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“Hey, it’s what the buggers
wanted.
He
is
what you all wanted.”

“He’s doing some real good, Da.”

“Aye, and Hitler always had the trains run
on time.”

“Well, it must be change everyone wanted,”
Gavin said. Mike could tell the boy didn’t know how to comfortably
speak to him about the election.

“I hear you’re already working on a new
jail?”

Gavin nodded, not looking at Mike. “Declan
set me to it,” he said. “Me and Iain.”

“And you’re fine with them executing poor
Ollie tomorrow?” He watched his son closely. “The two of you were
mates, weren’t you?”

“We never were. We played football in the
field sometimes is all.”

“So, you’re okay with them hanging him?”

“Da, he killed Eeny.”

“It’s not that simple, Gavin.”

“Brian says it is,” Gavin said as he pushed
past his father to enter into the camp. “Brian says sometimes the
clearest most rightest things are the simplest.”

“Does he,” Mike muttered. “I think that’s
the same thing some serial killers say.”

“After the jail, we’re
gonna build a school. Did you know that? We’ve got enough kiddies
now. And Brian’s wife is a school teacher
and
a nurse.”

“She’s
both
?”

“Brian says she’s an angel. You should see
him, Da. He gets tears in his eyes just talking about her.”

“Very touching.”

“Who do you think the
father of Papin’s baby is?” Gavin nodded to his girlfriend,
Jenna McGurthy,
as they
walked past the camp center cook fire, a bubbling rabbit stew in
the large black pot. “The gypsies have odds on it.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“They tell me I’m the leading suspect.”

“You
?” Mike stopped walking. “In the name of all that is holy,
boy, tell me there’s no truth to that…that…”

“Blimey, Da, you’re gonna have a stroke. Of
course not. Papin’s like me sister…or a really cute second
cousin.”

“Gavin…”

“I’m having you on, Da.”

“And you have no idea of
who it might be? What about that shifty little bastard,
Bobby McClure?”

“Nah, he hasn’t got the stones. It can’t be
anyone in camp. Are we even sure she’s really up the flue? Mebbe
she’s lying?”

“Aunt Fi says she’s puking
pretty steady mornings.”

“Oh, well.”

“If you hear of anything,
you’ll pass it on to me, ya hear?”

“Sure, Da.”

Mike shook his head as Gavin quickened his
pace heading toward their hut, the wolf pups whining rising higher
and higher on the escalating night breeze.

There was a time, she
would’ve told me,
Sarah thought as she
hurried to Fiona’s cottage the next morning. Her mind was a jumble
of questions that had kept her awake most of the night. When she
went to Mike’s to see if John was up yet, she found the place
empty. She called out his name as she walked over to Fiona’s
place.

Where could the boy
be?
Wherever he was, he must have gone
there even before the camp was awake.

Was she losing total control of both her
children?

As she drew closer to Fiona’s cottage, she
saw Papin sitting on the front porch. Papin startled when she saw
Sarah and jumped up.

“Oh, no you don’t, Papin,” Sarah called. “I
will just track you down wherever you go.”

She watched the girl slowly turn back and
slump down into her chair. Sarah stood facing her. “Who is the
father?”

“That’s all you care about, isn’t it,
Sarah?”

“Who is it? Is it that little rodent, Jimmy
Dorsey?”

Papin made a face. “Don’t be insulting. I
wouldn’t let Jimmy Dorsey touch me tits for a dollar.”

Sarah knew Papin was trying to shock her.
“Wow. Good to know you have boundaries.”

Papin pointed to her stomach and smiled
smugly. “Well, clearly not.”

“This isn’t a joke, Papin!” Sarah ran her
fingers through her hair. “You’re going to have a baby!”

“Did it ever occur to you
that maybe I
want
this baby? That maybe this
isn’t
an accident?”

“In that case, you’re more confused than I
gave you credit for. Who did this, Papin?”

“No.”

“Why are you protecting him? Is he
married?”

Papin stood up and Sarah could see her
bottom lip was trembling.

Had she hit a nerve? Was the baby’s father
married?

“I’m done talking with you about this,”
Papin said, her voice shaky. “Auntie Fi says I should rest a lot so
I’m going in.”

“We’re not done, Papin,” Sarah said. But
Papin fled into the house and slammed the door. Sarah sat down on
the wooden bench on the porch. The confrontation had left her
shaky, too.

Why wouldn’t she say who the father was?

Papin hadn’t left Donovan’s Lot even for
fifteen minutes, except for last week when they rode to David’s
grave, not since the moment Mike brought her here from Wales. As
she sat on Fiona’s porch watching the clouds gather in the sky
again for another morning downpour, it suddenly occurred to Sarah
that Papin had been nearly terrified to go as far as David’s
gravesite.

Maybe it hadn’t been a fit of nerves with
the horse but more about leaving the camp that had her so nervous?
And if Papin had developed into a king-size agoraphobe during the
last seven months, just what exactly would the thought of flying to
the States and starting a new life there do to her, I wonder?

She glanced in the living room window to see
Fiona talking to Papin. Sarah watched her hand Papin a mug of tea
and put a shawl around the girl’s shoulders.

Me, she runs from and keeps secrets but for
Auntie Fi, she’s a purring kitten. Maybe I should let Fi raise
her.

“Mom? You wanted me?”

Sarah was startled by John’s sudden
appearance in front of her and took in a quick intake of air.
“Lord, John, I nearly jumped out of my skin. Yes. Where were you? I
couldn’t find you anywhere in camp.”

“I was right outside the entrance with Gavin
and Uncle Mike.”

“Whatever for?”

“It was just something we found we wanted to
show him. Did you need me for something? I’m still staying at
Gavin’s tonight, right?”

“Something interesting happening at Gavin’s
tonight?”

“Not really. Whose house am I eating at?” He
wrinkled his nose and looked up at Fiona’s cottage. “Don’t tell me
the Widow Murrays. I heard she once cooked her cat.”

“No, she’s going to Aideen and Taffy’s place
tonight. I supposed you can either go wherever Mike goes or you can
come to Fi’s. Your choice.”

“Where are you eating tonight?”

“Fi’s.”

“Then I will, too.”

Before he could leave, Sarah moved down the
steps toward him. “John?”

“Yeah?”

“I just wanted to…thank you for being okay
about our leaving tomorrow.”

“I’m
not
okay with it.”

“No, I know. I meant, in spite of the fact
that you don’t want to go, you’re not giving me a hard time. Thank
you.”

“Okay. Is that all?”

She nodded. “Sure. See you at dinner in an
hour.”

But he had already trotted away in the
direction of Mike’s place. She watched him go and envied the fact
that he was welcome there.

Dinner was a disaster right from the
start.

Sarah had not expected Mike to be there.
When her bunkmate, the acerbic Widow Murray had received the dinner
invitation for dinner at Aideen’s, Sarah assumed Mike would be in
attendance there. After all, Aideen was his effing fiancée now.
Sarah had been invited too, but Sarah sent her roommate off with
her regrets.

Actually, the exchange had involved a
healthy dose of the old widow’s opinion that turning down friendly
dinner invitations was part and parcel of the main reason “why no
one likes you, Miss America, because you’re always thinking you’re
better than everyone,” although what prompted the outburst or the
opinion was beyond Sara’s ability to understand.

But still, she had assumed
Mike would be
there
.

Unless
he
had assumed
she
would be there? And so
he
was trying to
be
elsewhere
?

In any case, the table at Fiona and Declan’s
held the two lovebirds, a chatty and oblivious John, two people who
were careful not to look at, speak to or, God forbid, touch each
other all during dinner, and a sullen, pregnant gypsy teenager.

The numbers rounded out to a classic family
table: two parents, two kids, and a loving aunt and uncle. It made
the reality all the more painful to bear. The minute Mike walked
into Fi’s house, Sarah’s stomach did its usual flip-flop just to
see him. His hair blown thick and wild around his face and his
eyes, so blue, so piercing, it was all she could do not to fan
herself.

There was nothing comfortable about the
feeling.

Except for John and Declan, Sarah had a bone
to pick with just about everybody at that table. She thumped down a
steaming bowl of buttered squash.

“Sorry about the election,” she said to Mike
without looking at him.

He ignored her and sat next to Papin at the
table. Sarah watched him pull Papin’s chair over to his where he
leaned over and looked into her eyes and spoke in a low voice. A
part of Sarah was relieved that Mike was there to back her up, to
talk to Papin, to possibly get something out of the girl besides
sass and monosyllables. One look at the exchange between them
quickly dashed her hopes.

Papin had never openly defied Mike and so to
see her cross her arms now and resolutely refuse to even look at
him or speak was shocking to Sarah. She watched frustration war
with outright anger in Mike’s face as he continued to talk to
Papin, but it was clear from her expression that no naming of the
father would be forthcoming tonight.

“I don’t understand why you won’t tell us,”
Sarah said, sitting next to Papin. “Why the big secret?” she said
with exasperation.

“I’m handling it, Sarah,” Mike said
quietly.

“Well, no you’re not. She’s sitting there
rolling her eyes and you’re talking to a wall. Is it a boy we all
know? Is he afraid he’ll be banished from the community?” She
looked at Mike. “Is that the punishment for this sort of
thing?”

“How the feck would I know?” he said,
finally looking at her. “I’m not in charge anymore. For all I know,
they’ll want to tar and feather him.”

“Michael Donovan!” Fiona said as she came to
the table with a large tureen of rabbit stew. “You’ll not say such
things at my dinner table!”

“Yeah, sorry, Fi,” Mike said, leaning back
in his chair. He looked behind her. “Dec not here tonight?”

“He’s late. Obviously,” Fi
said, putting the tureen down but keeping her voice hard. Fiona
didn’t forgive easily, Sarah knew.
It had
been a pretty terrible thing to say.

But Papin appeared oblivious to everything
happening around. Sarah couldn’t understand it. It was like Papin
had morphed into a different person. And while Sarah had heard of
such things happening—especially with girl teens—the speed of the
transformation was staggering.

“Besides,” Fiona said, picking up Papin’s
bowl and ladling stew into it. “It doesn’t matter anyway. Papin’s
going to the States tomorrow so it doesn’t matter who the father
is.”

John looked at Papin for the first time. “So
will it be born an American even if its parents are both
Irish?”

“I’ll know who the feck it is before anybody
leaves for anywhere,” Mike said pushing back in his chair.

“Well, I don’t know how you will if she
won’t say,” Sarah said.

“Then you’ll not be taking her.”

“What? You can’t do that,” Sarah said hotly.
“She’s coming with me and that’s final.” She turned to Papin. “You
still want to go, don’t you?”

Papin just shrugged and picked up her
spoon.

“Of course she wants to go,” Fiona said.
“And it’s the best thing for her, too,” she said to Mike. “There’ll
be all sorts of…resources for her there. A lot more than we can do
for her here, living in the equivalent of the eighteenth
century.”

Sarah glanced at Fiona and wondered for the
first time if she felt insecure about having her baby without a
doctor or the blessings of modern medicine. Of course she must. It
stood to reason. There had been several babies born in the camp in
the last two years, but it hadn’t been an easy time.

Not a bit of it.

“I’ll have the name of the bastard who did
this or nobody goes anywhere,” Mike said, but Sarah could see the
heat had gone from his voice. He wouldn’t stop them. He just didn’t
know what else to do.

“I’m not hungry,” Papin said, standing up.
“Auntie Fi, can I retire for the night?”

“It’s not even six o’clock,” Sarah said.

“Auntie Fi?”

“Yes, of course, darlin,’” Fi said. “Go on
now and lie down. I’ll be in to see you in a bit.”

Papin smiled thinly at Fiona and, not giving
a glance to either Sarah or Mike, excused herself and left the
table.

Sarah looked at Mike. “She’s mad at us.”

“American pop psychology?” he said pulling
the stew tureen toward his plate.

“It’s obvious. I can’t believe you can’t see
it. It’s classic. We’re splitting up and she’s behaving like every
other child of a divorce behaves when that happens. She’s angry at
both of us.”

“Well, it’s not
my
fault, is it? And she
knows that. Hell, the whole camp knows that.”