Chapter 17 Catherine
Catherine
Sully stood just inside the threshold, jacket shredded, face a map of fresh bruises. He didn’t bother hiding the raw, open burn at his left wrist—the bandage was already brown and weeping through. He didn’t try to talk over anyone. Never did. He let the room wind itself up, waiting for the break.
“We have to go. Now. The others are waiting.” Sully’s voice was dull, not the kind that begged for sense, just stating facts.
Maeve let loose again. “You’re not dragging my sister out in the black with the soldiers still sweeping the town. There are three English patrols between here and the old graveyard, and that’s just what we know. We’ve already left Mam and Da in danger. You want to lose us, too?”
“It’s safer with us than here,” Sully said.
She barked a laugh, sharp as a slap. “Says the dead man with the bounty on his head.”
Sully took a breath, wiped at his chin where the blood had clotted, and said, “It’s not just the Redcoats. There’s something else coming. If we wait, we lose the only chance.”
Maeve squared up, voice low and vicious. “You always think you know best, don’t you, O’Toole? You show up with your stories, your scars, and your plans. You expect us to drop everything, to follow you like sheep.”
He flinched. A real, naked flinch. I saw it. She didn’t.
“You don’t know what’s waiting,” he said, quieter. “You don’t—” He looked at me, then away. “You don’t know what happens if we stay.”
“What, we all end up like you?” She spat it out, like it tasted sour.
I started to say something, but my throat dried up. I felt Sully’s eyes on me, and for a second I thought he’d throw a punch, or walk out, or maybe even cry. Instead, he just stood there, bleeding all over the stone, like a statue someone forgot to finish.
Nora’s voice, barely audible: “I want to go.”
Maeve shot her a look. “Don’t you start. You’re too young for this.”
“I’m older than you were when you ran off with Seamus Donovan,” Nora said, maybe louder than she’d meant.
Sully’s hand went to his side, not for comfort but for the blade he didn’t have. I hated how natural it looked. I hated that it comforted me.
Maeve started pacing, five steps up and five back, always keeping me in the crosshairs. “You’ve always been stubborn, Cat. Always did what you wanted, no matter the cost. But this—” She gestured at Sully, at the ruined jacket and the blood, “—this is madness.”
“I’d rather be mad than dead,” I said.
“Funny,” she snapped, “I’d rather you be neither.”
Sully finally spoke, but it wasn’t to Maeve or me. He said, “We go to the graveyard. We meet the others. Then we figure the rest. If you want to stay, Maeve, stay. But Catherine and Nora come with me.”
Maeve’s face went red, then white. “You don’t get to take my sisters,” she hissed.
He didn’t move, but I saw his fingers curl.
“I’m not taking them,” Sully said. “I’m saving them.”
“From what?” Maeve demanded. “From the English? From the famine? From yourself?”
“From what’s coming,” he said, and the room felt ten degrees colder.
I could hear the tick of the old clock, slow and hollow. I rolled the leather cord, round and round, felt the pulse in my fingertip go numb.
Maeve spun on me, voice gone soft and savage. “You want this? You want to walk out with him, leave me here alone? You want to die together, like some cursed fairy tale?”
I looked at her, at the dark rings under her eyes, the scar at her brow that never healed right. She was my sister, but she never understood. I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. So I did the only thing that ever worked. I told the truth. “I might be carrying his child,” I said.
The room went still. Even the wind stopped.
Maeve’s mouth fell open, lips making the shape of a curse, but no sound. Nora made a squeak, like a trapped mouse. Sully’s head jerked as if I’d slapped him, and for once, he looked completely lost.
“I—” I started, but the words tangled. “I wasn’t sure, before he died. Then I thought it didn’t matter. But when he came back…”
Sully’s jaw worked, but no words. His hand floated up, trembling, then dropped. He stared at my belly, flat as it ever was, like he expected to see a sign. He looked at my face, searching for the lie.
Maeve caught her breath, then sucked it in through her nose, hard. “You didn’t think to mention this before?”
I shook my head, slow. “I didn’t want it to be true. But it is.”
Sully moved then, not fast but deliberate, and for a second I thought he’d fall. He knelt in front of me, palms up, eyes fixed on my middle. I’d never seen him look so frightened. Not of dying, not of the world, just this one thing.
He whispered, “Are you sure?”
I nodded.
He touched the leather ring on my finger. “I’m sorry,” he said, and the words made no sense, but they cut anyway.
Maeve sat down hard, all the fight leaking out of her at once. She buried her head in her hands. “Oh, Catherine,” she whispered. “What have you done?”
Nora made a small, sad sound, and I realized she’d been crying for a while, just silent tears leaking down her face.
For the first time, I felt the fear for real—not just the kind that pricks your skin, but the kind that hollows you out, makes you want to dig a hole and hide inside. I put my hands over my stomach, not sure what I was feeling for. There was nothing there. Not yet.
Sully rose, slow and careful, and hugged me. Not tight, just enough to let me know he was there. His face was wet against my cheek. I didn’t want to let go, ever.
Maeve looked up, red-eyed and shaking. “You can’t run, Cat. You’ll never make it to the graveyard. The patrols will be on us by noon.”
“We’ll make it,” I said. “We have to.”
Nora moved to the window, peering through the warped glass. She brushed her sleeve across her face and said, “They’re already in the lane.”
The clock ticked. I looked at Sully, then Maeve, then back to the window. My hand stayed on my belly, like a shield.
We had to go, or we’d all be dead by sundown.
A noise outside. Heavy, deliberate. A horse’s hooves, then the slow, wet slap of boots on mud. We all froze. I saw Sully’s eyes flick to the door, then the window, mapping exits in a heartbeat.
“They’re at the gate,” Nora said.
Maeve’s face went white. All the years of being the strong one, the caretaker, the stone wall against the world—gone in a second.
“We have to go,” I said.
Sully nodded. “I’ll take the back. Cat, you lead your sisters out through the root cellar, keep low till you hit the field. I’ll draw them off.”
“Like hell,” I said, grabbing his hand before he could move. “We go together, or not at all.”
He started to argue, but I squeezed his fingers so hard his knuckles popped. He looked down, and I saw the fear in him then—real fear, not the kind that came from pain or bullets, but the kind that said maybe, just maybe, he didn’t know how this would end.
He nodded. “Alright.”
I grabbed Nora by the shoulders and made her look at me. “You ready?”
She nodded, lips tight.
We hustled through the back hall, Sully leading, ducking low. The church felt smaller, the air thick with every secret we’d ever kept. I grabbed a coat, wrapped it around Nora, then shouldered the pack. Sully checked the door, then pushed it open, slow, like he expected the world to explode.
Nothing. Just the church yard.
Maeve shuffled out behind us, breath fast. “Where to?”
Sully pointed to the root cellar. “We’ll wait until the patrol’s past. Then we cut east through the Kelly’s field, loop back to the graveyard from the far side. They’ll expect us to run for the bridge.”
Nora went first, bare feet on wet stone, followed by Maeve and me. Sully lingered, scanned the yard, then slipped in and shut the door behind him. I heard the lock click, soft as a whisper.
The root cellar was black as pitch. I could feel the cold through my soles, the old smell of potatoes gone to rot. We huddled in silence, all four of us, packed tighter than a litter of kittens.
“In the name of the King!” a voice barked.
No one breathed. I pictured them inside, rifles up, ready to kill.
I pressed my palm to my belly, as if I could shield the whole future with one hand.
The boots moved off, slow at first, then picked up as they searched. Sully tensed, hand on the knife at his belt, his jaw set hard enough to shatter teeth.
After what felt like hours, the noise faded. A whistle, then the clatter of horses and the slow retreat.
We waited another ten heartbeats. Then Sully eased the door open and peered into the gray morning. “Clear,” he said.
We slipped out, knees knocking, and ran for the hedgerow. The mud sucked at my boots, and I nearly lost one, but Maeve caught my elbow and dragged me along.
We made it to the edge of the Kelly’s field before Sully stopped, doubled over, clutching his side.
I thought he’d been shot, but it was just the pain, the old wounds, catching up.
He wiped the sweat from his face, then straightened, the shamrock tattoo at his wrist livid against the white of his skin.
He caught me looking, and for a second, I saw through the tough bastard act. I saw the hollow under his eyes, the tremble in his hands, the way he kept glancing at the horizon like he was waiting for the world to end.
Maeve took the basket from me, hands steady now. “We go on,” she said, but this time, she didn’t fight. “We stay together, yes?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
Sully pulled me aside, just out of earshot. “You alright?” he whispered.
I tried to laugh, but it hurt. “Never been less alright in my life.”
He let out a breath, ragged. “I thought if I came back, I could fix it. That I could save you.” He looked at the ground. “Maybe I made it worse.”
I touched the ruined skin at his wrist, felt the heat there. “You’re here. That’s all that matters.”
He nodded, but I saw the doubt. “We run,” he said. “And we don’t look back.”
“Not ever,” I promised.
The others waited, silent, the morning brightening around us. I took Sully’s hand, and this time, he didn’t let go.
We walked on, the four of us, through mud and ash and the ruins of every old dream. The sky was the color of forgiveness, thin and blue and too bright to be real. Maybe we were cursed. Maybe we’d never get out. But for that moment, we were together, and the rest of the world could burn.