Chapter Thirty-Eight #2
I decide one more night in the shack will have to do. I will figure out my next step tomorrow, when I’m not so bone-tired, God willing.
To keep us both company, I sing softly to Mary like my mam did with me, and I tell her about the crickets outside. Chewing on the loaf from the market, I carry her to the cracked window and point out the stars twinkling in the clear sky.
“There, now, Mary. See how grand they are?”
I tell her about her father, though she’s heard the stories a hundred times. That strikes me as funny, because am I not like Granny now, with her old stories? And I will keep on telling the stories, because I don’t ever want to lose Damien. Already his face is blurring in my memory.
When I can stand no longer, Mary and I snuggle down into the corner of the shack again, her perfect body tucked against me.
We are safe, or as safe as I can make us, but I dare not fall asleep.
What if someone comes in the night? What if they take me and leave Mary alone?
Or worse, what if they take Mary and leave me behind?
The fear won’t leave me, and I tighten my arms around her.
I am aware of every dog barking in the distance, every twig that rustles with a breeze.
Something’s amiss, I think. I cannot let myself sleep.
I must stay vigilant, waiting for the man in black to find me.
But it’s my second night of no sleep, and my eyelids betray me.
Suddenly I’m not in the shack anymore. Somehow, I am sitting before a fireplace with Damien, our fingers entwined.
He is smiling that smile at me, the one that says he loves me.
I hear the flames crackle, and I see his mouth move, but I cannot hear what he’s saying.
I laugh and tell him that I thought he’d died, and he laughs as well, for sure I’m a fool, for here he is after all!
I lean my head against his shoulder, but he’s gone. My cheek rests against a wall.
He was never here. I keep my eyes closed, hoping to bring him back.
But smoke from the fireplace still tickles through my nose, and ’tis then I see I am no longer dreaming. I catch a faint glow flickering on the ceiling. I wrap Mary’s blanket tightly around her and set her on the floor in the corner so I can go and see out the window.
Holy Mother of God! The long, dry grass is aflame, lighting the night and licking toward the shack from all sides. Smoke whispers through cracks in the shack’s wooden walls. Behind me, Mary sleeps undisturbed, a little white bundle snugged against the wall.
It comes to me clear as day. ’Tis no bit of bad luck, this fire.
Oh, sweet Jesus. What have I done? ’Tis surely the divil himself come to punish me for all my sins: the lies I told, the money I took, the blood I’ve seen spilled that I never told a soul about.
Granny said the divil comes for the guilty, and here he is.
I grab for my rosary, though I rarely remember to carry it, and when it is not there, I grab the key dangling from my neck instead.
I cross myself over and over with hands that shake, and I drop to my knees in the growing heat.
Holy Mother, I beg you to preserve the child and take me instead. She’s done no wrong. ’Tis me has done it all. ’Tis me who deserves your wrath. Please God—
Then there’s a crash as the corner of the roof caves in, and Mary is gone.
I scream her name, clawing with blistering fingers through the fallen, smouldering boards like a madwoman, desperate for the sight of her white blanket in all the darkness.
My lungs are burning, every gasp a knife, and I am seized by a coughing fit that doubles me over.
Holy Mother of God. What have I done? I heave for air, then I hear her terrified cry, and I nearly weep at the sound.
I fell asleep! What kind of mother sleeps while the divil comes, putting her tiny baby in danger, all in the name of catching a little sleep?
She is untouched but furious when I finally reach her and draw her out.
The rafters fell in a perfect protective roof over her, as if God himself placed them by hand.
I drag her out, sobbing and apologizing and praying, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, forgive me!
Forgive me! all the while crossing myself.
I hug her to me, then I stagger to the door and kick it open, where I’m met by a wall of fire.
I feel it scorch my skin, and I layer the blanket over Mary best as I can.
Behind us, the shack groans, and sparks rain down from the fallen roof.
The fire is all around us now, like a prison.
Mary’s screams rise with mine, and my heart breaks as I realize: This is it.
The divil has come for me, and he’ll take my innocent girl with him as well.
I feel the pressure building behind me as well as in front.
Mary is in full voice now, adding to my panic, for I cannot find a way out of this. We are going to die.
But she is baptized, I realize with frantic gratitude. Dear God, at least my sweet angel is baptized.