Run Before the Wind (22 page)

"We'll see," I replied. I hugged her and they were gone.

I drove back through Kinsale, musing on what the new year might bring. If I decided against law school, I thought, I might spend the autumn working on my cottage. Mark's program for the year included a race to the Azores in the new yacht, in July, with Annie and me for crew, then a singlehanded return to Ireland as a qualifying passage for the race the following summer. Perhaps with all that out of the way I could get him to lend a hand with the work.

I stopped at the supermarket in Kinsale to pick up a few things I knew we were short of at the cottage. I did my shopping, and, as I was packing my purchases into the boot of the Mini-Cooper, I heard a woman's voice speak my name. Turning, I was confronted with an unaccustomed sight: an angry nun.

"Just what are you doing, anyway?" she demanded to know.

"What?" I was baffled by this outburst.

"I've never seen Connie so unhappy; she's been that way for two weeks, now. What are you doing to her?"

"I'm not doing anything to her," I said.

"If she's unhappy, I don't think it's anything to do with me."

"Lying bastard!" she said, actually stamping her foot.

"Now, wait a minute," I said, astonished and annoyed, "I don't think my relationship with Connie is any of your business."

"Well, I'm making it my business," she came back hotly.

"Look," I said glancing at the shoppers around us, who were beginning to notice our discussion.

"I don't think this is the best place to talk about this."

"Oh, there's nothing at all to talk about with you; you suck up to those Brits, then come to Summercove and push Connie around."

"Listen, Sister, I don't much care what your views are about my friends; I don't want to hear them. I'd suggest that you concentrate on your work at the convent, and I'll concentrate on mine at the boatyard. As far as Connie is concerned, if we have any problems, I'm sure we can work them out without your help."

"You're not much of a man, are you?" she taunted.

"And you're not much of a nun," I said, getting into my car and slamming the door. I backed out of the parking place and drove away, leaving her standing in the car park, fists clenched, staring after me. In the rear view mirror I could see her mouthing what I was sure were un-nun like words.

Upset by this scene and annoyed that what she had said to me might be all too true, I drove immediately to Connie's to find out what was going on, but the cottage was locked and her car gone.

I drove home angry with Sister Mary Margaret's meddling and annoyed that, with Connie gone, I could do nothing to resolve the situation in which I found myself. It would have to wait until after New Year's.

The next morning, the twenty-seventh, we worked our first day at the boatyard after the Christmas break. The day started routinely enough, then quickly went to hell.

I left Mark and Pinbar in the office going over some drawings and walked toward the hull, buckling on my tool belt. I started up a ladder toward the deck of (he yacht, but before I had reached the third rung, someone grabbed the tool belt from behind and yanked me roughly off the ladder. I landed hard on my back on the cement floor, wondering what was happening. I had managed to get to one knee and paused there, trying to get some new air into my lungs, when a fist caught me high on the cheekbone and spun me around onto my belly. I still didn't know what was happening. I pushed up with my hands to get to my feet, and someone kicked me in the kidney, hard, rolling me over onto my back.

I looked up to find Denny O'Donnell, with a crazed look about him, standing over me. He was about to kick me again, when his brother caught him by the back of his shirt and yanked him backward.

"Stop it, Denny!" Donal yelled at his twin.

"Just leave it!"

Denny picked up a crowbar and started toward me.

"I'll stop when his brains are on the floor!" he shouted at his brother.

Now I was on my feet, prepared to dodge the crowbar, but Donal stepped between us. Without a word, Denny swung at him. Donal's head snapped back reflexively, but the sharp end of the bar raked across his cheek, bringing blood and knocking him flat. Denny resumed his march toward me, holding the crowbar tightly in both hands. From what I had just seen, I had no doubt what he intended to do with it.

I stepped quickly to one side and grabbed a three-foot scrap of two-by-four lumber. When he swung the bar I managed to get that between the crowbar and my head. Splinters flew, and something" got in my eye. Blinking, trying to see, I managed to parry another swing of the crowbar with the two-by-four, while moving backward. Then I tripped and sprawled on my back, losing my grip on the piece of lumber. Denny came in, now, a triumphant look on his face. I raised an arm to protect my head and did not see what happened next. I only knew that the crowbar did not strike me.

I heard a grunt, and when I opened my eyes, Denny was holding his wrist, and the crowbar was clanking to the floor. Mark was standing there, holding a thick strip of mahogany, one discarded from the building of the hull. I got to my feet and cleared my eye.

Denny was watching Mark, ready to dodge another blow with the stick. I nearly fainted with relief, and then I realized that Mark was standing back, expecting me to fight Denny. Indeed, so was everybody else.

I had one of those moments when time seems to stand still. A lifetime of backing away from bullies ran through my mind, and I was angry, angry with all of them. Denny was still looking at Mark, and something finally boiled over in me, something that filled me with a sense of abandon. I no longer cared whether I would be hurt; I only wanted to punish the object of my new rage.

I charged at Denny, ramming a forearm into his chest, running right over him as he fell. I gathered myself as he got to a knee, clutching his midsection. There was plenty of time, and it was easy;

I bent slightly and hit him with one full, roundhouse punch. As it landed I felt something crunch. Denny sailed backward, and I saw teeth fly; I don't think I had ever felt anything so satisfying.

I weigh a hundred and ninety pounds, and, considering what I had put into the punch, I didn't expect him to get up. Astonishingly, he did, spitting blood and fragments of teeth. I discovered that I wanted to hit him again. I stepped toward him, ready to tear his head off this time, but I was stopped in my tracks by the roar of Finbar O'Leary's voice.

"That's enough!" he shouted, and the surprising authority behind the voice froze everybody where he stood.

"There'll be no more of this in my place!"

He was right about that. Denny O'Donnell's eyes glazed over, and he sagged to his knees, shaking his head, trying to remain conscious. Finbar went to Donal.

"Are you all right, lad?" he asked gently. Donal nodded and held a handkerchief to stern the flow of blood from the deep cut on his cheek.

"I'm not hurt, Finbar."

"Can you drive, do you think?"

Donal nodded.

"Sure."

"Then get your brother out of here. You'll need some stitches, and Denny's going to need a dentist. Get over to St. Mary's and get yourself fixed up. Don't come back here today and see that Denny doesn't. Call me in the morning, and we'll talk about this."

Donal nodded and went to help his brother to his feet. I put my hand on his shoulder.

"Donal, what's this all about? Has Denny gone crazy?"

He shook off my hand and continued to help Denny.

"Just leave it, Willie. I'll take care of him, and you take care of yourself.

You'll need to do that, now."

Donal slung his brother's arm around his shoulders and helped him to the shed door. We all stood looking after them. A moment later, we heard a car start and drive away.

"What happened?" I said to nobody in particular.

"I don't know," Mark said.

"I looked up and saw him pull you off the ladder. Did you say something to him?"

"Not a word," I replied.

"I didn't even know who it was until I was flat on my back."

Mark turned.

"You know anything about this, Finbar?"

Finbar shook his head and looked bewildered.

"Nossir, I don't.

I know things have never been too good between the two lads, but I don't know what set Denny off." He looked around at the other workers.

"Any of you know what this might have been about?"

They all shook their heads and looked as bewildered as Finbar. He turned back to me.

"Are you hurt in any way. Will?"

I shook my head. My side was a little sore where Denny had kicked me; I probably had a bruise on my cheek, but that was all.

"I'm okay," I said.

"No damage."

"You could have him arrested," Finbar said.

"No, I don't want that."

"Then let's get to work," Finbar said, picking up a hammer.

Mark leaned over and whispered in my ear.

"I told you you were going to have to fight him," he said, chuckling.

Everyone worked quietly through the day. Driving home that night. Mark asked, "Can you think of any reason why Denny should go after you like that? I think he would have killed you."

I shook my head.

"No rational reason. He's always hated me, I think. Something to do with Connie. Maybe it's been building up all this time. What happens, now?"

"Finbar will fire Denny. He says he won't have that son of thing going on. I suppose Donal will go with him."

"I wonder. Will Finbar be able to find another electrician?"

"He says he knows a fellow working on merchant ships in Cork.

He's calling him tonight."

"Mark, I can't see Denny letting this stop here. He's just not the sort."

Mark nodded.

"I know he's not. I had a word with Finbar; he's going to hire a guard from a local security service to stay at the yard nights. We've the budget for that."

"Good."

"Willie, don't say anything to Annie about all this. She'd only worry; she'd think this confirms all our worst fears."

"Maybe she'd be right," I said.

Mark stared out into the darkness.

"Maybe she would be. What did you do with that shotgun I gave you?"

"It's in the cupboard in my bedroom."

"Best see it's loaded tonight."

SHE COULD NOT PRAY.

She knelt and clasped her hands together until the knuckles were white, but still, she could not pray. The wind around the stone building moaned and the echo sang softly down the halls, but there was no other sound. To make a sound would seem almost a sin.

She slipped out of the muslin shift, carefully folded it, and placed it neatly on the bed beside the habit. Naked, shivering in the chill, she took the flat package from the pillowcase where she had concealed it and untied the string. The brown wrapping paper rattled alarmingly as she undid it. There was no underwear, and she wanted to take nothing with her from the convent. She slipped into the jeans. How long since she had worn jeans? The sweater was rough against her bare breasts. There were socks, at least; the canvas shoes would not blister her feet. As she struggled into the nylon parka, she felt an odd weight to one side and unzipped a pocket. The shock of cold metal met her hand. The bastard; this was no place for a pistol. He could have waited to give it to her.

She wanted to discard it, but she could not leave a gun in the convent. She shoved it back into the pocket and zipped it again.

Her throat was dry; she poured water from the pitcher on the bedside table. As she set down the empty glass, she saw the rosary there. She picked it up, quickly put it into a pocket, then stopped.

Just as she could not leave the pistol, she could not take the rosary.

She laid it gently on the habit.

She stepped into the hallway, looked both ways and eased the door shut behind her. The canvas shoes made a tiny, squeaking sound as she ran along the smooth, stone floor, and she slowed to stop the noise. One more door. She slipped into the garden and ran lightly along the rows of dormant plants. No point in bothering with the gate; that would be locked. She found an empty garbage can and upended it. From that she could get an elbow over. Astride the wall, she paused and looked, for a moment, back at the low buildings, awash in moonlight, then threw the other leg over and dropped to the ground. The Volkswagen waited fifty yards down the dirt road, lights out, engine running. The door opened for her as she approached. He laughed and leaned over to kiss her, and she reflexively shoved him away.

"Oh, it's like that, is it still?" he chuckled.

"Well, that's over,.

luv. There's no going back, now."

"Shut up," she said, "and drive the motorcar."

THE DAYS AFTER MY FIGHT with Denny O'Donnell passed uneventfully but not without tension. We expected some sort of retaliation, but none came. Finbar found an electrician who would start in the new year, and we breathed a sigh of relief that a technical matter, at least, had been put to rest. Mark and I both knew, though, that it would be a long time before either of us could put the matter of Denny O'Donnell to rest.