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could see two figures approaching. She squinted and as the wagon drew them nearer, she made out a short, squat man escorting a woman who was taller than him by a good half foot. Suddenly the woman let out a shriek and hurried toward them in waddling fashion, waving as she came closer.
    â€œFinn!”
    â€œWhoa.” The old driver stopped the cart to a creaking halt and was only halfway out of his seat when the woman reached up and embraced him hard enough to cause Finn to stumble out of the wagon.
    The woman spotted his passengers, all three of whom were now standing in the back of the wagon. “And what have you here?”
    â€œThese are me new companions,” Finn said, who was now standing beside her and brushing some of the dust from his clothing.
    She looked up at them with an odd smile. Despite the leathery appearance of her skin and the large wart jutting out of her cheek, her face bore a gentle spirit.
    â€œWelcome. Come down and greet us, won’t you? Not every day a lonely woman gets the pleasure of young visitors. Brings joy to me eyes, it does.” Then her face shifted to concern. “I’ve got some tidying to do.”
    By this time, the short man accompanying her arrived. He wore faded black pants peppered with patches and a well-stained white shirt mostly hidden beneath an olive green vest. He had an unlit pipe in one hand and a brown hen struggling to free itself tucked under his other arm.
    â€œJack,” she barked as she limped over to him. “Hand her to me.”
    He objected with a sharp gaze, but then released it to her with some reluctance. The woman grabbed the chicken and scurried down the road in a gait that looked as if it pained her.
    Jack shrugged. “My wife fancies visitors,” he said in a way that indicated he did not.
    Wanting to walk the aches out of their legs, Clare and the two boys followed behind Finn’s rattling wagon the remainder of the way to Jack’s house, which was as forlorn as its owner.
    Clare was the last to enter the doorway of the weathered shanty, and before doing so, she paused to glance far down the road behind them. In the tapering of light, and amidst the humming of crickets and the flaps of the wind, Clare thought she discerned a voice.
    It was whispering for her to return home.

Chapter 6
    The Tinkers

    Finn was perched on the driver’s seat, and he tapped the handle of the horsewhip in his hand. Impatient swine grunted in the back of the wagon. “Supposin’ it’s time. And the boys. Know where they might be?”
    Clare stood at the side of the cart and yearned for the shapes of Seamus and Pierce to appear in the horizon. Last night they had enjoyed a chicken stew with their hosts, and she ended up sharing a straw mattress with Colleen in the dingy confines of the hovel. But the men were sent outside to the barn for the evening, and as they were departing Clare overheard her brother asking the whereabouts of the closest pub.
    â€œâ€™Fraid I do.”
    The pig farmer spat. “The market closes at sundown in Cork. Gonna need to press on.”
    Clare’s mind sped through the different possible outcomes of her options. If she stayed, she would be giving up Finn’s generous ride, not only for herself but for the boys as well, as they wouldn’t climb aboard without her. But if she went with the old man now, she risked being separated from Seamus and Pierce, and for how long she couldn’t know. After several anxious and conflicted moments, she made her decision.
    â€œWe’ll pass the tavern on the way out, won’t we? Yes. I’m sure we’ll find them there, or on the way.” She climbed up onto the splintered wood bench she would share with Finn, still uneasy about her choice. The mere thought of her brother’s careless laughter caused her to clench her fists.
    The old man gave a shout at the two mares, and they responded with a lurch, their warm breath clouding