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Sarah held her mother. She could feel her
own heart beating and feel it pounding in her throat.

“I know it’s a terrible
thing to ask,” her mother said. “But you are all we have.
All
I
have. It
has to be your decision. It can’t be something that prevents you
from going. That much I know. So now you know all the truth. You
can leave but you can’t come back.” She took a long ragged breath
and pulled back to look at Sarah’s face.

“
And I am begging you to
stay.”

Sarah looked into her
mother’s eyes and thought of Mike. She thought of her request to
meet him in five years.
If I push it to
ten, would he still come? Will I even want him to? Will
he?

The tears came then as she thought of the
years between now and then. The long years that would spin them
forever apart—even further than the miles across the ocean that
separated them now. The years of habit and routine and life that
would push him to the back of her memory—where David was—until he
never really existed at all.

Sarah knew what she had to do. In a way she
had probably always known and just refused to see it. As she leaned
her head down on the frail shoulder of her now weeping mother,
Sarah felt the death of all her dreams in one moment of pure
despair.

“I’ll stay,” she whispered.

23

From where Mike stood in the newly finished
jail cell, he had an unobstructed view of the center of camp. He
actually took a moment to be impressed with the logic behind this
when he saw the construction begin on the stage where three nooses
were strung up over a long horizontal beam supported by two
pillars. Not only were the stocks in plain view of whatever poor
sod happened to be imprisoned at the time, but the gallows were,
too.

He had to hand it to Brian. For a sadist, he
was very thorough.

“Oy, Mike,” Declan called. He was housed in
the next room and separated by six inches of stacked log. “You see
what I’m seeing?”

“Aye.”

“Why are there three?”

“I was just wondering the same thing.”

“Do we get a trial at least?”

“Would it matter?”

The two men fell silent as they listened to
the ringing of hammers against metal as the men of the community
finished up the stage construction.

“If the lazy boggers had put a fourth the
energy into securing the perimeter fence that they’re putting into
creating that trapdoor, we’d be totally enclosed by Christmas.”

“Jaysus. You’re still going on about the
fecking perimeter fencing? You really don’t quit, do you?”

Mike drew a tired hand across his eyes and
took a withered breath. Was it really possible? Was he really going
to die tomorrow morning? Was there no one in the community—the
community he had created—who would lift a finger to stop it?

“Mike? You still there?”

Mike cleared his throat. “No, I ran out for
a pack of fags but I’m back now.”

“I’m never gonna see my kid.”

“Shut up, Dec,” Mike growled. “That’s not
helping.”

“Someone’s coming.”

Mike heard it too. Voices first and then the
distinct sounds of footsteps—several people it sounded like—coming
down the gravel path toward the new jail. The sun was setting and
shooting off blinding flashes of colored light on the hammers and
saws being used on the stage. He squinted to see who was
coming.

It was a crowd of four, no five, men. They
were backlit against the setting sun but he recognized Jamison’s
big lope and also the one in the middle. He had the memory of that
walk imprinted on his brain.

It was Gavin, walking with his hands bound
in front of him.

“Jaysus, Mike! It’s Gav.”

If Mike could have vomited, he would’ve. His
stomach fought to empty its contents but there was nothing there.
He groaned and grabbed the side of the window, the single bar
preventing any hope of escape from that area.

He turned as he heard the sound of the men
talking and then the rattle of the lock that was on his door. When
the door creaked open, Gavin stumbled inside and Mike caught him by
the hands so he wouldn’t fall.

“Da, I’m so sorry,” Gavin said. “I came to
talk to Grandda. I was sure he’d listen to me.”

“You’ll get your chance to talk to Archie,”
Iain said from the outside. “He’ll come after dinner. Mr. Gilhooley
didn’t want to take the chance ya might have other ideas besides
talk on your mind.”

Dear God in
heaven
, Mike thought.
Is that why there are three nooses?

“Hey, Gav,” Declan called from the other
room. “You okay, lad? How’s your Auntie Fi?”

“She…she’s good, Dec,” Gavin said, his eyes
never leaving Mike’s as if he would find the answer to this
nightmare written in them.

How did things get so arse
over tit?
Mike felt a wave of helplessness
wash over him. There was nothing he could do to protect his boy—not
if that monster Gilhooley had it in his mind to hang him. There was
nothing he could do to stop anything from happening to any of
them.

Caitlin’s strident voice pierced the low
rumble of voices that were coming from outside and Mike lifted his
head to peer out. She obviously had decided the schoolmarm look
wasn’t working for her, Mike noted. She was back to wearing her
usual low-cut tops and miniskirts. Ridiculous in a community that
survived only on the sweat and hard labor of its inhabitants.

She stood between Gilhooley and Jamison.
Mike watched her point to the jail in sharp jabbing motions. Behind
her, he could see Archie hurrying up the gravel path toward
them.

“Him coming here is guilt enough!” Caitlin
said, shrilly. “Why else would he come? To break the other two
out.”

Jamison was shaking his head. “He said he
came to talk to your father.”

“That’s what he
would
say! Don’t you
see?”

“Jaysus, Caitlin,” Iain said. “He’s your own
fecking nephew.”

“He is nothing to me!”

Archie joined the group. “What’s going on
here?” Mike could see he was out of breath and red in the face. He
looked from Brian to Caitlin, his face seared in a permanent
grimace.

“Gavin came to break out his da from the
jail,” Caitlin said. “And Iain here is too weak to do what’s
needed.”

“The lad said he came here to talk to you,”
Iain said to Archie. “We intercepted him before he could.”

Archie nodded. “He’ll have come to beg for
his father’s life.”

“You’ll not
listen
to him?” Caitlin
said to him in outrage and horror.

“What would you have me do, Caitie?” Archie
still fought for breath and Mike thought the question was more a
stalling tactic than a serious question.

“He is an accomplice to the crime,” she
said, turning her eyes to Brian. “He needs to hang with them.”

Mike felt his stomach grind and then let
loose and he turned away to vomit up spume and water into the
corner of the cell.

“Da, you okay?” Gavin said, resting a hand
on his father’s shoulder. “What are they saying out there? It’s
about me, isn’t it?”

Mike’s head was spinning and he forced
himself to squat down against the wall until he felt steadier. He
could still hear their voices but only snatches of the men’s
words.

Caitlin was clearly audible. “You’ve got
this fantasy that you have a relationship with him and you’ve met
him exactly twice!”

“…
matter…still my
grandson!”

Mike took a long breath and fought to get
back to his feet. The last thing he needed was Gavin listening to
this shite.

“Oy! Ye bastards!” he called to the group.
“What you’re contemplating is murder, plain and simple. The
authorities will hunt you down—”

“I am the authorities in this camp,
Donovan,” Gilhooley screamed at him. Mike could see the man was
worked up. Caitlin had reverted to hanging onto him in her appeal.
He glanced at Jamison who had backed away from the group in
apparent disgust.

Your tender feelings won’t
save my lad
, Mike thought fiercely.
Step up, man! Or burn in hell.

“Well, I won’t do it,”
Jamison said loudly. “Gavin is as innocent as anyone could be and
it’s just….just
sick
to be going after your own kin like that.”

“So say I!” Archie yelled, jabbing a finger
in Caitlin’s face for emphasis. “You’ll not kill me grandson! I
won’t allow it.” He turned to Gilhooley and Mike saw the man shrink
away from him. “Don’t even try it as long as me and me boys are
around.”

“You’re an addle-headed old
bastard!” Caitlin snarled and Mike smiled grimly as he saw
Gilhooley shudder at her language.
Get a
good look, ya daft bugger. Here’s your little angel in all her
glory
.

“Fine,” Gilhooley said, holding up his hands
as if to command peace or a cessation of hostilities. “We won’t
hang the boy.” He glanced at Caitlin and cringed when she stared
back at him. “But…but…” he said, gathering steam and looking to
Jamison to support him, “…we’ll hang the other two without benefit
of trial at first light tomorrow.” He looked at Caitlin to see if
this assuaged her at all. She turned away and stomped up the gravel
path, leaving the men standing there.

The three dropped their voices and then went
their separate ways.

“It doesn’t matter,” Declan said through the
wall. “The trial was only going to be a piece of theatre
anyroad.”

Mike turned to see the look on Gavin’s face,
chalk white and stricken with the thought of his father’s
execution. Mike hated to be the one to cause him such pain, but the
relief at Gavin not being hurt was so immense, that, insanely, he
thought he’d likely sleep well tonight.

24

The morning brought with it the first hint
that fall was coming. A bite to the air sifted between the bars of
the jail cell where the three men were just waking. Mike stood by
the window to inhale as much of the sweet air from the meadows as
he could. Just the week before, members of the community had taken
the remaining wheat to the little town of Callan—nearly fifty miles
away—to have it ground into flour. Mike was proud that the members
had been able to orchestrate such an important task on their own
without him holding their hands every step of the way.

There was truth to the idea that he hadn’t
been good at delegating. He looked over his shoulder at his
sleeping son in the hay and felt a debilitating wash of weariness.
On the other hand, while it’s true they got the wheat milled
without buggering it up, they were also going to stand by and watch
a public murder and not raise a hand or a voice.

These people who he had laughed with, shared
hard times and good times, who he had called his friends as well as
his neighbors, were going to watch him hang, and Declan too—the man
who risked his life to save their ungrateful arses barely a year
ago. He shook his head but deep down, he understood them.

When it comes to sheep, even a shepherd
lobbing hand grenades at you is better than no shepherd at all.

“Mike? You up?” Declan’s voice was soft and
raspy. He’d had a bad night.

Not surprisingly.

“Aye. How you doing?”

“I’ve been better.”

Mike turned his attention to Gavin who was
sitting up and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He looked so
young. Mike remembered the boy as a toddler when Ellen would carry
him about the cottage and sing to him. A stone settled on his heart
to think of how much she had loved him.

Had loved them both.

“They’re coming,” Declan said.

Mike turned to see the group walking down
from the main camp. It looked like it was Jamison, Gilhooley,
Archie and the twins, Cedric and Colin. Five against two, and the
two still securely tied.

Nobody spoke until the door to Mike’s cell
swung open. Jamison filled the doorway. He didn’t look at Mike but
gestured to Gavin. “Say goodbye to your da,”

“You’re a right bastard and I hope you rot
in hell, Iain Jamison,” Gavin said, tears choking his voice.

Iain backed out of the cell, leaving the
door open. “You’re likely right, lad.”

Mike heard the other cell door opening and
he turned to Gavin. He had spent most of last night wondering what
in the world he would say to the boy if a miracle didn’t happen and
they came for him.

He still didn’t know what to say. He cleared
his throat and held out his hands, still bound. The boy rushed to
him, his own hands also tied, and rested his face against Mike’s
shoulder.

“I love you, lad,” Mike said hoarsely. “Mind
you take care of your Auntie Fi.”

“I will, Da,” Gavin said, trying to talk
past his tears.

“I’m proud of you, Gav. I’ve always been
proud of you, son.”

“I love you, Da.”

“I love you, too. And Gavin?”

“Yes?”

“Promise me you won’t look.”

Brian ordered every member of the community
to watch the hangings. They stood, all sixty of them, shoulder to
shoulder in front of the seven-foot high stage. As Mike stood over
the secured trap door, the noose tight around his neck, he could
see most of the people he knew.

There was Caoimhe Byrne,
who Fiona had nursed for a week because the poor bastard had no kin
who could or would. There was Cian O’Neill, who Mike carried on his
back for three miles across a rocky pasture because he’d turned an
ankle out hunting
.