Heading home, p.1
Heading Home, page 1
The adventure continues in Heading Home, Book 3 of the dystopian series, The Irish End Game.
After two years of living and adjusting to life after the bomb, Sarah and John have discovered that happiness can trump grief and loss. Together they’ve created a life of fellowship and hard work, pride of self and community, good friendships, and, for Sarah, love. But the moment a messenger comes to the camp with the news that the United States government is gathering up all of its stranded nationals to help them get home, is the moment that Sarah and John’s world begins to crumble.
Who could guess that the one thing they’d prayed so fervently for would be the very thing that would destroy everything they’ve worked so hard to build?
HEADING HOME
Book Three of the Irish End Game Series
Copyright 2013
by San Marco Press.
All rights reserved.
Heading Home
Susan Kiernan-Lewis
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Next Book in the Series
1
The colors from the setting sun streaked across the summer sky in a vibrant display as Sarah stood in the front room of her cottage. She filled a basket with fresh-baked rolls for the upcoming dinner at Fiona’s. The days in Ireland were long and warm in late June. As she looked across the camp, awash with muted reds and yellows from the dying light, her eyes were drawn to the warm glow from inside Fiona’s cottage.
Even from a distance, it looked inviting and cozy. Sarah saw Fiona and Papin moving about the interior, doing the little homey chores necessary for putting a family meal together. She watched them until she saw Mike appear on the porch steps and heard Papin squeal her greeting to him.
She saw Mike open his arms and Papin and Fiona both came to him. Sarah would never forget the day, seven months ago, when Mike rode into camp with Papin cradled in his arms, her broken arm folded against her chest, her eyes wide with hope and expectation. When Sarah ran up to them, he dismounted and carried Papin to Sarah’s cottage. Sarah held the dear broken girl—and the man who had brought her home—and believed her heart would burst from happiness.
Since that day, Mike had stepped easily into the role of father to Papin, and the girl had responded like a Morning Glory to sunlight. Gregarious by nature, Papin slipped seamlessly into the pace and beat of family life as if she’d been born to it. For the first time ever, Papin had a loving family.
One thing everyone knew for sure: the bad times were behind her.
As Sarah packed her basket, it occurred to her that tonight was a typical evening meal with the people she loved most in the world. The anticipation she felt—hearing them share about their day and laughing with them, as she knew she would—filled her with a sense of wellbeing and security she’d never really had up to now.
The truth of it was they were finally all together—all except for David. A shadow passed over her heart as she thought of him, buried beneath a scattering of wild flowers in the far pasture by Deirdre and Seamus’s old cottage. She shook the thought from her mind. Tonight wasn’t the time for reflection or regrets or grief. It was a night for celebration and toasts and joy.
Tomorrow was Fiona’s wedding day.
***
Mike Donovan stood at the end of the aisle and watched the bride approach. He had to admit he had never seen her look more beautiful, her face flushed with excitement, her eyes sparkling when she saw him. It was all he could do to mask his quickly misting eyes as he gazed at her.
“You ready, then?” he asked gruffly, holding out his arm to her.
“As I’ll ever be,” Fiona said, grabbing on to his arm.
“Declan’s a good bloke,” Mike said, turning toward the chapel.
“I know.”
They stood at the end of the path as it wrapped around the last hut before entering the camp. It had been Sarah’s idea to have Mike and Fi approach the little chapel from the outdoor walkway. Mike had to admit, it felt even more special to take this walk with Fi, at the end of which he’d hand her over to the man who, in the last seven months, had become his closest mate since his school days.
Hard to believe it had been seven months since Declan and his gypsy gang of fortune tellers, goniffs, and grifters had stormed the little Irish settlement Mike had built and helped rescue them from an English assault. Seven months in which Declan had proved himself to be not only a friend and a capable lieutenant in managing the camp alongside Mike—but the one man in all the world that Mike’s sister, Fiona, would give her heart
“There’s the music,” Fi said, squeezing Mike’s arm. “I don’t know how your Sarah did it, but it really sounds pretty close to Haste to the Wedding.”
Mike grinned. His Sarah. As much as he loved the sound of that, and he knew Fiona only said it as a private gift to him on this special day, he also knew Sarah Woodson—an American stranded in Ireland with her family after an ill-timed vacation—belonged to no one.
It was true enough, however, that she was just about the most resourceful person he’d ever met. After everything that went down last year he had started calling her the female MacGyver.
“Let’s go, Mike,” Fi said, tugging on his arm. “I got the bugger to the altar but there’s no telling how long he’ll stay there.”
“He’ll stay,” Mike said, as he turned his attention back to his sister and her big day. “You’re not the only one who’s waited a long time for this day.”
***
The wedding could not be more perfect, Sarah thought as she dabbed her eyes, if it had been privately catered with a limo waiting for the happy couple afterward. As it was, they cut a homemade wedding cake that, due to the lack of sugar, tasted more like corn bread than cake and said their vows in front of a seriously inebriated justice of the peace in lieu of a proper priest. Just a few more things hard to come by after the bomb changed everyone’s world, Sarah thought grimly.
She turned to her thirteen-year-old son, who was whispering loudly to the bride’s nephew, Gavin. John was growing tall, like his father had been. His eighteen months of living in a world with no electricity, no electronics and no transportation beyond what a horse could provide had transformed him from an indulged child into a young man mature beyond his years.
Which didn’t mean he still didn’t need to be shushed from time to time. “John,” she whispered.
He turned to her, grinning apologetically and mouthed the words, Sorry, Mom.
Sarah turned back to the wedding to see Mike kiss Fiona at the altar in the little chapel that two weeks earlier had served as a granary shed, then go to stand by Declan.
She glanced at the calluses on her fingers. Before coming to Ireland a year and a half ago, she had worked in an advertising office in Jacksonville, Florida. Her major skillset involved the usual office equipment and word processing software.
A lot had changed since then. Nowadays she baked bread and dug in the dirt and milked goats and mended clothes that she wouldn’t have bothered giving to the poor once. Back then she’d had a paralyzing fear of horses. Now, she rode nearly every day and couldn’t imagine her life without the presence of the gentle, forgiving beasts.
Back home. It was a painful image that never got easier for Sarah. When the hydrogen bomb exploded over the Irish Sea eighteen months ago, it detonated an electromagnetic pulse that effectively flung Ireland and the United Kingdom back into the eighteen hundreds.
Sarah’s dreams, her thoughts, her world would always focus on the hope that one day she and John would go back home to the United States.
Papin sat to Sarah’s left. A young gypsy girl, a year older than John, Papin had known only abuse and prostitution before meeting Sarah in Wales last year.
“Do they kiss when they marry in America?” Papin asked in a loud whisper.
Sarah nodded and looked back at the ceremony. She felt responsible, in part, for Fiona’s happiness, since it was Sarah who’d met Declan and his band of gypsies and urged him to come to Donovan’s Lot. It would never have occurred to her then that the rambling, handsome gypsy who lived off the land—and by his wits—and the fisherman’s daughter would fall in love. It had been a pleasure to watch it unfold over the last months.
Fiona, at thirty-five, had never married. Opinionated, fiery with a wild mane of curly brown hair, she looked like a gypsy queen, Sarah thought. Who would have guessed she’d been waiting for her gypsy king to find her?
As for Declan, his extended family had assumed after awhile that he would not wed and had given him the mantle of the family leader and patriarch—even though none of the many gypsy children that scampered around the camp were his. When it became clear that he and Fiona intended to be together, it was as if Donovan’s Lot had engendered its own William and Catherine love story, so eagerly did the people in the community endorse the m atch.
Declan, in his suede boots and demi-jacket, turned to Fiona and drew her close to him. Sarah watched Fiona turn to her new husband, her eyes shining, mouth slightly open as if to gasp at the wonder of the moment.
When the couple kissed, Papin gave a loud sigh. “So romantic.”
Several people in the seats in front of where Sarah and the two children sat turned to smile at Papin.
It was romantic. And for sweet, darling Fi to find someone after all this time…Sarah caught her breath at the pleasure and sheer happiness for her dear friend. Her eyes strayed again to Mike, standing solemnly as the couple kissed and the crowd began to clap and cheer.
Were all brothers like this when their sisters got married? Sarah frowned. She would definitely need a word with him as soon as she could get him alone.
The wedding feast was well underway. Two long tables stood opposite the cook fire loaded with fruit pies, roast chicken, fried apples, corn fritters and pitchers of buttermilk.
Sarah watched Mike talking with a few of the other men—clearly discussing camp business of some kind from the serious nod of Mike’s head as he listened. A natural leader, he had created this community of over a hundred people by bringing together neighbors and family right after The Crisis happened to form a place of security and fellowship.
Where before there had been only pasture and field, an assortment of huts, cottages and sturdy tents now ringed the main campfire. There were rules in the community, but the underlying belief held by all was that there was safety in numbers, and a good life could still be had, even without electricity or cars.
Sarah edged her way to the circle of men and slipped into the center. “Excuse me, gents,” she said as she slipped an arm around Mike’s waist. “The presence of the brother of the bride is requested on the dance floor. I’m sure camp business can wait one night.”
She felt Mike’s arm drape around her shoulders. A big man, he towered over her but she was grateful he didn’t resort to stooping to accommodate her. She liked his size.
“Jimmy, Iain,” Mike said, “we’ll sort it out in the morning. Sarah’s right. Tonight’s for celebrating.”
“Without even a glass of beer?” Iain said, shaking his head.
“Well, seeing how we don’t have any, yes. Come on, old son, can ya not dance sober?”
“Not anything you want to see,” Jimmy said, laughing at his own wit.
Sarah pulled Mike free of the group. His arm felt relaxed around her shoulders, beer or not. Maybe he’d worked himself out of whatever mood she thought she’d detected.
“You okay?” she asked, looking up at him.
“Sure, and why wouldn’t I be? Me with my only sister wed to my best mate and the luscious Sarah Woodson all but pulling me into her arms for a dance?”
Sarah grinned when Mike’s hand moved from her shoulders to her waist and then to her bottom. She removed it firmly. “None of that, Mike Donovan. Especially as we don’t have alcohol to blame it on.”
“I don’t need to be drunk to want to feel your bum in me hands, Sarah.” His eyes glittered meaningfully.
“Mike, behave yourself. This is Fiona’s night.”
“Nothing I have in mind will take anything away from my sister’s night. And did you have to remind me?”
Sarah laughed. “I can’t believe how old-fashioned you are! She’s not a virgin, you know.”
“Blimey! Did I need to hear that?”
“We may live like we’re in the sixteen hundreds but we did all have twenty-first century lives until relatively recently.”
“It might surprise ya to know, Sarah Woodson, that I’m not so keen to be discussing my sister’s sex life.”
“Alright, settle down. I just want to make sure you’re okay. You looked a little grumpy up there during the ceremony.”
“Well, that’s just daft. I’m pleased as feckin’ punch for the both of them.”
“Remind me to make sure you don’t make any toasts to the happy couple.”
“And what would we even toast with?”
“God! Is it really the end of the world for an Irishman to have no alcohol?”
“I think you just answered your own question.” Mike pulled up a bench a few yards away from the music and the dancing and pulled Sarah onto his lap.
“Mike!” she squealed, but laughed as he held her firmly on his knee.
“Now we’ll just be watching the others dance and enjoy this special day,” he said. “And marvel to the good Lord above that it’s possible to do that without beer or whiskey. Sure, I’m not positive it is possible to do that, ya ken?”
Sarah slid off his lap and pulled him to a standing position. “Dance with me, Mike,” she said. “There’s no booze, no DJ, no canapés and no bouquet to catch. Dance with me.”
He stood up and followed her to the dirt dance floor, the rest of the dancers parting to make room for them. Some even clapped to see their leader—easily the tallest of them—coming among them. He nodded at Declan who was slow-dancing with Fiona and then drew Sarah into his arms. The music was scratchy and repetitive, but it was lively and had a beat.
As she relaxed in his arms Sarah glanced around the camp, taking note of where Papin and John were. Not surprisingly, John was standing with Gavin at the food table. The women of the camp had outdone themselves creating multiple tables of cakes, pies, ham, and devilled eggs.
She could see Papin on the dance floor. Iain, the man who had been arguing with Mike earlier, was methodically two stepping his way through the song, his large hands gripping her small waist. Sarah frowned. At thirty, Iain was way too old to be dancing with Papin. Plus, he was married.
She saw her fourteen-year-old adopted daughter’s eyes flash up at Iain as she spoke, the words drowned out by the music. Papin was flirting with Iain. It was practically the only way the girl knew how to relate to men. Half the time she did it to John and Mike, too, although they ignored it.
Iain didn’t seem to be ignoring it.
“Mike,” Sarah said in a low voice. She felt his body stiffen as she spoke. It hadn’t taken long for the two of them to develop an efficient shorthand communication.
“What is it?” he said. By the way he moved in her arms, she could tell he was looking around to see what had upset her. It didn’t take him long, either.
“Oy! Jamison!” he bellowed. “We’ll not be needing your minding services any longer.”
Papin reddened as Iain dropped his hands from her and backed away. “Da!” she said indignantly. “I’m not a baby!”
Mike had stepped up to the role of co-parenting Papin, a virtual orphan when she came to the camp last year, with Sarah. He had seen immediately that she needed a loving and firm male presence—and one who didn’t want to bed her.
Mike gave Sarah’s arm a squeeze of apology and went to Papin.
“I’ll be having this dance, milady?” he said, bowing at the waist.
Sarah held her breath but she needn’t have worried. Papin smiled at Mike and held up her hands for him to pick her up and swing her, which he did, to her delighted giggles.
Sarah saw Fiona sitting on one of the long wooden benches that had been brought out to line the center campfire. She sat holding the hem of her gown away from the dirt on the ground, her eyes wide with exhaustion and joy. Sarah joined her on the bench.
She reached out and patted Fiona’s knee. “Are you happy?”
Fiona turned her face to Sarah with real delight. “Oh, so happy, Sarah. I wish you this kind of happiness.”
“I had it once, remember.”
“Sure, that’s right. With your David.”
Fiona fanned herself. A light mist of perspiration coated her face, giving her the effect of glowing.
Sarah held her friend’s hand. “Declan is a good man. I can’t tell you how happy I am for you both.”
“Ta, Sarah. As happy as I’d be if you and Mike were ever to stop playing around and get down to being together.”
Sarah squeezed her hand and found herself looking for Mike in the crowd of laughing, dancing bodies milling around the center courtyard. She knew Fiona was right. Just seeing Mike, the way his body moved, the way he looked at her, was enough to make her want to grab his hand and take him right back to her cottage with a Do Not Disturb sign on the door. He would probably always have that effect on her.
