Flight of the Earls by Michael K. Reynolds Read Free Book Online

tell me to stop.”
    Clare understood her aunt’s loneliness and hugged her. “The ships are safer now. We’ll be just fine.”
    At that moment, the dinner bell chimed and it was met with joyful shouts and the mad scurrying of children. The music stopped midsong and all migrated toward the cooking fires.
    The families congregated around the two black kettles. Hushes were directed at the children and hats were removed.
    Father Quinn Connor, the newly ordained parish priest, stood forward to give the blessing. He was still as green as a blade of grass, only a few months removed from the wake he performed for his predecessor, Father Bartley Higgins.
    Father Bartley was found deceased in the confessional. It was determined that as many as four congregants had shared their sins with his lifeless body prior to discovering he had passed. This seemed impossible by those who never met him. But for those who did, it was understandable, for he was a morose man of few words. The exception to this was in the pulpit, where he drew even more resentment due to the intolerable length of his droning homilies.
    The young Father Quinn was welcomed with celebration and relief, as any change was thought to be an improvement. He also appeared to be malleable, and perhaps most important, he understood the wisdom of brevity when he stood before the lectern.
    His short stature and slight body, combined with his boyish face, made him look much younger than his twenty-eight years. Clare still struggled to see him other than the milk boy, who for years would ride his father’s weary wagon down the road, collecting full canisters left by the dairy farmers for transport to market.
    The guests of the wake, who were eager to get on with the eating, watched as he fumbled through his pockets before finally pulling out and unfolding a piece of parchment. He cleared his throat and looked at the faces bearing down on him. Clare felt anxious for him and tried to meet his eyes to share encouragement.
    He began to speak with a wavering voice. “Dear Father. We gather before You today with happiness and sorrow. In joy, because of this plentiful feast You have provided us in these times of difficulty. And for the gathering of family, friends, and . . . and a few willing to consider themselves thus in return for food and heavy drink.”
    After a few laughs from the assembly, he continued, now with more confidence. “But sorrow, Father, as our beloved young ones, Clare, Seamus, and Pierce, will journey far, far from home away from the safety of our embrace. We bid farewell to them with great sadness in our hearts and with this petition for Your sweet mercy.”
    He glanced at Clare and her eyes darted downward.
    Father Quinn turned the paper on the other side and cleared his throat. “We appeal to You, Father, to always shed Your blessed light on the path ahead of them, especially when the roads grow dark and lonely and when hope comes scarcely. And if it be Your great pleasure, as it will assuredly be ours, bring them back safely into Ireland’s loving arms. In all of this we pray to You with sincerity. Amen and let’s feast.”

Chapter 4
    The Keener

    To her father’s obvious displeasure, the gathering thinned considerably following dinner, and the fading of daylight was accompanied by a chilling wind. After the black kettles were removed, the turf fires were married together, and they were stoked to tall, spark-spewing flames. The remaining guests circled around, sitting on chairs, logs, and turned-over pots.
    Clare escorted her mother to bed and was pleased when Ronan and Davin retired as well with few complaints. The day’s activities had worn them into submission.
    When she came back, she saw her da had broken out his stash of hand-distilled poteen, a particularly strong batch of liquor he made from last season’s crop of potatoes. His guests took turns pouring themselves a glass, challenging each other