Celtic Mist Ch. 03

"Aye."

"The Devil ye say! Why should we trust him?"

"He's kin," McGarry said calmly.

Shocked and angry retorts followed. But McGarry remained unruffled and proceeded to extoll the virtues of a group called the United Irishmen, whose mission was Ireland's freedom from England...that and equality and brotherhood for all Irishmen, no matter what faith. "We should be thinking beyond the problem of the Peep O'Day Boys," he proclaimed.

This precipitated an outburst of shouting and oaths.

Having finished their chores, Aoife took Fiona's cue, picked up a bucket and followed her through the crowd of arguing men to the door. Outside, Fiona huffed indignantly, "I think they're fools, the lot of them! They'll get themselves killed, so they will! Or transported to Van Diemen's Land! Then what will become of us?!"

Aoife, a-quiver with excitement, did not agree. In her eyes, the lads were courageous...and possessed of a grander vision than their own lives. And the United Irishmen group that Sean McGarry had mentioned --- how noble was their mission: freedom from England, equality for all Irishmen! But she held her tongue.

Fiona dragged the butter churn out from the lean-to on the side of the cottage and used the dishwater to clean it. Aoife checked the dyed yarn she had spread over the shrubs...'twas dry. She began winding it into a ball. "Who was that last one who spoke?" she asked, her voice all innocence.

"Big Sean McGarry? He's just a lodge master, but all the lads think he's the eighth wonder of the world! Colm goes on and on about him...so strong, so clever! Och, I'm sick of hearing about him!"

Aoife kept her thoughts of the handsome young man to herself as they worked. Nigh an hour later, the men streamed out of the house, dispersing in both directions on the road as well as over the fields. Colm came out and approached Fiona and Aoife. "I've invited three of the lads to stay over --- 'tis too far a journey for them this late. Is that agreeable to ye's?"

Fiona shrugged. "If ye already asked them, then we'll manage it."

When they returned inside and Aoife saw that Sean McGarry was among the three staying, her heart was aflutter. She endeavored to appear nonchalant...but graceful, in case he happened to be looking at her...whilst she stole glances at him. The three guests were given Aoife's bed; she moved to the other bed for the night...Fiona lying between her and Colm. Patrick as usual slept on his pallet on the floor.

Under the circumstances, Aoife did not change into her nightgown, but removed her apron and shoes and lay down. The dark cottage soon grew quiet save for soft breathing and snores. But Aoife could not sleep. She lay on her side, listening to the muffled heartbeat in her ear against the pillow and staring at the shadowed curtain a foot away...thinking on Sean McGarry, just on the other side of the fabric. What would Queen Medb do?

When she woke in the morning, she found Colm and Fiona already up --- Fiona putting a kettle of water on the hearth, Colm kindling the fire. Patrick was still asleep, and the guests' soft snores were coming from behind the curtain round Aoife's bed.

Aoife silently slipped outside, where she bent to don her shoes, putting one foot then the other upon the stump they used for a stool. Behind her, the door creaked and a moment later someone gave one of her braids a soft tug.

"Good morning, love," said a deep, humorous voice.

Hastily she straightened and turned to see the grinning face of Sean McGarry.

"Oh...oh good morning," she said, sounding foolish to herself. "Umm...did you sleep well?"

"Aye, 'twas grand. But I'm sorry to have put you out of your bed. Thank you again."

"Oh...no...dinna worry yourself. I was fine."

"'Tis a big bed for one wee lass, so it is." His blue eyes twinkled at her.

Abashed, Aoife looked down and pretended to search for something in her pocket. "I-I used to share it with me sister before she left." Butterflies fluttered in her belly...was he flirting with her?

The next moment he cleared his throat and said, "Well, 'tis fine weather for me journey."

"How far do ye have to go?" she asked timidly, wondering if she would see him again.

"Oh, about four hours."

She scuffed the ground with her toe. "Well...I hope you have a fine journey. It was nice to make your acquaintance, Mr. McGarry." She felt silly, but when she looked up, he was smiling at her.

"Sean," he corrected.

Flustered, Aoife excused herself, rounding the corner of cottage and crossing the field to the stream. Having assured herself of her privacy, she squatted and piddled. Sean! Sean McGarry! She must compose herself, she must, lest he think her a witless chit!

Upon her return, she stopped to check the chicken coop for eggs. From round the corner, she heard the creak of the front door.

"Och! Me bladder's bursting!"

"Aye!"

'Twas the voices of the other two guests. A moment later, hearing the forceful streams of piss on the ground, Aoife flattened herself back against the side of the cottage behind the coop and waited for them to finish.

"No sign of the pretty redhead, then?" one said.

Aoife's cheeks turned pink.

"Not yet. 'Twas a shame to put the poor girl out of her bed."

The other said something inaudible in a low voice, and they both chuckled.

"Why didn't Colm and Patrick tell us they had such a bonnie sister?"

"Why d'ye think, ye louts?" said a deep voice.

Sean McGarry! Aoife had not realized he was still in the yard! Mortified, she covered her face with her hands.

"Dinna deny ye noticed her, McGarry!" one challenged, laughing.

There was a pause, then she heard McGarry's firm voice again. "She's a fine lass, she is. But ye'll be respectful."

The cottage door creaked, then she heard Fiona announce, "Tea." Footsteps, door creaking, then silence.

The butterflies danced in Aoife's belly as she sat at the table. Throughout breakfast the men talked --- the two whom she had overheard in the yard did heed McGarry's admonishment and addressed her politely. Still, she could not meet their eyes.

As she later helped Fiona clean, she listened with interest as Colm asked McGarry about the green ribbon on his lapel. "Are ye getting any trouble for that green?"

McGarry shrugged. "None that I canna stand. All of my lodge are wearing them."

Fiona unexpectedly spoke. "Why take the risk? Are ye not giving your families enough worries, as it is?"

McGarry looked at her, his expression hard. "They've oppressed us for centuries. Now the shamrock is forbid to grow on Irish ground?! We'll be standing it no longer. 'Tis time to show them we're here and will fight for our freedom, so we will. We all should be wearing the green."

*****

From that day on, Aoife could think of little save Sean McGarry.

Over and over, she revisited the brief words they had exchanged...envisioned the twinkle in his eyes...the grin he had given her. What had they signified? Should she take heart from the conversation she had overheard in the yard? The other two lads had thought she was bonnie! Even with her strange eyes and less than buxom figure!

That alone evoked a fluttery feeling. Further tumult followed upon contemplation of the fact that when they had challenged McGarry to deny a like attraction on his part, he had failed to do so. The possibility of his amorous regard tumbled her into a flurry of elation.

The only thing she could be certain of was that he had noticed her and referred to her as a "fine lass." Was that simply gallantry, or might McGarry come to court her after they were done with this retaliatory action? Aoife McGarry, she tried out the name in her mind.

As she went about her work during the day --- carding and spinning wool --- she was consumed by thoughts of him. Living so far away, when would she have a chance to see him again? Should she ask Colm about him? Fiona had said that he had a high regard for the man. These more practical questions were intermingled with romantic imaginings about him. At night she could scarce fall asleep with the disquiet of her mind. Beset with frustration and confusion at the unfamiliar sensations possessing her, she hugged her pillow and prayed to Medb for guidance.

Several weeks passed. Weeks of daydreaming for Aoife...weeks of mysterious comings and goings of her brothers at all hours of the day...but no Defenders meetings at their cottage...and no Sean McGarry. Aoife debated asking Patrick when the next lodge meeting would be at their house but thought the better of it. For her own protection, her brothers did not share with her too many details of their political activities. And, in truth, McGarry had never attended any previous meetings...the last had been a special circumstance.

In early August, she at last saw him again.

'Twas afternoon, and she was returning home through the pasture after a foraging excursion. As she crested the shallow hill near the cottage, she beheld something odd: there in their yard was a horse-drawn cart piled with hay. Several men were moving about the cart and yard. Approaching, she saw they were Colm, Patrick, and three strangers. Nay, one was not a stranger --- the man turned, and she recognized Sean McGarry!

Her heart pattered. On tremulous legs she drew closer, spellbound by the golden glow of his hair.

The five men were unloading pikes, muskets, and crates from under the hay --- Colm and Sean directing them to various spots on the farm: north side, west side, pasture, lean-to, chicken coop, stone wall. McGarry saw her as he rounded the corner of the cottage carrying a crate on his shoulder.

"Aoife O'Farrell," said the deep, strong voice that had been filling her daydreams. He smiled at her, an expression of warmth in his blue eyes. "The fair maiden with the bonnie eyes."

Her cheeks turned pink. Her eyes dropped shyly to the green ribbon on his coat. "Hullo, Mr. M-McGarry," she stammered.

He turned briefly to direct a man carrying a pair of muskets to the shed where cut turf was stored. "Sean," he corrected her, chuckling and resuming his stride. She followed him to the west side of the cottage, where he set the crate on the ground and stretched his arm up to feel under the overhanging thatching. "Does it stay dry inside?" he asked.

"Aye."

Crouching, he opened the crate and began transferring small cloth sacks of what Aoife guessed were lead balls and gunpowder to the junction of the thatch and the stone wall. He worked quickly, soon walking back to the cart as Aoife followed on his heels like a puppy. "And what have you been about, love?" he asked as he pulled two muskets out of the hay.

"Ummm...I've been collecting plants to make dye. I-I dye wool...and such...to make things to sell."

He turned from the cart and surveyed the farm.

"I know a good hiding place down by the stream...'tis a little cave in the rocks."

"Grand --- lead the way."

They crossed the field, McGarry walking alongside her, carrying the muskets. "So you dye wool and make things, do ye?"

She could not tell if he was teasing her. "Aye."

"Did you make your apron, then?"

Glancing down at her bright blue apron, she nodded.

"Well, you're a rare, talented lass, Aoife."

She looked up at him, but his attention was now focused upon the rocky bank of the stream. She led him through the trees and shrubs to the cave that she had discovered. 'Twas more a low, deep crevice under an overhanging rock --- not capacious enough for anyone save a wee child, but big enough for muskets, she judged. Eagerly she dropped to her hands and knees upon the mossy bank. "Under here," she said stretching her arm under the stone. Then feeling awkward, she sat back upon her heels.

Sean cleared his throat and dropped to his knees next to her. "A fine hiding place, so it is," he said. One after the other, he slid the muskets into the crevice.

He too sat back upon his heels, his shoulder near hers, and his eyes paused upon her face. The blood whooshed in her ears and the water streamed beside them.

"Yo! McGarry!" came a shout.

One corner of his mouth lifted in a wry smile. Clearing his throat again, he stood. In the next moment, his strong hands grasped her by the waist and lifted her briskly to her feet. So quick was his stride back to the cottage that Aoife could scarce keep pace with him.

"Aoife, I need you to show your brothers where those muskets are hid. Will ye do that for me?"

"Aye, of course!"

Immediately upon reaching the yard, he was occupied in helping the other men carry a bundle of pikes. Aoife hastened into the cottage. "Are the lads staying to dinner?" she asked Fiona, who was peeling praties.

Fiona shrugged. "Not that I know."

Aoife darted to the corner with her bed and snatched up a broken piece of looking glass from her shelf. She smoothed her hair and eyebrows. But when she stepped outside once more, the men were engrossed in conversation, walking about the farm, reviewing the locations of the hidden weapons.

Then they mounted the cart, McGarry saying, "When ye get the signal, you can get this all transported?"

"Aye," Colm said. "Hugh McDonnell lives on the next farm and will bring his wagon."

Aoife watched as the cart pulled onto the road. McGarry casually returned her brothers' salute...but at the end of the motion, he smiled and gave her a little wave.

That night whilst she lay abed, inspiration came to her. She was going to do something for Sean McGarry...and help the cause.

The next morning, she searched through the little wooden box in which she kept her collection of paper scraps. On them she had written all her dye recipes, both successes and failures, with notes about the results. In the bottom of the box, she found the notations for green dyes. It had been over three years since she had dyed anything green...not since the day when Da had upbraided her. She packed her satchel with supplies, grabbed her iron pot and a pail, and headed across the fields.

She was going to make green items --- ribbons, cockades, coin purses, handkerchiefs, garters, watch fobs...anything she could make --- and give them to Sean McGarry to distribute among like-minded Irishmen and women. She would have to do it in secret for 'twas evident that Colm and Fiona had not been convinced by McGarry's bold manifesto of open defiance...she would not give them the opportunity to disallow her project.

After an hour's walk, she arrived at her destination, the River Blackwater. She oft came out here to collect rare plants that grew along the banks, and during her wanderings had discovered a bend in the river where seclusion was offered by the wooded land on either side and a rocky falls some eight feet high that precluded watercraft. Here among the stones on the bank at the top of the falls she found flat ground that served her purpose.

'Twas perfect: seclusion, water readily at hand, and woods replete with leaves, berries, and roots. Using rocks, she built a circular firepit.

Over the next two weeks she refined her green dye method --- trying nettle, bracken, and foxglove on pieces of yarn and linen --- before settling on privet leaves and berries for the most intense emerald green color. When all was at last in readiness for the first full hanks of wool, she was thwarted by several days of heavy rain. Aoife chafed as she watched the steady downpour through the window, impatient to accomplish her end...aflutter at the prospect of presenting her offering to Sean McGarry...whom she knew not when she would again encounter.

The first week of September, the rain let up and she was at last able to return to the river. When she arrived at her dyeing station, she was obliged to move the firepit, for the rain-swollen river was washing over the bank. She kindled a turf fire, working the burning peat into a flat bed, then prepared the yarn by simmering it in a pot of water with dissolved alum crystals. After cooling, she refilled the pot with the green dye she had saved in an earthenware jug. Again, she simmered it over the fire.

Thoughts of Sean filled Aoife's mind as she gently moved the yarn in the liquid dye with a stick, picturing his grin upon receiving the sack full of green items. Her thoughts strayed to the moment when they had been kneeling side by side on the stream bank near the cave. His face had been unreadable. Would he have confessed his love for her had he not been called away? The turbulent river next to her churned in sympathy with her lovesick heart.

By and by, finding the color to be to her liking, she lifted the pot from the fire and set it on a large rock jutting into the river --- the stone's flat surface a foot above the swift current. Whilst it cooled, she smothered the embers and packed her satchel.

Some forty minutes later, she used the stick to pull out the skeins of yarn and draped them over the low branch of a blackthorn tree. In glee, she danced a little jig at the vibrant, shamrock green hue she had achieved. As soon as it finished dripping, she would carry the wet wool home in the pail.

A rustling sound from the woods behind her caught her attention. She cocked her head and focused over the sound of rushing water. Aye, 'twas a large animal...a deer? Then she heard voices! Damn it all! Who the Devil could it be?! Her eyes darted about in a panic and fell upon the pot of green dye.

Leaping onto the boulder, she crouched and grabbed the pot's handles, meaning to dump out the incriminating contents into the river next to her.

"Don't move or I'll shoot!" ordered a stern voice with an English accent.

She looked up. Two Militia Redcoats on horseback were before her on the riverbank...both pointing pistols at her. Her heart thunked and her belly tightened. In desperation, her mind cast about the scene for the possibility of a makeshift weapon.

"Stand up! Slowly!"

Still clutching the pot handles, Aoife rose to her feet. Maybe she could yet throw it into the river ere they saw the green color...

The soldiers dismounted and approached, keeping their pistols pointed at her. They were young men, large and strong looking: the one giving orders had long, light brown side whiskers, whilst the other had a spotty face. They halted next to the firepit, positioning themselves so as to block any attempt she might make to dash into the woods.

Trapped upon the rock with the river behind her, Aoife could do naught but watch as their eyes surveyed the scene: the firepit, the hanks of green yarn dripping on the nearby tree branch, the green-stained mixing stick, and the pot of dark green liquid in her hands.

Aye, she was caught green-handed, so she was! What would happen? What would be the penalty? Would she be thrown in jail? Hanged in the square? In despair, she thought of the Defenders, of the pending attack...of Sean McGarry. Whatever did betide, she must never yield them anything that would link her with her family or with the Defenders. Even as her mind thus raced, her countenance remained blank. She stared at them.