Fanny Carroll came out on the Keefe porch beside Will and Nora. She called out Michael’s name and then turned to Will.
“Have you seen that brother of yours?”
“Good evening, Miss Carroll,” Will said. “I hope you’re well and enjoying the evening. I suppose you mean Michael? The last time I saw him, he was in the dining room.”
“If you see him around, tell him I want to talk to him.”
Then she turned and went inside again.
“Rude little thing,” Nora observed.
In the kitchen, Fanny asked a distracted Mrs. Keefe if she had seen Michael Donnelly. The mother of the bride called back that she had not and she took two more pies out to the great room. The cellar door in the kitchen was open and as Fanny was about to leave, she heard over the music in the dining room the shush of whispered voices below. Cautiously, quietly, Fanny began to descend the steep steps into the cellar, where a soft glow suggested a candle was burning. At the bottom of the steps, Fanny Carroll listened. She heard urgent gasps and whispers coming from the cold room next to the stairs. She moved closer and looked through the half-open door to see by the light of one candle Michael Donnelly’s naked ass as he fornicated with the red-headed girl on top of a bin of potatoes. Fanny watched transfixed for a moment as Michael’s thrusts became more resolute. Her expression became cold and hard as she watched them pleasuring themselves and finally heard him finish, producing the same moan as the times when he had finished with her. Fanny quietly withdrew, the sound of her careful steps covered by the music from upstairs.
Will felt something unusual in the air that night and was trying to explain it to Nora.
“I’m not sure, maybe the intensity of the stars or the cold winter night, but it made John propose to Winnifred and Michael’s running around like a rabbit in heat.”
“I feel it too. It’s like…anticipation.”
Michael came out onto the porch beside Will and Nora with rouge on his face, adjusting his clothes.
“You having a good night, Michael?”
“It’s splendid, so far,” Michael told him, fastening his belt.
“You know, little brother,” Will told him quietly, “you might want to exercise some caution these days. We have enemies. Maybe keep it in your pants.”
Michael shrugged and smiled at him. “I could.”
Then Michael looked up and noticed Fanny Carroll was standing at the corner of the barn, as if waiting for him. She gave him a smile and Michael waved back to her. She withdrew around the corner of the barn.
“Or then again…” Michael left Will and Nora and went to join Fanny.
James Donnelly Jr. arrived back at the Keefe house and walked unsteadily into the living room. He had failed. In his hasty escape, he hadn’t burned the barn. He had dropped the torch. And he had a bullet in his side. He knew it was bad. He had messed up. Just like so many things in his life. He saw his father in the living room with Keefe. He would have to tell him and face his disappointment. He took a drink of whiskey and staggered. Drops of blood hit the floor from his jacket hem, which had absorbed the blood from the bullet wound in his side. He coughed up a little, touched his lips with his fingers and saw the red. The wound was worse than he first thought. No one noticed. The whiskey washed down the blood and eased the jagged pain in his side.
James turned as a Feehley boy looked out the window and pointed to a distant glow through the trees.
“LOOK! FIRE! IT’S THE RYDER PLACE!”
James shuffled to the window and stared at the horizon in amazement. It was true. Distant flames consumed the Ryder barn a mile away. He had done it after all!
Michael Donnelly came around the corner of the barn and made out Fanny, who had withdrawn and was standing under some trees watching him with her compelling smile. He headed toward her.
“There she is, my Madonna in the moonlight!”
She was strangely silent as he approached her.
“Are you all right?” he asked and her eyes glittered.
Then Michael found himself surrounded by three men. Jim Carroll and Matthew Thompson, Maggie’s brother, grabbed Michael as Fanny watched.
“Fanny?” Michael looked at her.
He then recognized James Flanagan, whose stage had overturned and whose brother Joe had been killed. Flanagan had a knife in his hand. As the others held him, James stepped behind Michael and whispered in his ear.
“This is for Joe.”
Flanagan quickly applied the knife blade under Michael’s chin, cut deep and right across his throat. The others let Michael go and he fell to the snowy ground, his eyes wide, both hands trying to stem the blood flowing from his jugular. The assailants all disappeared except for Fanny, who remained a moment longer staring at Michael, his heels kicking weakly against the white snow as the lifeblood drained from his body. Her brother returned and grabbed her arm and they headed for their horses.
Laughing lightly to himself over the unexpected success of his barn burning, James stumbled out on the porch near Will and Nora to watch the distant growing inferno. It was a well-made barn and in fact Will, Michael and James had been at the barn-raising to help a few years before when the Donnellys and Ryders were on friendlier terms.
Tom Ryder and his father, Grouchy, and their friends raced to their horses and wagons to get to the fire and save anything they could. Other men followed. More wedding guests came outside to better see the flames in the distance. Will was about to go to his horse, to join the other men and see if anything could be done, when his brother James came up and took his arm.
“Willy, my brother. How you doing?”
“James, you see this fire?”
“Oh yes. Lovely isn’t it? “
“No, it’s not. No good’s going to come out of this. Probably try to blame us.”
James went to take a long pull to finish the mickey in his pocket. In sudden impatience Will took hold of James’s wrist.
“Look, put that away. We have to be smart tonight.”
James staggered and fell against him. Will’s hand went under James’ jacket to steady him and found his ribs were warm and sticky. He withdrew his hand and stared at the red on his fingers.
“What’s this? You’re bleeding!”
“Oh, yeah. Was going to mention that. Got shot.”
“Shot! Who shot you? Where?”
James looked out toward the flaming Ryder barn with satisfaction, his words slurred.
“Oh…I don’t know. Didn’t see him. Guess it’s open season on Donnellys.”
James coughed and his lips were red again. He wiped it off with the back of his hand.
“Who did this, Jimmy? Who shot you?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
Will stared at him as the realization became all too clear.
“You torched the Ryder barn!”
James gave a weak smile. “Yeah.”
“But why? For Chrissake! Why did you do that, James?”
“Had it coming.”
James stumbled as if he would fall.
Will whistled and called out, “TOM! PAT! MICHAEL! I NEED HELP!”
James’s knees buckled. Will caught him as he collapsed. He put his coat down and laid James on the cold planks of the porch.
“We’ll get you to a doctor. We’ll get this fixed.”
“No! Listen, Will,” James stared intently into his eyes, now surprisingly sober. “Don’t take me to a doctor. Please. It can’t be fixed.”
“There’s a good surgeon in London.”
“No. I want to be at home with the family. Just take me home, Will. Please.”
“Lie still.”
Will was trying to think. He gently examined the bleeding bullet hole in his brother’s back. It was from a rifle and would have torn him up badly inside. James coughed blood again. His lips were crimson and Will suddenly realized James Jr. was not going to make it.
“I want to go home, Will.”
“All right. We’ll take you home. Rest now. We’ll get you out of here.”
James grabbed his shoulder and drew him close.
“Will? I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right, James.”
Patrick and Tom arrived on the porch. Patrick went down on his knee.
“James? What’s wrong, buddy, one drink too many?”
“He’s been shot.”
Both brothers stared at Will in shock.
“We’ll need bandages and water. Make a bed for him in the wagon. We all have to get out of here, now.”
Patrick ran inside. Tom lifted James up in his arms and carried him to the wagon.
Where was Michael? Will had seen him go out toward the barn to see Fanny Carroll. They were probably just up in the hay. He called out.
“MIKE? MICHAEL?”
A fear gripped him as he began to walk toward the barn. His brother’s phrase rang in his head: “Open season on Donnellys.” He began to run.
Inside the barn he called out to Michael, his voice betraying the beginnings of panic, but the barn was empty. Will came out again. There were tracks in the snow that went around the corner of the barn. He went around the structure to the side yard and there he stopped. The night sky was clear, the starlight strong, and he could see that a short distance away, lying on the snowy ground in the moon shadow from a big oak, was Michael. He lay on his back, his eyes open as if pondering the stars, one hand at the gaping wound at his throat, his warm blood still pooling in the snow.
“Michael! No!” Will fell to his knees, took Michael in his arms and held him.
“No, no, no…!” he said, rocking him. His brother’s blood smeared the front of his good shirt and the palms of his hands. “Oh, Michael.”