Recapturing Lisdoonvarna

Chapter 38- The Death Wish In the long night beneath the wheels of her cart Luanne had given Sean all she had to give. Still bare-skinned to the cold but with a blanket draped from one shoulder, she held him as he slept. She wanted only to give him more. Their bed between the tall wheels was snug with quilts and blankets on dry, tightly-woven cattail mats. The floor of the cart above them was their poor defense to hold back the cold of the star-filled night. Although she listened as Sean squirmed in his sleep and his fearful words described images of death and war, her deepest hopes echoed back to her lost husband. She prayed that he had never known such horrors so common in the dreams of the Irishman. Yet, she knew better. So new to her life, yet Luanne comforted this man as a woman might a lifelong spouse. He had defended her and her children with no thought for himself. No shame, no remorse, nor pity did she feel three nights before, or now, for the five evil men who had arrived at twilight. She had witnessed Sean’s raging green eyes change to steel-gray and would never forget. How could she? He had faced them in unchallenged fury, alone. She hoped never again to see it, this evil in him that had erupted from nowhere but had saved her children. She shrugged her shoulders and shook her body as if to dispel the bad luck she had inherited. Being a woman on her own and also having ancestors from Africa set her in a difficult place. Her fingers stroked the hair on his temple. We’ve gained so much from you, Irishman. Luanne continued to hold Sean as he flailed in his sleep. “Wake up. It’s a dream,” she cooed, then dreamed herself, but bright-eyed and awake, retracing the Irishman’s pathway into her life. Only a month before, this strange man with skin so lily white and with hair so red had joined her family with open hands and heart. Those had been special times. But try as she might the hurtful memories of three nights past crept back. The real nightmare whirled wildly before her eyes. * * * Two explosions echoed through the evening turned upside-down. Then two more and another. The gunfire had come from the barn. There was no mistaking it. Held down by three men, she strained to turn her head toward the cloud of black smoke drifting her way. In torment she watched Amy, clutching her dress, run naked towards the woods. Her boys screamed from somewhere beyond the smoke. She squirmed and struggled to be free but was slapped again into almost senseless submission. Yet, again, she managed to turn her head back towards the barn. The boys? Jeremiah and Quincy must still be alive? The good mother grasped on to impossible hope. There was no more she could do. But, it was not to be. She saw him. His silhouette appeared through the lingering haze of smoke. Each step through the barn’s wide doorway brought him closer to her. Two men lay sprawled at his feet. His big pistol hung in his hand almost to his knee. She witnessed a harsh look fly past her to the men who had her down. They had seen him, too, and hollered above her. She screamed for justice, and then mercy. The last hard slap came down. Finally, her arms were free, but she could not move. Blood trickled into her eyes. Remembering the foul smells of her drunken assailants made the memories stronger. Two strong men held her while another violently took her body. She felt the hard boards of the porch beneath her. Minutes before, they had laughed as they had beaten her down on her back. Her dress was pulled up around her neck. Now though, she saw panicky eyes and frantic hands reaching for weapons and trousers. Oddly, everything flowed ever slower, seeing only the faded blue legs with the yellow stripe take each new step, one then another, closer. “Too slow! Why is he so slow?” she screamed over the chaos, then found control. “Hurry, Irishman. Hurry!” She heard a dull thud. Something heavy hit the dirt. She remembered yelling, “Irishman, hurry! Don’t let them kill you!” She wiped the blood from her face and looked up. He was there. She saw the coldness in his eyes as an attacker’s head met his pistol barrel with a dull crack, and then the first, already down, was left with a smoking hole in his chest. She saw quiet fury in him daring anyone to interfere, and she saw only panic in the last man’s eyes. Fear swept over her, too. Who is this man standing over me with steel gray eyes? Not able to watch, she heard another swoosh that could only be the long, black barrel sweeping down again. Nothing happened. He must have missed. When will he say something? Surely a weapon is about to find him. Helpless to retreat Luanne saw the stark image of the long knife slashing up, then, the blade dripping wet. A long desperate moan from the final man told her it was done. A warm gush of blood spewed over her chest and legs. The man fell lifeless on her. She gasped in pain as her eyes were forced to open wider. Frozen in place, the stench of death was overwhelming. She had no strength and remembered how she could not have moved if God had commanded her to rise. * * * The memories continued to flood back. Her eyes had remained locked on the rafters of the porch roof and its oak shingles. She was terrified and could not force herself to look Sean’s way. She heard and felt the thumps and groans of the dying man being lifted from her body. A few moments later, she saw her two sons and daughter run from the side of the cabin. They knelt weeping beside her. She heard his voice above, “It’s not her blood. I think she’s all right. Amy, find your mother a clean dress. We’ll need clean rags. A sack full.” Luanne remembered how her children appeared convinced and watched the Irishman totally unafraid. But she was afraid. Terror consumed her as she saw his hard eyes in the twilight. Again, she forced herself not to see and allowed a great hope to settle over her, a warm blanket in winter. She looked up again. He was studying her! Why? What will he do? What is he thinking? And the briefest of moments stretched so long that she counted the first few stars in the new night sky. Her humiliation kept her naked, filth-covered body rigid. Only when she again heard his voice did she understand that the horror truly had ended. Sean’s gentle words gave her peace. “Please, dear woman, take my hand.” He held tight to her arm as he spoke, “I’m so sorry that I could not stop them sooner.” She heard his concerned voice pause and then say, “But know, Luanne, the boys and Amy were not violated.” She remembered his eyes, emerald green now, shining in the weak light of the partly risen moon and the candle lantern brought by Amy from the cabin. Slowly, Sean pulled her up and led her to the well. There, he loosened her soiled dress and let it drop to the ground. She had only been able to watch, barely able to stand, while he drew up a pail of the most silvery water she had ever seen. Exhausted, she did not want to go on. She wanted to die. Quivering muscles in her arms and legs reminded her of thrashing limbs and the beating that had subdued her. She had fought off the three attackers, if ever so briefly, and defiant tears ran from her eyes while she stood and studied this man now at her feet. He carefully soaked a rag in clean water. On his knees he began. A strong male hand, absent of lust, washed away the blood and stench from her shaking body. Then she sensed it, when her shivering stopped. The warmth, as now under the cart, surrounded her despite the chilling night and the cold water that cleansed her skin. Forever more, she promised herself as her eyes rose to find the purest of light from a now fully risen moon.