. All in the cause of good business, he was told whenever he questioned their questionable philosophy. But how can it be good, Charles would wonder, when it leaves behind a trail of uncertainty, fretfulness, and poverty? Something here is not fitting at all.

Charles then pondered an uncomfortable thought, but then he heard a loud, infectious laugh. He listened when William spoke. Margaret, my friend, it’s said that ‘rumors flow around Ireland as waters flow around the sea.’ For now, let’s hope that’s all they are. They stared at each other for a moment, and then when Margaret smiled, William suggested, We’ve business waiting—let’s be at it.

Although it wasn’t obvious, James tensed up as they approached the lady. He didn’t take his eyes off her nor did she take her eyes off his. Something’s up! she thought.

She’s beautiful! he exclaimed with a rare show of delight as he touched the Ayrshire beneath her chin. She was mostly red, with patches of white on her underside and above her hooves. Her horns were long and curved, and a small copper bell hung around her neck. The sensitive bovine seemed relaxed with James and brushed against him as would a hungry cat.

After they were formally introduced, Margaret assured, This is the finest lady of the bevy. Take care of her—she said this with a tender sadness as she ran her hand softly down the cow’s face—and she’ll take care of you. They were informed of the lady’s likes and dislikes as well as her habits. As Margaret closed the deal, Charles glanced toward the road and saw four or five lads heading toward town. They were all laughing and jesting as they walked, and Brian and Daniel were among them. Charles recalled when he did the same long ago and wished the days now were as happy and simple. He smiled at them but didn’t think anyone noticed. It was then he recalled the trouble that he and his friends would inadvertently get into, and he smiled as he wondered if they were a bit more sensible than he was.

We’ll be goin’ now, William said as they walked past. The others are anxious ta meet her.

Right you are, sir, Charles happily acknowledged, right you are! Then as he turned away from the yard, he noticed an unusual sight. The highlander was standing on his hind legs, and with his front legs resting atop the stone fence, he fitfully voiced what seemed his disapproval at the removal of the red-haired lady. She mooed in reply as she looked at her woolly friend and proved most reluctant to step away. Eventually and with considerable persistence, the lassie slowly proceeded north. They traveled more than four furlongs before three of them ceased hearing the cries of the heartbroken lad she left behind.

It was quickly understood that the lovely lady was not one to be hurried. Along the way, she stopped to nibble—many times, in fact—and proceeded only when she was good and ready. That and the curiosity of well-meaning passers-by coupled with the well-wishes of the occupants of the homes near the road caused the one-hour trip to take over four hours.

Charles retrieved his cart as they passed by his cottage, and shortly thereafter, he met with the others in time to watch as their Scottish lady stepped and stepped through the door of the Joyces’ humble home. Heather, Patrick, and Molly beamed with delight as tears crept down their smiling faces. Charles thought their wide-eyed friend would get a bit nervous, but such was not the case. She seemed to bask in their loving attention. Mooing vigorously, she slowly stepped around the room, carefully checking each corner until she stopped and sniffed the north fireplace. She then strolled to the south wall, shook her head as she mooed loudly, and plopped on her stomach near the hearth. Heather noticed that Charles was baffled by her choice, and gesturing south, she exclaimed, Nearer to her love on that side, she is. Heather smiled.

They watched her for a few more moments, and then Heather said to Charles, James told us of your patience today, and it’s much appreciated. Please stay with us this special night. Others want to meet with ya.

Charles accepted, of course; how could he not? Heather had a gripping charm that cannot be denied. He felt as if he belonged and began to understand the full meaning of what had taken place. These simple people existed only if their harvest brought in slightly more than they invested. Money was scarce, and they were still recovering from their last paltry harvest. If the upcoming early harvest failed, they could literally starve. Their very lives may now relied on the cow that pined and snored loudly aside the south wall fireplace.

Suddenly, the O’Sheys burst in, and Charles’s thoughts were shattered. All five entered at once with mugs in hand. Excitement flowed as they petted and complimented the sleeping beauty. Brendon, husband to Mary and father to Daniel, Shannon, and Alex, hugged Heather, then with eyebrows raised, he coyly suggested, I do believe a bit of whiskey ta be a proper thing now, don’t ya too, lassie?

Why, Mister O’Shey, Heather protested, it’s much too early for that, is it not? and she quickly gathered more mugs, including hers.

Then Mary, with teary eyes, praised James, saying, A fine choice she is, lad, a fine choice. From across the room, Molly winked her lovely eye at James in agreement. He smiled and glanced downward in return. Then a lad walked in whom Charles had not seen before, but there was no doubt whose son he was. His hair was yellow and wavy, he possessed fair skin just like his mother, and his eyes were dark. He stood a little shorter than his father, but he possessed the same powerful shoulders and frame. He didn’t say anything, and the others paid him no heed except one. James grinned when he saw him at the door. Shaun returned the smile and held his mug high to James. James gratefully returned the gesture. The sight of it touched Charles deeply. And it was apparent that it meant very much to James as well.

At that very moment, John and Katie McShean, along with their daughter, Magdalene, joined the fray. They laughed and cried together, embracing any who came within their loving grasp. The lads attempted to avoid them, but it was to no avail.

This was a high day for the McGregors, O’Sheys, McSheans, and the Joyces. Laughter and song flowed throughout the afternoon and evening. But something else happened during those joyous hours as well, another experience had silently taken place that was most unforeseen. James’s timid eyes met with Magdalene’s deep gaze more than once, and it was as if he had seen her for the first time. Along with laughter, joy, and accomplishment, feelings of a newborn fondness, unexplainable warmth, and undefined desire took root in soil most fertile. It was an awakening for James, one he had not looked for, one he had not known existed. James’s noticing did not go unnoticed.

The next morning found Patrick, James, and Brian staring perplexingly at the new lady of the house, and she was staring back.

After a minute or so, Brian asked, What are we ta call her? No response followed, save blank expressions, several grunts, and a shrug.

Watching from across the room, Heather could take no more. She walked up, stood between Patrick and Brian, and said, Bell! We’ll call her Bell!

Why, love, that fits her most properly, Patrick said as he smiled at his wife. How did ya think of it so quickly?

Heather looked at her husband in disbelief, rolled her eyes, and silently pointed at the copper bell that hung obviously around the cow’s neck. She then turned away and went about her business as if the others weren’t there. They quickly got the message.

About that time, Charles was riding into town pondering about all he had seen and experienced the past three days. He wondered about his waking dreams if they were no more than garbled memories that surfaced because of an unknown reminder or simply because of new surroundings. He couldn’t comprehend how or why he felt he had seen Patrick and William before. He wondered if they felt the same way too since it seemed that way to him as they stood near the fire. And too he found it odd that he sensed no animosity from any he’d met, especially given the current political tensions that existed between England and Ireland. Then he recalled, That blasted thug! If not for him, I would have…wait…that’s it! A sudden chill engulfed him as he forced himself to admit what he had heard Keene say when he left the cottage.

Wycombe! Charles said aloud. Curse that dung breath dog, he thought, followed by a surge of notions and emotions as to why Keene said what he said. How would he know or even care to know? It was his business to know who comes and goes he said, but how could he know anything about me and so quickly?

Charles’s anger boiled, and he was determined to see the chief constable immediately and lodge a formal complaint. There would be no turning back. Charles grabbed his satchel and quickly boarded the cart. He was still standing when he snapped the reins as he yelled, Away!

There was no response other than the donkey grunting as he glanced back. He then nodded and sniffed at his hooves. This was Ireland, and nothing save strong, smooth drink, rumors, and grudges moved quickly. Charles should have known that by now, but he was from out of town.

Eventually, the long-eared fellow lurched forward, and Charles gave thought about how he would give the authorities a piece of his mind. His tactics would be mixed and his proof flimsy. He realized this, and the nearer to Ennis he came, the weaker his will seemed to be.

However, the tally ho attitude he was raised with urged him onward for better or worse. It was about noon when he came to a slow, obstinate halt in front of the constable’s office. A large, disheveled man entered through the faded, warped doors before him, and Charles timidly followed. The floor creaked loudly as Charles walked a few steps behind the chief constable, who as yet paid him no heed at all. Everywhere there were scribbled notes, illegible and unworthy of an office of public trust. An oil lamp was tipped over on the large oaken desk, and oil-soaked papers lay scattered all around. An unattended burnt-out cigar lay among the heaps. Charles doubted that the two yellowed windows that faced the street had ever been opened or cleaned.

And what’s yer business? the burly man suddenly barked without facing his visitor. Catching Charles by surprise, it took a moment for him to collect his thoughts, and just as he was about to speak, the constable growled, Speak, man, or get out.

With a slight stammer, the complainant began: A few days hence, a deputy, ah…Keene by name, walked in on me…ah…uninvited, you see, and he was quite rude…you see.

Charles quickly closed, saying, I believe he meant me harm. Drat, he thought, that’s not at all what I intended to say.

After he heard that the matter concerned his deputy, the unshaven constable turned toward Charles and smirked in amusement as he took his seat. Leaning back in his squeaking chair that seemed about to collapse, he folded his large hands and keenly listened.

Although he had no tangible proof, once Charles calmed down, he presented his case with elegance and precision. The harsh stare of the constable relaxed, and as he smiled, the crevasses that crossed his forehead faded until they resembled mere lines in the sand. Charles reminded himself to Keep it short, stick to the point, and let his audience formulate their own opinion.

After Charles finished, the constable gestured for him to sit, which he quickly did. The formidable officer tapped his fingers in rapid succession a few times on the table and then asked, Did ya tell me your name?

Begging your pardon, sir, I did not, Charles apologetically replied. My name is Charles, Charles Simmons. Thank you, sir. And…ah…may I ask you yours…please?

The constable’s eyes gleamed for a moment for few people showed him such civility. He liked the manners of the gentleman in front of him, and he liked the way Charles almost cowered before him, especially of his own free will. It was like a breath of fresh air in an extremely stagnant, smelly room. Charles shook his rather large head and looked him square in the eye when the man gruffly replied, Riley. Charles politely nodded and smiled in return.

He realized it would be wise to say no more, thus he wisely chose to not interfere with whatever whirled about within the big man’s head.

As Riley was about to speak, the office door swung open, and in strode the last man Charles was hoping to see. Keene arrogantly ignored Riley and focused his beady eyes on Charles with unmistakable contempt. The deputy’s hatred for Charles was obvious; there didn’t have to be a reason. Reasonable men have reasons, valid and sound. Keene was not of that sort. His dreadful desires were the fuel that fed his ambitions and twisted cravings. In return, his hate drove him to do what he did. A loathsome creature, he wouldn’t hesitate to devour any in his path. Even Riley! It went without saying that Charles was proficient at acquiring enemies.

Riley was incensed at the way Keene charged in on him. It was not that Keene’s actions embarrassed him in front of another but for the fact that Keene did not keep his place. After all, he was Riley’s subordinate. Keene did not see it that way, though.

Keene instinctively approached his prey, and Charles knew there was no one to prevent Keene from taking hold of him, save one. Keep back, Riley snapped as his powerful right arm blocked Keene’s approach. This gentleman has a grievance against you, and I feel it valid. And mark my words, Deputy—the big man scowled as he faced his lesser—"I shall be the one to decide the next move."

No one spoke as Riley slowly and deliberately paced the floor between Charles and Keene. He continued the parade for several long moments. Riley enjoyed the control, especially since he knew it deeply aggravated his second in command. However, what he especially liked was how the creaking floor grated on his deputy’s nerves. Suddenly he stopped, and the audience looked to Riley in anticipation of a decision. A moment passed, the court tensed, but then Riley felt the need to pace slowly back and forth one more time. Riley accomplished his objective.

You oversized barge, Keene spat, make yer point if ya got one. Don’t be catering to the likes of him. Hasn’t his kind got our land in the mess we’re in? Send him ta hell’s fires where he belongs before he makes trouble for us both.

At that, Riley shoved Keene back and sternly threatened, Hold yer tongue, man, or I’ll be sending ya there myself. Keene did not like to be pushed or ordered, but realizing that in his uncontrollable anger he had said too much, he yielded under the circumstances. He also realized he needed Riley, and as much as the big man didn’t like the thought of it, Riley knew he needed Keene.

After the brief but heated exchange, the degraded deputy angrily exited the dilapidated office and headed east toward the abbey. Breathing deeply, Riley quickly regained his composure and in a somewhat apologetic fashion said, Things are not always what they seem.

The chief constable then sat at his desk and picked up a slightly crumpled note, the writing of which was clear and concise. He chuckled within as he glanced at the wrinkled paper and then dropped it on the table near Charles. Without looking up, he asked, Are ya aimin’ ta make the complaint official?

Charles felt ashamed and embarrassed because of what lay before him. It was never intended to hurt anyone or anything, but Charles now realized that it would. Is it worth it? he wondered. Will it really help, or will it simply hinder what is already held back? A straightforward assignment had suddenly become complicated. Life had become complicated, and Charles had suddenly grown weary and plagued with guilt. He shook his head and sighed. No, Constable Riley, I do not. Please consider the matter closed. Unknowingly, Charles had just relearned a vital lesson, one that if he had understood decades ago, he would not be the man he now was, and he wouldn’t be in Ireland today. Also, he realized that if he wanted to find the answers to his questions, he must find them himself.

Ahhhhhh! Riley roared as he stood and stretched, obviously pleased with himself for closing two matters at once. He was worn out from visiting the hill folk to the east and north of Ennis the past two weeks. Riley referred to them as kin, but some in town suggested it was for business. None dared discuss the matter beyond that. Uggghh! he grunted as his bones clicked audibly.

Then he looked squarely at Charles and, knowing what he was thinking, assured him, He’ll not bother ya for a while, Mister Simmons. Charles nodded appreciatively and breathed a sigh of relief. However, when he reached for the door, Riley warned, But he does have friends.

Charles expected as much for the making of friends or at the least backers is a must for any who carry on business. Such were especially germane for those who walked within political circles. As for the vile and the treacherous, even scum have need of friends, although Charles accurately referred to them as accomplices. As Charles faced the street, he contemplated the deeper meaning of friendship until something of a much more serious nature occurred to him, and he felt the need to tend to it and quickly. Stepping onto the street, he came upon two bickering middle-aged women, and Charles asked if they could direct him to the post office. The first lady ignored him and passed in a huff, but the second lady pointed east, saying, Three lanes up, three alleys over, and followed the first woman into Riley’s office. Shouting instantly ensued, and Charles could see Riley holding his arms up to keep the women apart.

He couldn’t help but think, I’m glad I’ve nothing to do with that. I wonder what it’s about. He had no idea of just how close he already was to the matter.

After checking with the post office to no satisfaction, Charles meandered down several alleys, enjoying the sounds and smells native to a small town when it suddenly dawned on him. Keene was one of the buggers that leered at me when I got into the cart with James. Yes! But if that is true, he mused, then he knew of my coming before the letter. That scum-sucking sow pit was waiting for me. Yet…why would anyone care of my travels since my duties are so trifling these days? Hmmm! Wait! That’s it! Whenever I was in a quandary over something, my dear Sarah advised, Follow your nose! Well now, my nose tells me there’s no mistaking it. Yes! This is the very corner where he stood. But more importantly…yes! I can smell it. Aha!

This is it! he excitedly exclaimed, pleased that he had solved a minor piece of the puzzle. Grinning widely, he proudly entered the bakery he had visited some four days before.

The pervading aroma of hot chicken soup proved too much for the weary man to discount, and the all-embracing allure of warm bread as it emerged from the oven was beyond his ability to ignore. The kind and sympathetic ladies who patiently waited on Charles smiled as the gentlemanly patron mummed and oohed with delight. With the eye of a watchmaker, he meticulously chose his pastries, and with the sharp sight of an accomplished archer, he carefully selected his bread. I was born for moments like this, he thought.

As he ate, he overheard the lassies speaking about the unsavory characters that frequented the abbey grounds after dark. Not wanting to seem intrusive, he chose to listen rather than question. Unfortunately, Charles’s hearing had been damaged long ago because of heavy cannon bombardment—at least that’s what he’d been told. Just the same, he overheard this: They go from pushing decent folk around to…well…whatever they do in that dreadful old place. Horrid, the taller server said as she shivered. That place gives me the creeps.