Under the July Sun (3 page)

Over Louis' shoulder, Cat could see smoke and flames roaring swiftly around the barracks, licking hungrily at the sides of the dry timber buildings, as stones and wood showered the area with the wreckage of the once proud structure. Shop fronts shattered showering pavements with glass.

Through the dust Cat saw Bessie galloping at speed down Main Street, the cart left behind like a pile of firewood.

As the smoke cleared she heard people running towards her; men shouting, women screaming and crying. The smell of the explosion hung in the air and her lungs filled with cloying smoke.

They lay there for a few moments and Cat's brain tried to work out what had happened, but numbed with shock she could not comprehend a thing.

Louis rolled off her onto the ground and began to move away but she reached out and grabbed his sleeve. ‘Don't leave me. I'm comin' with ye.'

He shook his head, standing up cautiously to peer around the corner. Drawing his gun from its holster he stepped warily onto the roadway and picked his way across the rubble while Cat sat amidst debris, her teeth chattering violently. Someone arrived beside her and placed a shawl around her shoulders, but as she opened her mouth to say something, she found herself unable to utter a word. Warily, she looked around her.

Nothing remained of the barrack gates except a yawning gap and a deep hole gouged into the ground. The walls on either side of the gates had been destroyed for a distance of several yards and part of the barracks inside had collapsed, trapping the men. She could hear them crying out for help.

Private White lay in the road motionless, his uniform blackened and torn, his damaged bloodied limbs and torso exposed. Cat watched Louis dash over to him, and kneel to cradle the dying man in his arms.

She heard soldiers running. They emerged from the barracks, some covered in dust with trails of blood trickling down their whitened bodies. Rifles raised ready to fire, they stood in an orderly row forming a ghostly troop amidst the chaos.

Then another movement caught Cat's attention. There was someone slipping down the alleyway opposite.

It looked like Paddy Hogan.

Ned watched his wife Maeve kneading dough, pounding it into a rounded mound; then with a knife she made the sign of a cross on its flaccid surface.

‘What time's Paddy bringin' out the new cart Ned?'

He took his pocket watch out, flicked open the case and read the time. ‘Should be along soon, 'tis nearly eleven.' Seeing the dough was ready for baking, Ned began turning the bellows wheel, fanning air into the sleeping fire. Gradually the embers sprang to life, gusting hot ash, into the fire basket.

He rose from his stool and ambled across to peer through a little window overlooking the yard while Maeve dusted the loaf with flour, wiped her hands, lifted the bread shovel from its hook, and deftly manoeuvred the dough onto it.

‘Ned, will ye open the oven now?'

He moved back to the fire and, with a poker, flipped open the cast iron door. Carefully, as though lifting a baby into its cradle, Maeve moved across the room holding the bread shovel; then with a quick jolt she shoved the dough in and slammed the door shut.

Rubbing his chin, Ned returned to stare out of the window. ‘How much longer is Cat goin' to hide away in that barn?'

‘Ah! Leave her be, Ned. Sure she's in shock.'

‘She's been doin' it for days now!'

‘It'll take as long as it takes.'

‘Murderin' swines! Sure, I'd like to get me hands on them. Will ye call her out, Maeve, I'm bustin' for a pee?'

‘G'w'on round the back.'

‘I can't keep dodgin' round the back.'

‘Ah! Ye've no patience at all. Praise be to God, she'll come out of it soon enough.'

He sighed and lumbered out of the cottage to the back garden where he relieved himself against a tree. Buttoning his flies he returned to the kitchen and sat on a stool beside the fire watching twists of sweet peat-smelling smoke drift up the chimney.

‘Any news of the weddin' yet?'

She pursed her lips, irritated with the question. ‘No! And don't ye go askin' her.'

Ned began to whistle.

‘Will ye stop that row, Ned? Ye know I can't stand it when ye do that.'

‘Ah! Woman there's no pleasin' ye. Will I go and lay on the railway line so ye've got rid of me whistlin' once and for all?'

‘Don't be childish Ned, it doesn't become ye.'

‘Ha! I'll keep meself quiet then shall I?'

‘Well, say somethin' sensible if ye must speak. So long as 'tis not that whistlin'.'

‘Well how's this then for conversation? I hear the English Captain is up and about again.'

Maeve raised her eyebrows. ‘Is that so? And how's he doin'?'

‘Considering everything, I heard he's not so bad. He's mainly cut about the face and hands.'

She picked up a broom and as she swept the floor, Ned began whistling again. Annoyed, Maeve battled with the broom sweeping flour dust across the flagstones toward the door. ‘Now,' she said, ‘I'll just get cleared up, then see to dinner.'

Ned waited for her to complain about the floor. It was uneven and flour had settled between the cracks in the flagstones, refusing to be swept away. She cursed and asked God's forgiveness alternately, trying to wheedle the brush between the gaps.

He scratched his head and sighed.

Maeve looked at him. ‘What are ye sighin' about now?'

‘The bombin'. That English Captain is luckier than that poor lad sent back home in a box.'

She nodded. ‘Poor boy. And his poor parents too. Lord save us, what's this world comin' to?'

‘Thanks be to God for his mercy with Cat,' he said crossing himself.

‘Thanks be to God,' she echoed as Ned turned away from the window and went to the milk churn. He ladled out some of the oyster-white frothy liquid into a mug, walked across to the barn, opened the door and shuffled inside. It took a second or two for his eyes to adjust to the gloom before he saw Cat curled up in the corner.

‘Cat, 'tis time to come out now,' he coaxed.

‘I'm thinkin'.'

‘Well, ye can't stay in here forever. Can't ye do yer thinkin' somewhere else?'

‘I need to be alone.'

‘Here, I've brought ye some milk. Drink it up now, ye'll feel better.'

She didn't answer so he placed the mug on the straw next to her.

‘They killed that poor soldier. What harm had he done to anyone?' There was anger in her voice.

‘I know, Pet.' His voice was tender as he watched his daughter sit with her knees drawn up under her chin. ‘If ever I get my hands on the murderers I swear I'll—'

‘Ye'll
what
?' She asked looking up at him. ‘What'll ye do?' She stared ahead. ‘If ye do anythin' ye'll be just as bad as them.'

‘Turn the other cheek eh?'

‘I s'pose so.'

‘Listen, Pet. I thank the Lord ye weren't hurt. I know Bessie went chargin' off and the cart got broken up, but that's nothin' at all considerin' what could have happened, is it?' He was relieved to see her pick up the mug and drink some milk. ‘Paddy's about to arrive. He's bringin' a new cart for me.'

She put the mug down, and Ned saw that the colour had drained from her face. ‘I don't want to see him, Dada.'

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘C'mon now, Pet, why not?'

‘Did ye not hear me? I said I don't want to see him, Dada.'

‘But ye have to see him sometime.'

‘No I do not. I don't want to see him ever again!'

‘Why, Cat?'

‘I just want it that way.'

‘Cat what're ye sayin'?'

‘Get rid of him when he comes, Dada. Just get rid of him,
please
!'

‘How? What'll I say?'

‘Tell him whatever ye like, but I won't see him.'

Ned sighed. ‘Have it yer own way, Cat. 'Tis your life.'

‘Dada I
mean
it! I never want anythin
'
to do with him again!' She began to shake, and Ned could see she was afraid.

He watched her tremble as she sat there in the straw like a little child; then, overcome with tenderness, he put his arm around her shoulders and drew her closer.

‘C'mon now, Pet, 'tis all right. Ye don't have to do anythin' ye don't want to do, or see any man ye don't want to see. If Cupid hasn't fired his arrow at ye by now with this man, then maybe ye'd better let him go.' He rubbed her back, kissing the top of her head.

‘Ye're not cross then, Dada?'

‘No, Pet. Of course not. What's troublin' ye? Can ye tell me?'

‘I'm not sure. 'Tis all confused.'

‘When ye're ready. When ye're ready then. Take yer time. Here,' he said taking off his jacket, ‘put this on, ye're cold,' he said drawing the rough material across her shoulders. ‘One thing's botherin' me though, Cat.' He rubbed his ear, feeling awkward. ‘I know 'tis a delicate matter to ask, but, well have ye…has Paddy─?'

‘Absolutely
not
Dada!'

‘Good! Only he'd have to marry ye if that was the case.'

He saw her face lose its pallor and a deep blush sweep up her neck and cheeks. He realised he had embarrassed her. But it had to be asked he felt.

‘He won't listen to me, Dada. But if
ye
tell him, he'll hav
e
to!'

Ned interrupted her.
‘
Eist!
²
I think I hear Paddy arrivin' with the cart. Stay here and I'll talk to him.' Rolling up his shirtsleeves Ned walked out of the barn, closing the door behind him as he saw Paddy approaching.

'Mornin' Paddy.'

Paddy smiled revealing a row of even white teeth. 'Mornin' Ned. 'Tis a fine day is it not?'

‘'Tis indeed. 'Tis.' Ned agreed and stood watching Paddy unhook the new cart from his pony before turning to face him.

'Well, here's the cart then, Ned. 'Tis a fine replacement, sure it is.'

'Aye, a fine cart Paddy, I'll say that.' Ned said running his hand over the woodwork. ‘Though there's no replacement for that young soldier murdered in cold blood before me own gel's eyes is there?'

Paddy did not look up and appeared to be sorting out the reins, but Ned sensed he was avoiding eye contact; so asked him if anything was wrong.

'Wrong?
No
! Not at all. Sure I'd like to speak to Cat if she's about though.'

Ned rubbed the stubble on his chin. 'Ye seem kinda jumpy Paddy.'

Paddy laughed. ‘Oh. Just lots to do and not much time to do it in ye know.' He pushed the new cart round to the side of the barn then strolled back towards Ned wiping his brow on the sleeve of his shirt.

'Well, is Cat about then, Ned?'

Ned knew he couldn't avoid the subject any longer, so pulled himself up to his full six foot five, thrust his thumbs inside his belt, and began the speech that would sever his daughter from a life of assured luxury.

'No. Cat's not about, Paddy. Nor will she be for ye again.'

Paddy looked stunned. 'What d'ye mean, Ned?'

'Exactly what I say. She does not want to see ye again.'

Paddy's smile vanished as he realised Ned wasn't joking. His jaws clenched together angrily, his hands balled suddenly into fists as he realised Ned was serious.

Wondering if Paddy was preparing to hit him, Ned took his thumbs out of his belt in readiness. He felt sorry having to be the bearer of the news, but his loyalty was to his daughter even though he didn't understand the reason for her decision.

Trying to conceal his anger Paddy looked down, rolling a stone around on the ground with his boot as he spoke.

'Why?' He sounded curt, and his friendliness had disappeared.

'She doesn't need a reason, Paddy. If my gel says she doesn't want to see a particular fella, then she doesn't see a particular fella, 'tis that simple.'

Hardly able to contain his fury Paddy felt in his pocket and pulled out the bill for the cart. He folded it in two and held it out.

Ned took it and stuffed the paper in his shirt pocket without reading it. 'I'll settle up with ye later.' Then without saying another word, he turned and walked off in the direction of the cottage, leaving Paddy in no doubt that the interview was over.

Hearing Paddy leave, Ned turned and ambled back to lean against the side of the barn. He stood listening to the river running through the brittle dryness of osier beds, thinking about his conversation with Cat.
What was it she wasn't telling him?
He drew a packet of Sweet Afton from his pocket, lit one, and blew smoke rings into the air, watching them float upward, distort, then dissipate.

He scrutinized the cottage roof and thought the thatch would need mending that summer. With its low roof and white walls, it was more than just home to Ned. It was the very centre of his universe and he could never imagine living anywhere else. One day, he thought, maybe he'd enlarge the window to the main room. It was far too dark inside. Firstly, though, he would fix that floor for Maeve, if only to stop her blathering on about it.

Ned threw his cigarette butt down grinding it underfoot, and pushed the barn door open. 'C'mon, Cat. Ye can come out now, he's gone. We'll go and cut the sallies
³
; I've a few baskets to make.'

Wandering along the riverbank together, Ned scythed the young willows while Cat followed, laying them in lines to dry. They worked in harmony beneath the sun and not a word passed between them about Paddy Hogan. Ned decided he could wait to hear whatever was worrying her. He did wonder, though, if there was a connection between the bombing and Paddy's brother, Tommy. Everyone now knew that the soldier who shot Tommy Hogan was the one killed outside the barrack gates. Was it an act of reprisal, Ned wondered? If that was the case then Cat was better off keeping her distance.