Mending Horses (38 page)

“Thank you, sir.” Daniel settled stiffly onto the bench, Billy by his side.

“Emily!” Mr. Warriner bellowed, dropping himself onto a bench on the opposite side of the table. “Ale for our guests!”

“So let's see what else old Jonny has to say.” Mr. Warriner took the letter out, flapped it open. He hemmed to himself every now and again, pausing occasionally to raise an eyebrow at either Daniel or Billy. Daniel tried to read the back of the letter while Mr. Warriner read the front, but the landlord's beefy hand covered
most of the writing. “Well, then,” Mr. Warriner finally said, carefully folding the letter before returning it to his pocket. With a chuckle, he shook his head. “That Jonny,” he said. “He is a one, isn't he?”

“That he is,” Daniel said cautiously. “Uh . . . how much did he tell you, sir?”

“You know Jonny. He can say a whole book's worth of words without telling you anything at all,” Mr. Warriner said, turning to Billy. “Mostly he says you're looking for your brothers. That right, boy?”

She nodded silently.

“And he says your pa's trying to go back on his deal.”

“That'd be a fair way of putting it,” Billy said.

“That is a pickle. Jonny paid for you fair and square,” the tavern-keeper said. “I'm not sure it was strictly legal, but I saw him hand over the money. Still, a father has his rights.”

“Even such a one as Fogarty?” Daniel asked.

“The boy was trying to steal Jonny's horse.” Mr. Warriner's glance shifted back to Billy. “And you did tear it up like a hellion when Jonny caught you.” He wagged a finger at her. “My son acted anything like you, I'd have whipped him good and sound, too. I'd have sworn that you'd steal Jonny's purse and disappear forever. But it looks like he's tamed you pretty well.”

Daniel felt Billy tense on the seat beside him. When he glanced down, he saw her fists clenched, fingernails digging into her palms. But she remained silent, and Daniel felt a little flush of pride.

“It seems to me it's not all that complicated,” Mr. Warriner continued. “The boy goes back to his pa, his pa gives Jonny his money back, and everybody's happy, hmmm?”

“Happy?” Daniel took a great gulp of his ale before continuing. “I fancy it's not altogether as easy as that.”

“Nothing ever is with Jonny. That must be why he wants me to recommend a good lawyer.” Mr. Warriner patted the vest pocket in which he'd placed the letter. “Now, Jonny and I go way back. He's a good man, and if there's anything I can do to help,
I'd be happy to do it, so long as I don't get tangled up in any legal trouble myself. I've got my business to consider.” He spread his arms to indicate the taproom around them. “So I think you boys'd better tell me exactly what I might be getting myself into.”

As briefly as he could, Daniel outlined the events of the past few months, concluding with the skirmish between the railroad men and the show people. Even though Daniel tried to be brief, the three of them had nearly reached the end of the ale by the time the story was finished.

“You say this fella was riding the bear?” Mr. Warriner said in amazement, as Daniel described Mr. Lamb's part in the fight.

Billy and Daniel nodded. “Just like he was on a horse,” Billy added.

The landlord blew out a whistly breath. “Now that's something I'd like to have seen!” he said. “So—what part does Jonny expect me to play in all this?” Mr. Warriner asked.

“Only rent us a room while Billy looks for his brothers,” Daniel said. “Point Mr. Stocking to a lawyer. We'd not be asking for any favors we couldn't be paying for.”

“I wouldn't be too worried about the boy's pa if I was you,” Mr. Warriner said. “If the fella's got two pennies to rub together, he'll more likely spend 'em on a bottle than on a lawyer. You Irish might be tight with your families, but you're even tighter with the drink.” He drained the last mouthful of ale from his glass and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “No offense to you boys, of course. It's lucky you fell in with Jonny so you can be brung up proper.”

Daniel pushed down the tendril of resentment that uncoiled in his belly. The thing of it was, the tavern-keeper meant no more offense than Daniel might, were he commenting on how much a pig loved living in filth.

“Well, anyway, I'd be happy to give you boys what help I can,” Mr. Warriner continued. “So long as it doesn't interfere with business. And maybe you can do a favor or two for me.”

“Aye?” Daniel prompted.

“Jonny says you've got a knack for gentling horses,” the
landlord continued, tapping the pocket that held his letter. “So happens I just bought a black gelding that could use some calming. He's fine when I'm around, but tries to bite my hired boy every time he turns his back.”

“I'll take a look at him, if you like.” Daniel suspected it was the lad who needed calming, not the gelding. Folk who got bitten usually deserved it.

“That's fine,” Mr. Warriner said. “And one more thing. This show of Jonny's . . . it'll be coming here?”

“Aye. Once they're clear of Billy's da,” Daniel said.

The landlord leaned forward, his eyes glowing like a lad's. “So tell me, boys. How many tickets can you get me?”

“Gone?” Billy said, her voice quivering. “What d'you mean, gone?”

The woman shrugged, her ragged shawl slipping off one shoulder. “All I know is the house was empty when we come, so we took it. That one across the way was empty, too, that me brother has now.” She crossed her arms and braced herself in the doorway, as if daring Daniel to try to run her off.

Daniel suppressed a shudder. Neither the pile of wood and stone that had once been Billy's home, nor any of those crammed cheek-by-jowl along the road could reasonably be called a house. What passed for streets was a maze of muddy footpaths and alleys with pigs and chickens scratching and rooting about among the refuse. Had he really lived in such a place himself once, back when Da worked at building the mills?

“Where did the Fogartys go?” he asked.

“However would I be knowing that, having only just got here meself?” the woman said.

“Surely there must be someone here who knows,” Daniel said.

The woman stepped farther out into the street. “Halloo there, Katie O'Donnell!” she yelled. “Mary Carney!”

A head peeked out from the neighboring shanty, then from
the one across the street, and from the one after that. No doubt they'd been watching through their windows, wondering who were these strangers invading the Patch—strangers with horses, no less. The woman's summons gave them permission to satisfy their curiosity openly.

Daniel and Billy were soon surrounded by women and children and old men, all eager to share their knowledge of the Fogartys' whereabouts. The misfortune was that nobody agreed on where they had gone or what had happened to them.

“They're kin to you, aren't they, lad?” Katie O'Donnell asked, peering closely at Billy. “You're the very spit of their Nuala, God rest her soul.”

Billy started, and Daniel grabbed her wrist to calm her. “Cousins,” he said quickly, to keep Mrs. O'Donnell from interrogating Billy any further.

“That poor wee lass,” said Mary Carney. “A fine singing voice, she had. But she's been gone these six months and more.” She crossed herself. “Drownded.”

“Run off,” said another. “Run off and I can't blame her one bit, for the way their da laid into them when he was in his cups.”

“Run off
and
drownded,” Mrs. Carney said. She gave Billy a sharp look. “Now wait a moment. You lived with them for a time, didn't you? I'm sure I saw you coming out of the house now and again. Always nipping down an alley and running off like you were afraid to be caught at some mischief. Your cousins always had time for a
good day
or
how d'you do
, but never you. Where you been off to all this time, that you don't know what's become of them?”

Billy twisted her cap into a ropy mess, her teeth gnawing her lower lip.

“Working,” Daniel said. “Got himself a job as a peddler's assistant, making decent wages, he has. And now he's come back to help the rest of 'em out.”

“Well, you're too late, aren't you then, lad?” said Mrs. Carney. “They're all of them dead. Dead of the fever.”

Billy hissed in a sharp breath, recoiling as if she'd been struck.

“No,” said Mrs. O'Donnell. “Some of them are living yet, I think.”

“Which ones?” Billy asked. “Where did they go?”

“I wish I could say for sure,” said Mrs. O'Donnell. “But I can barely keep in mind what me own lot are up to, never mind the neighbors.”

“Especially neighbors such as Hugh Fogarty,” said Mrs. Carney with a sniff. “Give him a bit of the poteen, and he'd get those black moods on him, and you'd best stay out of his way.” Several of the others nodded and commenced a string of stories about Hugh Fogarty's drinking and black moods.

“But the lads,” Billy said, trying to bring the talk back to the main question. “What happened to Liam and the rest?”

One woman spat into the dirt. “That Liam. Gone down to disgrace just like his da. Took up with a whore, he did, and they run off together.”

“He wouldn't!” Billy said, her fists clenched.

The woman jerked her head toward the shanty across the alley. “Why else would a woman be living alone like that, a Yankee among us Paddies? Taking in sewing and laundry, so she said—bah! Taking in men, more like!” She spat again into the mud. “That Liam spent all his time frolicking with her. Lost his job over it, and left the little ones to waste away of the fever.”

Daniel seized Billy by the shoulders to keep her from launching herself at the woman. “Hold your temper and your tongue,” he said in a harsh undertone.

“ 'Tis the truth of it,” the woman continued. “For didn't I see the coffins coming out of the house me very own self?”

Several of the neighbors nodded, but one of them said. “Oh, no, Biddy, 'tis the Flannerys you're thinking on. Three girls dead and their mam as well, and their da so grief-struck that he couldn't stand to be living here no more, so off to Lowell with him.”

“No, 'twas Worcester, I'm sure,” said another.

“But Liam, what about Liam?” Billy said, her cheeks red, her voice trembling.

“Didn't he go to work for the railroad along with his da?” Mrs. O'Donnell
said. Then the arguments began again. The more the women talked, the less Daniel knew. Next to him, Billy stared at the ground, her hands gripping her cap with white knuckles as she rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet. “Lies. 'Tis all lies,” she muttered.

Clearly, it was time to be gone. Daniel reached into his pocket for some money. “We're much obliged for your help.” He dropped a few coins into the hands of Katie O'Donnell and Mary Carney, who seemed to remember Billy's girl-self fondly, and he gave some money to those who'd given the most helpful information. But not a penny to the woman who'd said Liam had taken up with a whore.

Please let this be the one
, Daniel thought. He and Billy had spent two fruitless days searching Paddy camps in Cabotville and Factory Village and Indian Orchard. His knuckles felt raw from knocking on doors. What would he do if he reached the last battered door and still found no sign of her brothers? With a weary heart, he knocked.

A tall young man opened the door. If his shock of yellow curls and twilight blue eyes hadn't betrayed him, his posture would have. Daniel could see in an instant whom Billy had studied in order to walk and stand and carry herself like a lad. Liam was lean, his shoulders and arms hard with muscle under the worn fabric of his shirt.

Before Daniel could apologize for calling so early of a Sunday, Billy shoved past him. “Liam!” she shouted, flinging herself at the young man, nearly knocking him off his feet. “I knew it wasn't true! I knew it!” she said in Gaelic, her arms wrapped tight around him.

A female voice spoke in English from the back corner of the shanty. “What is it, Liam?” Daniel blushed as he caught sight of a woman pulling a wrapper over her shift. She had the same thin, weary look about her as Liam.

Liam extracted himself from Billy's embrace and held her at arm's length.

“Do you not know me, Liam?” Billy said.

Liam rubbed his befuddled eyes. Daniel wondered how much of his confusion was due to Billy's clothes and short hair and how
much was due to the change that six months' of good food, cheerful company, and sunshine had made in Billy's appearance. “It can't be,” Liam said. He cupped the lass's face in his hands as if holding a bowl made of the rarest bone china. “Nuala?”