Read Online Across the River by Alice Taylor - Free Book Online Page A

instinctively like a cat in the dark. He knew every stone of this boreen, but he still stumbled in his confusion. Maybe it was only some of the wynds that were gone up. The bastard would never burn them all. He turned into the Moss field where he could hear the horses snorting in the semi-darkness. The dawn was just breaking.
    When he came to the bottom of the next field, he got the whiff of burning hay.
Dear God
, he prayed silently,
let it be
only
some of them.
But when he rounded the corner of the hilly field above the glen, he saw that his prayers were not going to be answered. Every wynd was on fire, some of them already reduced to smouldering black circles.
    He stood there rooted to the ground in horror. His wonderful golden hay all gone up in smoke. What a bloody waste! That lunatic across the river must be gone off his head. It was a long time since he had been as drastic as this, although things like this had happened before. Jack remembered these same meadows flattened by a herd of cows before they had even been cut and, another time, some sheep dead and dying there after dogs had been set on them. All terrible at the time, but he had got over it. He tried to reason himself into accepting this loss, but despite his best efforts there was a lump of despair in the pit of his stomach. When was all this going to end? He took off his cap and wiped the tears that he felt on his cheeks, uncertain if they were tears of anguish or anger.
    “Jack, I know it’s terrible, but we’ll get over it.” Nora, coming up beside him in the darkness, put her arms around him.
    “I suppose I’m a foolish old man, Nora, to be crying over hay,” he said ruefully.
    “You are not, Jack; it’s because you were so delighted to have it all saved ready for the barn.”
    “Well, we’ll have a gap in the barn after this.”
    “Come on down to the rest of them,” she said, taking his hand.
    “Who’s down there?” he asked.
    “Peter, Davy, Mom and Uncle Mark,” she said. “It was Uncle Mark called us, after waking Davy, who was the nearest.”
    They could hear Davy holding forth as they approached.
    “We should go over and burn him out. If we put up with this, he’ll come again.”
    “You’re right,” Peter agreed angrily. “We can’t take this lying down. The mad bastard could burn us out.”
    “Take it easy, lads,” Mark intercepted gently. In the half-light he looked like a biblical figure with his long hair and beard and flowing clothes.
    “Aisy, is it?” Davy demanded. “How could you take it aisy and look at all that it front of you?”
    Jack knew exactly how Davy felt, but Mark was a peaceful soul. They all continued to air different points of view, but he scarcely heard them he was so wrapped up in his inner misery. After a few minutes, he became aware that one voice was silent. Martha was saying nothing. He looked around and saw her face in the grey light that was now filling the meadow. She was oblivious to the voices around her, and her eyes were fastened on Conways’.
    Her face was rigid with suppressed rage, and it struck Jack then that there was no need for any of them to get even with the Conways, because Martha was going to deal with it, and that when she did there would be no turning back. Something in her expression put a cold finger around his heart.
    Silence descended and they continued to stand there until the last wynd smouldered to the ground, as if they could not move until the flames died down.
We are a bit like mourners at a funeral
, Jack thought,
waiting until the last sod goes over the coffin.
Then it was Martha who spoke.
    “We are going back up to the house to have a warm breakfast or we’ll all get our death of cold standing here.”
    She strode up the field without a backward glance.
    They trailed after her. Mark was between Peter and Davy, trying to calm them down, but he was fighting anuphill battle as they were swearing vengeance. Nora and Jack brought up the rear with Nora holding