Conor Murphy was coated from head to foot in unbleached flour. The boy wasn’t nine years old, but stood in front of Mike without a tremor, the whites of his eyes the only tale-tell hint that he was at all concerned with what was coming.
With the help of a growing entourage, Conor made his way through the potato field with the affect of the condemned man. Maggie gave him a healthy swat on his backside as he passed but he didn’t flinch. Just before he reached the potato packing clearing where Mike, now dismounted again, waited, Brian swung around and stopped the boy from proceeding.
Kneeling down, he grabbed Conor by his shoulders and gave him a light shake, resulting in a faint cloud of flour puffing in the air around him. Mike could hear Gilhooley talking to the boy, but his voice was low, his words indistinct.
“Let the lad come on,” Mike said, irritation with Brian’s intervention making his voice harsher than he’d prefer. He saw the child’s eyes looking at Brian Brian gave him a comforting pat and released him, allowing him to go to Mike.
“You’ll be explaining yourself, Conor Murphy,” Mike said solemnly, his hands on his hips. The pickers moved in from the field, and while Mike was tempted to send them back to work he knew there was some merit—both for the boy and the community—for the group to be present.
The lad cleared his throat. “I’ll take me whipping. I ain’t scared of it.”
“There’s no doubt you’ll be taking your whipping, young Conor,” Mike said. “I’m asking you what happened. No blubbing now.”
Conor wiped his face with a grimy fist leaving streaks of caked white across his cheek and was about to speak when John Woodson pushed through the gathered crowd.
“Wasn’t all his fault,” he said. “Me and some of the lads started it.”
Mike looked at John with surprise. First, because he hadn’t seen him in the crowd, and second because the boy rarely got in trouble, and he never started it.
“Explain.”
John shoved Conor to stand by his side and Mike saw the flour rising off the lad in puffs of white. “We were just having some fun on the other side of the bluff, rolling barrels down into the ravine, like.” He shrugged as if that was all he needed to say.
“Rolling barrels down into the ravine?” Mike knew they were all watching him and he knew he needed to keep his temper in check. Still, the camp had long complained he dealt John with a lighter hand than the other children.
John shrugged again, which served to inflame Mike at his casualness about the crime.
“And what happened,” Mike asked with exaggerated slowness, “when the barrels hit the bottom of the ravine if I may ask?”
Conor took a step forward and made a sound of an explosion. When he did, great clouds of flour rose around him, causing many in the crowd, adults included, to titter.
“So, in other words, they broke,” Mike said to John. “Is that what I’m hearing? You deliberately smashed perfectly good barrels just to see them break?”
I swear to God if he shrugs now I’ll knock their heads together.
“Yes sir,” John said.
“And this?” Mike gestured to Conor. “What’s this got to do with exploding barrels?”
John glanced at Conor and seemed to fight to keep a straight face. “Conor just got a little creative.”
“I put a whole bag of flour in one!” Conor crowed, “and kapow! Even the bushes and grass is white!”
More snickers from the crowd made it clear that the two miscreants were well in the lap of public opinion, Mike thought. Wonder if they’ll still be there when nobody has fresh bread tomorrow…or next week.
“Where’s Dylan Murphy?” Mike asked, trying to keep his voice even.
“Me da’s working in the south field,” Conor said, his voice not quite as steady as it was before.
“Right. Off you go to inform him of your day’s shenanigans. And mind, Conor, I’ll be speaking with your da later today to make sure he got the right set of facts.”
Conor nodded glumly and turned away.
“What about me?” John said.
“Who are the other boys with you in this vandalism?”
“I forget.”
Mike held John’s stare and then nodded his head. “Right. You’ll whitewash the camp’s huts, starting with the one just inside the main gate. Your Aunt Fi can show you where the paint is.”
“What do you mean? Which huts?”
“All of ‘em. Maybe it’ll help jog your memory of who helped you destroy the barrels. Everybody else, back to work, please. We only have other four hours of light, summer or not.”
“Before everyone leaves,” Brian said, “may I make a suggestion?”
“This doesn’t concern you, Gilhooley.”
“Well, since I hope to be a part of this community, I’d beg to differ. And it seems to me that since both boys have confessed their sins, it would be more healing for the community if they were allowed to just go on from here.”
Mike’s posture went rigid. He turned his back on Brian to address John. “So, will you tell your mother or shall I?”
***
Sarah felt the exhaustion of the long day seep into her hips, her arms, her every aching joint. She knew she wasn’t the only one falling into bed at night so tired she barely had the energy to pull on a nightgown. But like most of the women in camp, she still had baths to organize and a meal to get on the table before then.
She cut into the chicken potpie and placed a large wedge on John’s plate. Papin had napped most of the day and was still sleeping.
“Doing this right in the middle of the harvest was incredibly irresponsible, John.”
He just shrugged.
“Do you have anything to say for yourself? I mean, this is so unlike you. And young Conor is paying the price—”
“He’s old enough to know what he was doing.”
“You cannot absolve yourself from this, John! If it weren’t for you, the older boy, egging him on—”
“I did not egg him on!”
“Do I really have to tell you how this works? Didn’t you get into trouble enough times when you were younger by following Gavin’s lead?”
“Whatever.”
“And now you’ll be taken out of the workforce, just when the camp could really use your help in the fields harvesting the potatoes.”
“They might as well have me picking potatoes ‘til we leave. I’m not going to paint any stupid huts.”
Sarah gasped at his audacity. Who was this boy pretending to be her respectful, compliant son? “You absolutely will paint the huts just as Mike ordered you to.”
“Why should I? This isn’t our home any more. We’re leaving in ten days.”
“We are still members of this community until the minute we walk out those gates.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“John! What has come over you?”
“You don’t like it, but it’s the truth. Everyone’s already mentally said goodbye to us, it’s just our bodies still hanging around.”
“They needed us for the harvest.”
“And that’s not true either. But whatever.”
“Look, I can see you’re upset. After dinner, why don’t you go see if Gavin wants to play cards or a game of chess?”
“He’s busy. Besides, he’s already signed off on me. And why wouldn’t he? I’m as good as gone.”
“But you’re not gone.”
“I am, as far as anyone’s concerned. Same as you, Mom.”
Sarah left the boy to his thoughts and the two ate in silence. When he was finished, he brought his plate to the sink and went to his room.
There was a time when she would have gotten a goodnight kiss first.
Or at least a goodnight.
Feeling even more tired than when she began making the dinner earlier that evening, Sarah brought her own plate and utensils to the sink and set them in it. She’d deal with them in the morning.
Out the front window she could see a candle flickering in Mike’s hut. As she stood in her kitchen, she could see his shadow moving in the front room.
Was this really how it was going to all end? After everything?
Without stopping to think what she was doing, she grabbed her sweater from the chair in the front room and stepped out the front door, closing it silently behind her.
***
The exhaustion of the day couldn’t compete with the cacophony of emotions and thoughts spinning inside Mike’s head as he tried to settle in for the night. For a change, the gypsies weren’t playing their music around the fire and it was quieter than he ever remembered it being—even before they had come.
In the old days, he’d have the telly on and be pottering about his cottage repairing this net or that, checking out a possible new purchase on the computer—that is if Gavin wasn’t hogging it. Now, with the lights out pretty much as soon as the sun sets, everyone was in a mind to go to sleep. Unless you had a bed partner to whisper with under the covers there really wasn’t much else to do in the dark.
But it still didn’t feel right to go to bed at nine o’clock in the evening.
When the knock on the door came, his stomach muscles clenched. He knew it was Aideen and his first thought was, who’s minding wee Taffy, then? With a groan and the full intention of telling her to go on back to her child, he swung his feet off the bed and lumbered to the door, not bothering to shrug on a shirt.
Sarah stood shivering in the summer evening and pulling her cotton sweater tight around her shoulders. Mike knew the night wasn’t cool enough to cause her shivering.
“Is everything ok?” He stepped back to allow her to enter although they’d long had the policy—for the sake of the robust gossipers in camp—never to be in either of their cottages alone. The rule didn’t seem to matter much any more.
She stepped inside, glancing briefly over her shoulder as she did. “Yes. Well, except for John today.”
Mike ran a hand through his hair. He should have expected she’d want to talk about that. As strange as it was, they were in the habit of co-parenting both John and Papin, almost like a divorced couple might—a divorced couple who’d never actually slept with each other.
He picked up a clean shirt from a chair and shrugged into it. “Well, ‘tis not the end of the world, what he did.”
“It’s just the fact that he did it.”
“It’s the coming change, most likely.”
Sarah went to sit in the chair in Mike’s sitting room. “I know. I figured that. So…you moved Aideen into her place today?”
Ahhh, so that’s what this is about. He sat opposite her in a lumpy chair that had been tossed in the dump in the days before it became a valuable piece of furniture.
“And how many days is it before you go?”
“I guess I thought you’d wait until I was actually gone.”
“Wait for what? To sleep with her?”
Even in the dark, he could see her face flush and he regretted his flip words. This wasn’t easy for her either. He’d like nothing more than to pull her into his lap and just hold her. It would do them both good.
Until it didn’t.
“It’s just that…I won’t be getting over you so quickly. I guess I’m just surprised, is all.”
“What is there to get over? Our friendship? A few snogs? Is the power of my effect on you really so strong? Oh, wait. You’re leaving. So I guess not.”
“But if I wasn’t leaving…”
“Do not even say it. Do not even dare to say it.” He felt an irrational anger build up in his chest. “We’ve had this conversation and there’s nothing more to say. Is it your concern over John’s behavior today that’s brought you here tonight?”
“No.”
“No. It’s jealousy when you’ve no right or claim to me. Do ye not want me to find happiness, Sarah?”
“You know I do.”
“I know nothing of the sort. Or is it just happiness that doesn’t involve the love of a woman who can love me back?”
“I love you.”
The air punched out of him as if she’d hit him square in the solar plexus. His mouth fell open and he stared at her.
“How can you believe I don’t? How could you think I don’t? Because I’m leaving? Because I’m determined to sacrifice everything I’ve got—my life, my own happiness—for the sake of my child? You couldn’t be so obtuse. Not even you.”
She stood up and he could see she was trembling now. When he reached for her, she came easily, willingly. “I love you, Mike,” she whispered into his collar, her arms wrapping around his neck and pulling his face to hers. “I love you, I love you. I know this isn’t fair to either of us, but I need to feel you next to me and in me. I need to remember that I once had you as close as two people can be.”
Not knowing where he got the strength, he swung her into his arms and took the two steps that measured the distance to his bed…and their inevitable goodbye.