Chapter 4 Trinli
Removing the Dutch oven from the coals, I inhale the delicious scent of fresh sourdough bread as I place it on the counter to cool next to the others.
It is my day to bake sourdough for the patch.
Each of us has a dietary staple we make in large quantities and share.
It has greatly reduced the amount of work each of us must put in for dinners, and stress.
I close my eyes, tilt my head back and breathe.
I am afraid to speak aloud of the reprieve of the past few days.
Since Padraig’s arrival almost a month ago, Darragh has taken to aggressively and repeatedly reminding me of his ownership and authority in our home.
I accepted my lot in this life not long after Darragh and I wed.
I foolishly believed as a child that my father’s insistence on a broad education meant he had high hopes for me.
A woman of worth and substance could do a great many things in this world, including marrying a good man with a good job from a good family.
Instead, I was sold to a grotesque womanizing drunkard because he has an addiction to cheese and my father doesn’t know when to close someone’s tab.
I stopped crying the day I accepted my place as Darragh Byrne’s wife.
Resolute to make the most of my situation and put my education to the test. And I was fine…
until the day Padraig Fitzgerald walked into my home and bore witness to my greatest shame.
For more than two fortnights, my husband has forced his way between my thighs, degrading me with words spoken loud enough for anyone to hear, including Padraig.
I’ve cried silent tears every night, angry with my father, hate in my heart for my husband, and disappointment in myself that my eyes strayed, my soul dared to hope for a man that is never meant to be mine.
My husband does not know the meaning of fidelity, most men do not, however, I do.
And regardless of his actions or character, I am better than that.
It has been a few days since Darragh has made his presence known and I am reluctant to believe he has found something or someone else to occupy his thoughts and time.
I should accept the small break and breathe a sigh of relief, yet life has taught me many lessons and one of the most important is to never let your guard down.
I will, however, enjoy the easy camaraderie Padraig and I have settled into.
The morning after Padraig’s first night, it was quite difficult for me to look him in the eye.
He did not mention Darragh’s behavior, did not inquire about my health, he simply moved on and dragged me along with him, for which I am grateful.
He offered his help with the morning meal, which I politely declined, sat down in one of our chairs and started talking.
It did not take me long as the days passed to look upon his beauty as nothing more than scenery.
A dazzling sunrise, the trees in autumn, freshly fallen snow.
He spends most of his free time here with the boys and I, seeming to prefer our company to that of anyone else.
I have not seen him with any of the whores, nor does he reek of alcohol or cloying perfume, or come and go into the night.
If he is not in the mines, he is sitting on one of my chairs, or playing with Riordan and Jakob, or fixing something for me around our home.
I value his friendship immensely. I love listening to my precious boys giggle while they chase him around.
I can even admit, if only to myself in the dark of night, that his lingering glances and appreciative stare stirs unfamiliar sensations and feelings inside me.
Yet, it is our conversations that I treasure most. Padraig does not treat me like a simpering female, a hole, cook or maid.
He treats me as an intellectual equal and that might be the most dangerous part of it all.
It began with his journey from Kilkenny.
I forced him to recount nearly every moment of his time across the Atlantic Ocean, a longing inside me for the scent of the sea.
He spoke of the mines of his homeland, the incredible differences between Ireland and America, the daunting similarities.
Our families proved to be a sensitive topic.
He misses his family back home like I miss the coast. He was angered on my behalf when I recounted an abridged version of my union with Darragh and my family’s abandonment.
His righteous indignation was soothing, knowing someone else, a man no less, understood the injustice.
We moved onto books and poetry, and politics.
My friendship with him is not built on manual labor, survival, or commiseration.
It is a foundation of common interests and philosophies, who we are as human beings, as opposed to what we can give or what can be taken from us.
For those hours we talk of life and liberty and beautiful things, I feel more alive than I ever have before.
Padraig is intelligent and kind, respectful, sober and thus far shows no indication of an obsessive addiction to dairy products.
The door opens and I glance up, a smile stretching my lips when Padraig ducks his head of dark hair to enter. “Hello.”
His head snaps up and the frown marring his face disappears. A blinding grin greets me before he says, “Hello, Trin.” My cheeks heat with the affectionate shortening of my name. “It smells delicious in here. Is that fresh sourdough?”
“Yes, it is.” He advances further into the house, hanging up his jacket and stepping out of his boots. “I am to deliver these to the others, but I have two for us. We will have one with supper.”
“Your sourdough is the best I have ever had, cailin.”
“Thank you. That is kind of you to say.”
“No need to thank me, Trin, I only speak the truth.” I stand still, shocked when he places a soft kiss to my cheek as he passes to lift the lid off the pot of stew I have boiling over the coals.
He has never…why did he do that? “I apologize, Trinli, that was inappropriate of me.” His voice low, tone hesitant.
“No need to apologize, Paddy.” I parrot his sentiment back to him and force an easy smile as I meet his eyes. I swallow hard at the obvious emotion they contain.
He clears his throat. “Where are the wee ones?”
“Margaret is watching them next door.” I wipe my unusually damp hands on the cloth at my waist. “I should be fetching them about now for supper.” I find her Dutch Oven and lift it to bring with me; however, Padraig takes it from my hands and is at the back door before I know what is happening.
“Let me.” He is out the door, my stalled response still on my tongue.
I breathe deeply, futilely attempting to calm my racing heart.
My body…I am not sure what to make of the tingle in my breasts or the answering one between my legs.
I raise my right arm in front of my eyes and find my skin has gone goose fleshed.
I hear my babies before I see them. Shaking my head and ignoring the new sensations that trouble me, I start dishing up the stew for supper and placing the bowls on the table. I remove the lid from our sourdough and slice it.
“MA!” Jakob races inside and throws himself bodily at me. I catch him just in time to avoid injury, spinning him in my arms as he giggles.
“Turn!” Riordan lifts his arms in the air and squeezes his hands, demanding my attention.
I tickle Jakob as I set him on his feet and scoop Riordan up to spin him too.
I grin at Gabriel’s babbling, happily squealing when Padraig dances around the room with him bouncing in his arms. We’re having a grand ol’ time, laughing and singing and dancing and miss Darragh’s return home.
“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!?” He storms inside, face mottled a scary red, his body vibrating with rage. I put Riordan down next to Jakob and stand in front of them. Darragh advances and I know I am his target, so I shift until the boys are close to Padraig.
“Darragh, just a little fun before supper.” Padraig tries to defuse the situation, but it does not work, just as his other attempts in the past. Once Darragh is mad, nothing settles him until someone feels pain…me.
“Carrying on with another man in my house, wife? Tricking me boys into forgetting about their da? Or are you trying to replace me?” I do not answer, but I do not look away.
There is no response that will satisfy Darragh, and the truth will only incense him further.
I do not need to trick my boys, the moment Darragh leaves this house he is instantly forgotten by the three of them.
I watch him and wait. The subtle shift in his stance has me bracing myself.
When his arm lashes out, I tilt my head into his hand, knowing he will grip my hair tightly.
I do not fight his hold, leaning into it to lessen the pain, and drop to my knees when he applies pressure.
“I am going out tonight…first, you need to drain my bollocks so I can get my money’s worth with the whores. ”
“Darragh—” Padraig’s anger is as palpable as Darragh’s.
“Yer a guest in me home! Keep yer gob shut and yer hands off me family!”
“Let her go—”
“Padraig, please take the boys outside.” I interrupt in a steady voice.
“Perhaps a walk near the trees. Jakob, do you think you can find a squirrel?” I bite my lip to cease its quivering, hearing my boys cry is difficult but I do not want them to be here when Darragh truly begins.
“We can eat supper—” Darragh shoves his filthy pecker in my mouth, and I fight the urge to bite it clean through.
I close my eyes, the tension in my shoulders loosening when I know Padraig has left with the boys.
It does not take Darragh long, but long enough for him to slap my face repeatedly, rip my dress, kick me, and push me to the ground.
My degradation is complete and his anger satisfied when he covers me in his seed.
A smirk on his thin lips, he grabs some bread and leaves.
I lay on my side, curled around my abdomen.
My face throbs with every beat of my heart.
“TRINLI!”
“No.” I whisper brokenly. He cannot be here. He cannot see me like this. “Please, no.”
“Trin, my God in heaven.” I strike out when he places a hand on my hip.
“NO!”
“Trinli, it is Padraig. Shh, a mhuirnin. Let me help you.”
“No.” I bat at his hands, rolling to my knees.
Standing with my back to him, I grab the pieces of my dress and pull them across my chest to hide my naked breasts.
I walk through the back door to the large bowl of rainwater.
Grabbing a cloth, I wet it and clean myself as best I can.
Without a word, I walk past a visibly distraught Padraig and up the steps to my room above.
I find a clean shift and dress, changing quickly, checking my reflection in the small mirror to be sure I have ridden myself of Darragh’s mark completely.
My cheeks are going to bruise, and my lip is split, but that cannot be helped.
I ball up the soiled fabric and stomp back downstairs, tossing it in the bin for mending.
“Trinli—” I raise my hand to stop him. I cannot bear to hear his voice at this moment, hear his pity.
“Please…please fetch the boys once more. Supper is getting cold.”
“No, you need—”
“I need you to get my children for supper.” I feel him stare before he huffs and stomps from the house. Leaning against the counter, I drop my head and give myself a second.
The boys are subdued, Padraig is distant, and the remainder of the evening passes unpleasantly.
I sleep fitfully, rising early once Jakob is back to sleep after his second nightmare.
Thankfully, Padraig has gone to work and Darragh never came home.
Outside, I freshen up, reveling in the cold water as it soothes my heated flesh.
Towel in hand, I turn around and stop dead at the sight of my dress from yesterday hanging on the line to dry. Clean and fully mended.
Padraig is too sweet for this world. And he is going to be my ruin.