Chapter 10 Catherine #2
He pushed back from the table, chair legs scraping the floor. “So that’s it? You’ll follow him, even now?”
I met his stare, felt it burn all the way through. “I will.”
He slammed his fist on the table. “You can’t abandon this family for a man who walks out of the ground wearing the devil’s own garments!”
Sully flinched, just a fraction, but I saw it.
“He’s not the devil, Da. He’s Sully.” My voice broke, but I made it loud. “I’d rather go with him than stay here with a heart full of regret.”
A slow, bitter smile curled Da’s mouth. “Then go, Catherine. And take your ghost with you. But don’t come running back when the English find you, or worse.”
I wanted to shout back, to say something cruel or clever, but the words wouldn’t form. My mother reached for my hand, her fingers cold and papery. “At least wait for your sisters,” she pleaded. “Maeve and Nora would want to say goodbye.”
I nodded, swallowing hard. “I’ll wait. For them.”
Sully looked at me, something like pain in his eyes. I wondered if he could feel the weight I carried, the stone lodged in my chest.
Angus stood, grabbed his coat, and stalked to the door. “You’re dead to me,” he said, not looking back. The door slammed, the noise shaking the cups on the table.
For a while, we just sat there, the three of us, staring at the honey jar and the crusts of bread.
Mother broke the silence first, voice barely a whisper. “You could do worse, Catherine. At least he came back for you.”
I smiled, a thin thing. “He always does.”
Sully squeezed my hand under the table. “I won’t leave you again,” he said, quiet but fierce.
I nodded, but the stone in my chest didn’t budge. I wondered how long before the world outside would notice we were already gone.
We spent the day like the condemned: in silence, every word weighed and found wanting.
I did the wash, hung it on the line, then took it down again when the rain started.
My mother rolled dough for supper, shoulders hunched, lips pressed together so tight they went white.
Sully kept to the garden, digging up last year’s potatoes with his bare hands, coming in caked with mud and shivering.
I watched him through the window, the way he moved in the rain—purposeful, like nothing in the world could touch him if he just kept working.
By late afternoon, the wind picked up, blowing cold off the bog.
I brought in the wash, hands stinging, and found the kitchen thick with the smell of yeast and something burning.
Sully sat at the table, arms crossed, dirt under every nail.
He gave me a look, and for the first time, I saw the fear behind it.
I wanted to tell him it would be alright, that we’d find a way, but there was nothing in the world less convincing than hope.
The door rattled. Not a knock—just the gust, mean and insistent. But we all looked up, hearts in our throats. Sully rose, eyes on the latch. I shook my head, silent, and motioned him to sit.
Mother set the bread on the sill to cool, then sat beside Sully, fussing with his sleeve, straightening the collar, her hands never still. I wanted to scream at her to stop, that he was leaving soon anyway, but I couldn’t stand the thought of her crying again.
For a long while, we listened to the wind, the hiss of rain on peat, the muffled sounds of the world carrying on outside our four walls.
It was Mother who saw them first. She peered through the warped glass, then flinched away like she’d touched a live wire.
“They’re coming,” she whispered. “The soldiers.”
I rushed to her side. In the grey distance, a line of red jackets, rifles slung at their backs. They fanned out across the lane, moving slow but steady, checking each door.
Angus appeared behind us, no warning at all, just his breath on my neck and his hands clutching my shoulders. “How many?” he said, voice like gravel.
“Four, maybe five,” I answered.
He grunted. “They’ll search every house. Looking for rebels… or worse.”
Mother’s hands shook. “Should we hide him? Under the floor?”
Angus shook his head, jaw set. “They’ll find him. Best to meet it with pride.”
Sully stood. For the first time, I saw how big he really was. The jacket made him broader, and the jeans gave him height. He could break every man in that patrol, but if he tried, they’d torch the farm and kill us all.
He moved between me and the door, steady as a rock. My mother saw it, too. The way he braced himself, shoulders squared, as if nothing mattered but keeping us safe.
Angus noticed, and something broke in his face. All the anger, all the fear, drained out, leaving just a tired sadness. “They’ve been taking young women,” he said, low. “They say it’s for questioning, but none come back. If you go, Catherine, it’s the only way you live.”
I stared at him, waiting for the lecture, the guilt. Instead, he just looked at me, eyes rimmed red. “You can protect her better than I can now,” he said to Sully. “Promise me you will.”
Sully nodded, once. “With my life.”
I tried to speak, but my throat closed up. I wanted to tell them I’d come back, that I’d send letters, but the words were as useless as the bread on the table.
Mother wiped her eyes with the hem of her apron. “Your sisters will be home by nightfall,” she whispered. “Can you wait that long?”
“We’ll wait,” Sully said. He looked at me, and I saw what he meant. We would wait, because I needed it. Because I couldn’t leave without them.
We sat at the table, all four of us, as the soldiers moved from house to house.
You could hear the shouts, the barking orders, the slam of boots on stone.
Sully never flinched, never looked away from the door.
My father poured himself a drink, hands shaking so bad he spilled more than he swallowed.
My mother just sat there, silent, holding my hand.
I counted every step, every shout. At the house next door, there was a scream, then a woman’s wailing. I squeezed Sully’s hand under the table, and he squeezed back, hard. When the boots finally stopped outside, we held our breath as one.
A fist pounded the wood, so hard the lintel rattled. “Open, in the name of the King!”
Angus stood. He opened the door, back straight, eyes level. “What’s your business?”
The sergeant at the head of the line sneered. “There’s word of rebels in these parts. Have you seen any strangers, Mr. Dunn?”
Angus shook his head. “Just my own.”
The sergeant’s eyes slid past him, to where Sully stood, hands at his sides, every inch a threat. “And this?” He pointed.
“My son-in-law,” Angus lied, without blinking. “Back from the dead, as you can see.”
The soldiers laughed. The sergeant eyed Sully, weighing him. “He looks like a dangerous one.”
“He’s not,” I said, stepping forward. “He just wants to work the land. He’s odd in the head.”
The sergeant grinned, wolfish. “Maybe we’ll take him anyway. The army needs men with arms like those.”
Angus tensed, but Sully held up his hands. “I’ll go, if it keeps the peace.”
Mother made a sound between a sob and a curse. “He’s not for you,” she said, voice sharp. “He’s ours.”
The sergeant shrugged. “We’ll be back through, just in case you change your mind.” He spat, then turned on his heel.
The boots marched off. I watched them all the way to the crossroads, where they peeled off to search another house. When the door closed again, my mother sank to her knees, head in her hands. My father poured another drink, then set the cup down untouched.
I turned to Sully. “You meant it, didn’t you? You’d have gone.”
He nodded, silent.
I hugged him then, as tight as I could, and didn’t care who saw.
When the sun set, Maeve and Nora came through the yard, hair plastered to their faces from the rain. They stared at Sully like he was a legend or a curse, then hugged me so hard my ribs ached. We ate supper together, no one saying a word about the future or the past.
Afterwards, I walked the fields with my sisters, arms locked together. Maeve told stories about the old days, about the ghosts in the barn, about the night she thought she’d never see me again. Nora just hummed a song I didn’t know and let the wind carry it away.
I went to bed early, but couldn’t sleep. Sully held me close, his breath hot on my neck. I listened to the wind, to the silence, to the distant sound of soldiers calling in the dark. I knew we’d leave at dawn. I knew I’d never see this place again. But for one more night, I was home.