Read Online Patricia Falvey by The Yellow House (v5) - Free Book Online

the dull thud of feet on the road. I thought maybe I was still dreaming and sat up just to be sure. I looked over at Paddy in his bed beside mine, but he slept peacefully. Da must have heard the noise. The bedsprings creaked in the next room as he got up, and I heard the shuffle of his feet on the floor as he pulled on his trousers. I tiptoed to the door of my room and opened it. Da felt his way along the landing in the dim light.
    “Who is it, Da?” I whispered.
    He swung around and put his finger to his lips. “Och, probably just some young fellows home after a night on the drink,” he said, “making up for the pubs being closed tomorrow. Go back to bed now, darlin’, and watch Paddy.”
    But I did not believe him, and I knew he did not believe it himself. I waited until he was down the stairs, and I crept out onto the landing. The dying embers still glowed in the hearth and cast shadows on the walls. Cuchulainn roused himself from his place beside the fire and padded to the front door behind Da. I held my breath and waited.
    A loud thud broke the silence as a stone hit the front door. Da jumped back.
    “Who’s out there?” he shouted.
    Voices grew louder, male voices, shouting and cursing.
    “Open the door, Tom O’Neill,” a voice called. “It’s your friend Billy come to visit you.”
    “Jesus,” Da muttered, “what’s that eejit doing at this time of night?”
    I relaxed. It was only simple Billy Craig come to play a trick on us. He had not come back to the house at all after the other Music Men told him to stay away from the music sessions. I supposed he was still angry with us over Ma’s leaving. He had never been right in the head. He’d probably been out drinking and was egged on by some blackguards to come up and scare the daylights out of us.
    Da opened the door. “What in God’s name do you think you’re doing at this hour, Billy,” he began. “It’s home in your bed you should be—”
    Thud! Another stone hit the front door as Da spoke. Billy jumped back and looked around.
    “We’ve come to teach you a lesson, Tom,” he said, his voice high with excitement, “a lesson for sending Mary away. Haven’t we, boys?”
    I crept to the bottom of the stairs and could see Billy plainly. The earlier relief I felt had fled. In its place was a sinking, heavy fear deep down in my stomach.
    “Come out, Tom,” shouted Billy.
    “Don’t go, Da,” I cried.
    Da swung around. “Get upstairs, Eileen,” he shouted. “Now!”
    I had never heard Da raise his voice like that, and it startled me.
    “Now!” he repeated.
    I turned and fled up the stairs, but I stood on the landing to watch. I saw Da run into the kitchen and return with an old and rusty rifle that had rested for years on the mantel above the fireplace. It had belonged to Da’s da. I had never seen Da touch it. I always supposed it was there as a keepsake only. I raced back down the stairs and hovered behind Da. The voices grew louder, and burning torches scorched the darkness. I saw the outlines of thick bodies running toward the house. A flame shot through the air and hit a window. It was followed by another, then another.
    “Burn the fecking place,” cried a voice. “Burn the fecking papists out.”
    A sizzling sound made me swing around. One of the torches had caught a curtain at an open window, and flames roared upward toward the ceiling. “Ma’s curtains,” was all I could think to say. “They’re burning Ma’s curtains.”
    Suddenly Da was just outside the door. His voice roared above all the others.
    “You’ll not take the O’Neill house as long as I’m standing,” he shouted. “Youse’ll have to kill me!”
    A voice screamed, “No!” It was a scream from purgatory. I realized it was mine.
    I watched Da fire the rifle, his gnarled hands gripping the metal, bullets flying helter-skelter into the darkness. I put my hands to my ears to drown out the noise. I watched his face glow in the flames as bright as the