Across the River (15 page)

T
HE
NIGHT
CREPT
by on leaden feet. To move too early would be courting disaster. After days of careful consideration, Martha had decided that 2.30am would be the best time to make her move. Any earlier and there could be somebody still around; any later the early summer dawn would catch her out before she was finished.

Every time she looked at the little alarm clock on the bedside table, she thought that the hands should have moved further on. She even checked it against her watch with the light of a flashlamp under the bedclothes. It was safer not to turn on the light; she wanted nothing to draw attention to the fact that she was awake that could be remembered afterwards. It was vital to keep things looking normal. There was too much at stake to overlook the smallest thing.

At last the clock hands reached the appointed time. She slipped out of bed and rumpled the bedclothes to give the appearance that there was somebody still in it, just in case Nora looked in. For a few nights after the attack, Nora had slept in Martha’s bed before feeling able to go back to her own room, but one night since she had come in during the night. If Nora thought that she were asleep, though, she might let her be.

The clothes that she planned to wear were neatly folded in the bottom of the wardrobe. Removing her nightdress, she pushed it under the bedclothes and put on her underclothes. Then she stepped into an old black pants of Ned’s and tied it firmly around her waist and slipped a long black jumper over her head. She folded the ends of the pants firmly around her ankles and eased a pair of long
black socks up over them. Catching her long black hair, she whipped it into a knot at the back of her head and pulled a cap of Ned’s down over it. At a distance now she could be mistaken for a man.

As she picked up a pair of boots, she glanced back at her wedding picture on the wall.

She closed the door quietly and went softly down the stairs, skipping the creaking third step. Sitting at the bottom of the stairs, she carefully laced her boots. Feeling her way around by the walls of the kitchen, she was guided by the red glow of the Sacred Heart light. Taking the bits of meat that she had already prepared, she stuffed them into her pocket. Wagging his tail, Bran met her outside the back door. She held the door open to let him in and closed it firmly after her. The last thing she wanted was Bran following her.

The little trowel and wire pincers were where she had hidden them, behind the water barrel. It was so dark that she had to feel her way around, but this was what she needed. She had waited for a night such as this, watching the sky and judging its suitability. On a bright moonlit night she could be seen from an overlooking window in the valley. Tonight was dark with no stars.

Keeping close to the wall, she went across the backyard and up through the haggard and along the little boreen into the Moss field. She walked by the hedge down through the three fields to the river. Either the night was getting brighter or else her eyes were growing accustomed to the darkness. She prayed that the moon would not come out.

She knew exactly where the shallow part of the river was, beyond Yalla Hole. It was as if the river, having gone to the depths, was then content to run along the surface. As
she came out of the shadows into the open, she forced herself to move slowly. It only took her a few seconds to cross the ferny patch to the river but it seemed like eternity. With her head down she crouched as low as possible. The big stepping stones were well clear of the water after all the dry weather. Conway had once tried to dig out the stones, but they were so embedded with time that there was no shifting them. It was a long stride from one stone to the other as the dark water swirled around her feet. Almost slipping off the last stone, she clung to the long grass on the opposite side.

She clambered up the bank. Now she was on Conway land, dangerous ground. Going down on her hands and knees, she crawled along the bank, and gradually it curved upwards and arched out over Yalla Hole. She would have to crawl under the wire to get to the other side and reach the spot where Matt Conway always stood looking across the river at them.

Keeping very still, she listened for a sound that would tell her if there was movement up in Conways’ yard or if the dogs were around. Their farmyard was two fields up from the river, but the dogs sometimes hunted at night. Her fingers encircled the bits of meat in her pocket. She knew that once she went under that wire there would be no escape. Drawing a deep breath, she gritted her teeth. Lifting up the wire, she eased her head and shoulders under it and then, sagging her back down, she dragged her legs after her. She was on the other side now. The grass was smooth under her hands as she crept along until she reached a hollow beside one of the stakes. This was Matt Conway’s spot. She listened carefully for any sound, but there was only silence.

She began to dig around the base of the stake. The ground
was hard, dried out by the summer sun, and perspiration ran down her forehead. She had to blink it out of her eyes and it tasted salty on her lips. Gradually a little pile of earth rose as the hole around the stake deepened. Suddenly she froze. There was movement behind her. She clenched her teeth to stop them from chattering, her heart pounded and there was a thumping in her head. After a few seconds she forced her rigid neck to turn and looked behind her. She could see nothing there, but it was so dark that there could be somebody quite close and she would not see them.

Maybe somebody was waiting in the darkness.
Calm down
, she told herself,
and keep going
. A few more scoops and she would be at the base of the fencing post.

When she reached the bottom of the post she loosened the earth all around it, then filled the hole very loosely. What was she going to do with the surplus earth? When she had thought this out at home, she had planned to ease it over the bank into the river. Now she was afraid of the noise it might make, but she had no choice. Very gently she eased it slowly over the bank and was relieved when the trickle-down was barely audible. With her hands she dusted the grass completely clean of the brown earth and covered the ground around the post with the top sod that she had first cut away. Now the stake had no grip. If anyone leant against it, only the wire could still hold them.

Her heart was thumping and the perspiration was running down her back, partly from the frantic digging, but also from sheer terror. Terrible pictures flew across her mind of what would happen if Matt Conway caught her, and she had to take a grip on herself to keep from running down the bank and back across the river. It was tempting, but Nora’s terrified face swam in front of her eyes. He was going to pay for what he did. If she did not finish what she had come
to do, she would regret it. She had never run away from anything in her life.

There were two strands of thorny wire going from this post to the ones further along the bank. She knew that it was rusty old wire by the rough feel of it, and the brown wool she had in her pocket would look the same. Winding the wool around the little cluster of spikes just beside the stake, she tied it to the wire at the other side. It had to be strong enough to hold the stake in position. Then she did the same with the lower strand. All the knotting was at the river side of the stake.

Working carefully, she was conscious that time was slipping by and that soon the dawn would be breaking. It had all taken longer than she had planned. Now for the real test. Cutting the wire very slowly with the pincers, she held her breath. The wool stretched but held; unless you looked very carefully you would not notice the difference. She breathed a sigh of relief. Suddenly dogs barked up in Conways’ yard. She froze to the ground.
Move
, she told herself,
and get under the wire.
Her body was stiff with cold and tension. She was halfway under the wire when she remembered the trowel and had to reverse back and grab it. The rusty spike of wire dug into her hand, but she hardly felt it.

She clambered down the bank on all fours, taking cover in the rushes and high ferns. When she reached the river, she was afraid to stand upright, so she crawled across, the water soaking in through her clothes. The dogs had stopped barking. When she reached the opposite bank, she reached upwards to grasp the long grass and caught something cold and slippery that squealed. She choked a scream and slipped back into the water with a loud splash. The dogs started barking again in Conways’. She
clambered up the bank, almost blinded by fright, and crawled until she got to the shelter of their own hedge. Then she straighted up and looked back at Yalla Hole. There was somebody standing in the shadows just beside the stake, looking across at her. She blinked quickly to make sure that it was not her imagination playing tricks, and then there was nobody there. Her nerves were so strained that she was seeing things!

For a few seconds she stood rooted to the ground, too frightened to move. Matt Conway could easily be here at this side of the river, lying in wait for her. At least with her back to the high ditch he could not creep up on her, but she would have to move. When she heard a faint cough she almost fainted and then was flooded with relief when one of the horses snorted in the darkness. She moved quickly then and almost ran along in the shadow of the hedge. Light was spilling into the centre of the fields. There had been just enough time.

Carefully she opened the back door. Bran wagged his tail and was delighted when a shower of meat pieces came after him into the yard. The relief of being back in the safety of her own house was intense, though she was still shaking with cold and fear. She breathed deeply to ease herself of tension. It was the first time in her life that she had tasted terror. The warmth of the kitchen embraced her, and she stood in front of the Aga to peel off her wet clothes. The cold was gone into the marrow of her bone, and her muscles were ice-stiff. She bundled up the wet clothes and pushed them to the back of the press; she pulled out a big towel to rub herself dry and to get the heat back into her body. Opening the two doors of the cooker to better warm herself, she pulled a nightdress out of the press and put it on.

Gradually she thawed out, but she knew that it would be a long time before her mind would recover from the tension of the night. A glass of Jack’s cure would be the best thing for her, so she put on the kettle and waited for it to boil. Jack’s bottle was up in the parlour, and when she opened the door old Edward Phelan met her eyes across the room. She felt he would have understood what she had done tonight.

D
ANNY
WATCHED
SOMEBODY
walk close to the hedge, keeping well into the shadows. It was a dull night and he could only barely see the outline moving slowly along. The person must have come down from Mossgrove, and Danny was puzzled as to who he was. He did not walk like Peter, was too thin to be Davy and too tall to be Jack. Whoever he was, he was taking great pains not to be seen. Danny watched him from beneath the hedge just above Yalla Hole. He had come over from Sarah’s under the shadow of dark to check on one of the calves who had been a bit shaky on his legs. His father took very little care of sick animals.

The stranger walked towards the river. Danny was surprised when he crossed the river using the stepping stones, nearly slipping off the last one, and then crawled up the cliff over Yalla Hole. Danny held his breath when the stranger passed so close that he could have put out his hand and touched him. What on earth was he up to? It was only when he started to dig and a long strand of hair came down under his cap that it dawned on him who it was: Martha. He got such a shock that he had to smother a gasp. He froze when she stopped digging, turned her head around and looked in his direction. For one awful moment he thought that she had seen him, but then she returned to her digging and it struck him that he was invisible in the dark shadows.

What on earth was she doing? Then slowly the understanding of what she was at dawned on him.

As she crawled away, he thought that she had forgotten the trowel, but then he saw her retrieve it. He watched her crawl across the river and then slip back down into the water when she started to clamber up the bank. The long grass that she was using to haul herself up must have given
way. Then she was on the river bank and heading for the shelter of the hedge. As she stepped into the shadows and turned and looked back, his heart almost stopped. She was looking directly at him. In his anxiety he must have stepped out of the shadows; now he quickly slipped back. He could see her outline beside the ditch and wondered why she was standing there. Suddenly she moved and walked quickly along by the hedge, and then she disappeared deeper into the shadows and remained hidden all the way up to Mossgrove.

Danny stared at the stake. He wanted to walk away and go back up to Sarah’s or Jack’s still, but something held him. He felt that he had to stay. It would be too dangerous to remain at their own side of the river, however, because if the dogs came down they would sniff him out. It would be better to cross over to the Phelan side and wait there in the trees from where he had sight of Mossgrove, their own place and the cliff above Yalla Hole. Crawling out of the bushes, he followed Martha’s path across the river, but then turned into the sheltering trees where he settled down in the high grass. It would be a long wait.

As the first cracks of light appeared in the darkness, the dawn chorus began in the wood behind him. It was his first time really listening to it. It began gently and very slowly, the volume increasing until the whole wood seemed to be singing. The only one he had ever heard talking about the dawn chorus was Nora. When she was a child, Jack used to call her some summer mornings to hear it. At the time he had thought it was a bit strange but now he was not so sure. It was the grandest sound that he had ever heard.

Suddenly tears came into his eyes as the beauty of the birds’ singing and the shock of the whole situation overcame him. He knew then that he would never have
had the courage to do anything to his father, and even sitting here now waiting for something to happen was unnerving him. Should he let it happen? Even now he could save his father. Then Nora’s face swam in front of him and he remembered his mother over the years. No, he would just sit here and let things go ahead. If Martha Phelan could do it, then he was not going to interfere.

The morning dragged on, and as the hours went by his stomach churned. When the sun rose in the sky it became very hot and his mouth dried with thirst, but he dared not leave the shelter of the trees. Too restless to stay in the one position, he stretched out on the high grass and looked up at the sky through the trees. It was strange to be spending so much time in the one corner doing nothing. He had never been in a quiet corner like this for so long. The hard knot of anxiety in his stomach grew tighter.

Then suddenly he heard the buzz of an engine coming from Mossgrove. He crawled along and looked out from behind a tree. There was a tractor coming down the fields, a new one. It must have only just arrived, and Peter was testing his driving skills under Jack’s and Davy’s supervision. There was a lot of yelling and shouting, with Davy running ahead directing Peter.

There was no doubt but that this would bring his father down to his lookout point. Danny waited with his eyes screwed to their own haggard, and sure enough his father appeared, stood staring across and then strode down the field. Even from where he sat, Danny knew that his father was in a temper. The sight of a new tractor in Phelans’ was enough to do that. Striding towards the fence, his attention was concentrated on Mossgrove. Danny wanted to look away, but his eyes were glued to the stake in horrified fascination. His throat tightened and a cold sweat broke out
on his forehead. His father leant forward towards the stake. Danny’s brain went into slow motion.

A blood-curdling bellow came across the river. He was never sure afterwards if he had really seen it happen or if his vision had been too blurred. One minute his father was there on top of the cliff and then that terrible sound and he was gone. Was he in Yalla Hole or could he be clinging to the sides? If he had not fallen straight down, he could have landed near the bank and be dragging himself out. Danny did not move. If his father was trying to pull himself out of the river, he did not want to be there. Then he heard shouting. The men in the field had seen it happen and were running down to the river. Peter was ahead with Davy after him and Jack bringing up the rear. Danny watched them reach the bank where they stood looking into the river without moving. He knew then that his father was nowhere to be seen. He must have gone straight down into Yalla Hole. Danny’s stomach was churning and vomit gurgled up his throat. He sank to his knees and let it pour on to the grass.

As Danny came slowly out from beneath the shelter of the trees and climbed down the bank towards the river, Davy was the first to hear the rustling of the rushes behind them. When he turned, his normally cheery face was pale with shock.

“He fell in over the cliff,” Davy said in a stunned voice.

“The bloody stake must have been pure rotten.”

“Did you see it?” Peter asked Danny in a strained whisper.

“I’m not sure,” Danny said hesitantly. “One minute he was there and the next he was gone.”

“It all happened in the blink of an eye,” Jack said quietly.

“Nothing comes up out of Yalla Hole.”

They all stood staring into the river as if the water had the
answer to what had just happened.

“What are we going to do, Jack?” Davy asked eventually.

“You will have to go up and tell your mother, Danny,” Jack said gently, “and Peter, you and Davy had better go to the village and tell the Guards.”

“Why the Guards?” Danny asked.

“An accident,” Jack explained to him, “has to be reported.”

Danny stood there for a long time rooted to the spot. He felt that to move was to set in motion a train of events that he might not be able to handle. The others stood waiting for him to be sufficiently recovered to go up to tell his mother. He closed his eyes and the whole picture replayed itself again in his mind. Then he felt Jack’s hand on his shoulder.

“Would you like me to come up to your mother with you, lad?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Danny stammered.

“I’ll walk up with you anyway and then you can see,” Jack told him.

As soon as himself and Jack started to cross the river, Davy and Peter headed up the fields to Mossgrove. Danny walked along the edge of the cliff until he came to the gap in the wire. The stake had taken a lump of the earth before it into the river. Nobody would ever know that it had previously been dug. He picked up the ends of the wire lying on the grass. The rusted wire could have simply cracked from pressure. Unknotting the bits of brown wool, he put them into his pocket. Jack never said a word.

Danny’s mother was sitting at the table having a cup of tea when he came into the kitchen. Her face lit up when she saw him.

“Danny, I’ve been so worried about you.” Then she
stopped and looked at him. “You look terrible.”

“Mam,” he began, sitting on a chair beside her, “something has happened,” and he stopped. What was the best way to put it?

“What?” she asked anxiously.

“Dad is in Yalla Hole,” he blurted out bluntly.

“Danny,” she screamed, catching him by the arms, “you didn’t push him in?”

“No, no,” he assured her, “the wire cracked and he fell.”

“Oh, thank God you weren’t the cause of it,” she gasped, closing her eyes. She kept them closed for so long that Danny began to wonder if she had gone into some kind of a faint. When she opened them she said simply, “I would have wished him time to make peace with his maker.”

The two of them sat in silence and then his mother said, “He had no peace here. Maybe he’ll find it where he’s gone.”

“We hadn’t much peace either,” Danny said.

“No,” she agreed, “but the place will take a lot of getting used to without him.”

“It’s hard to imagine it,” Danny said.

“I suppose the rest of them will have to be told,” his mother said vaguely.

Danny saw that she was not going to be able to make any decisions and that it was up to him to decide what to do.

His mind was so confused that he did not know where to begin, and then he thought of Jack waiting outside in the yard. Jack would know how to handle things.

“You go in to Jim in the post office,” Jack told him, “and get him to send off telegrams to the lads, and I’ll go for Sarah and Agnes. Women are always better in these situations.”

Danny went into the kitchen where his mother was still
sitting in the same place staring into space. “Mam, the old notebook with the addresses in it, where is it?”

She looked at him blankly, so he rooted through the drawer in the press that held all sorts of odds and ends, but the little dog-eared notebook was not there. He searched another drawer.
Where the hell is it? These bloody drawers are always in such a mess, you can never find anything in them.
Then his mother stood beside him and reached in behind a large dish in the dresser and handed him the little red notebook.

“You have Mary’s address in your head, haven’t you?” she asked, and when he nodded she returned to the chair.
God, how did she think of where the notebook was and a few minutes before she couldn’t even hear me!

“Will you be all right, Mam,” he asked, “while I’m in the village?” She made no attempt to answer him, and he went out into the yard to see if there was any trace of Sarah coming. He had better lock up the dogs as they weren’t used to strangers around the place. Yesterday he could not have made that decision; his father always had them running loose to frighten people away.

As he was bolting the door, Sarah cycled into the yard.

“Danny, child, I’m glad that you’re all right. When you were missing this morning, I was half worried about you,” she said, getting off her bike. Danny wondered what she must be thinking when he was missing half the night, but she never asked a question.

“When you’re in the village, call to Kate Phelan and she’ll be able to ring Mary later on,” was all she said.

The news had reached the village before him. After his call to the post office, where Jim knew exactly what to do, he called to Kate Phelan.

“Danny, you’ve had a terrible shock,” she said calmly,
drawing him into the front room.

“Sarah Jones said you would ring Mary,” Danny told her.

“I will and I’m sure she’ll be here tomorrow. It will be good for your mother to have herself and Kitty come quickly.”

“I can’t believe it,” Danny said simply.

“That’s understandable.” Kate looked at him closely.

“When did you eat last?”

“Yesterday, I think,” he told her.

“Well, that won’t keep you standing,” she told him.

“Come into the kitchen and we’ll have something to eat.”

As he was leaving the room, the picture over the mantelpiece caught his eye. He stood looking at it.

“That’s my grandfather,” Kate told him quietly.

“Edward Phelan,” he said reflectively. “The story goes back to him and my great-grandfather, doesn’t it?”

“I believe so,” Kate said.

It was a strange feeling to be looking into the face of the man who had been there at the beginning of all the trouble. How his father had hated the memory of this man. He looked at Kate. As a child he had always associated her with taking Kitty away. Now he knew the truth.

“You were friends with my grandmother,” he said.

“We understood each other,” Kate told him.

“She was good to us,” Danny said.

“She was a strong woman.”

When he got back home, the neighbours had gathered. The men stood around the yard in groups talking quietly, and when he came into the yard they came forward to shake his hand. He was glad when Davy came out of the barn and they sat on a wall under a tree at the side of the yard. There was something reassuring about Davy.

“God, ’tis murdering hot, isn’t it?” Davy declared, wiping sweat off his forehead.

“We haven’t seen rain for weeks,” Danny said.

“It’s coming, though, I’d say.” Davy looked up at the hazy sky. “It’s so bloody hot there’s a thunderstorm coming.

That sky is full of rain to the west.”

“Did you see him fall?” Danny blurted out.

“The odd bloody thing is,” Davy declared, “that I’m not sure. We saw him tearing down the field, and then the next thing he was at the stake, and then the stake seemed to tilt forward and down. It was all over before you could say cush to a duck.”