Flight of the Earls by Michael K. Reynolds Page B

swine wagon returned.
    Seamus placed his face beside the snout of the pig lying beside her and puckered his lips. “Has the lady forgotten me morning kiss?”
    Clare straightened her dress and brushed the straw from her hair, relieved to see the area she was sleeping in was relatively clean. “How long was I asleep? Where are we?”
    Just then they hit a bump and the three of them, along with the six pigs who shared space in back of the cart, were hurled in the air.
    The bounce was big enough to erase the smirk from Seamus’s face. “I’d say you slept through about twenty of those.”
    â€œWe’re about a half day out from Cork at this pace.” Pierce was sculpting a piece of wood with a pocketknife.
    Clare replayed the last week in her mind. By the time all of the guests had left the wake that night, the three of them managed only a few hours of sleep before assembling at dawn in front of the Hanley farm, their bulging knapsacks in tote.
    Many of the town’s families arose to escort them out with a farewell parade. Sleepy-headed children held the hands of their elder siblings, while mothers toted babies on their arms and hips as even the grayed citizenry hobbled along with the aid of walking sticks.
    After a long and teary embrace, Caitlin stayed behind with Ma, who watched listlessly from a chair in front of the house as the clattering throng moved as one down the dirt road.
    As they passed by rain-worn hovels along the way, more of Branlow’s residents joined the procession, and by the time they all arrived at Turner’s Crossing, there were nearly four score gathered to pay their respects. The final gifts of sweet cakes, seed loafs, soda crackers, potato bread, white scones, and sacks of potatoes were gratefully received, despite needing to be forced into their sacks.
    After the last embraces and kisses on cheeks were shared, the three ventured away to the encouragement of shouts and prayers from those they were leaving behind. Clare only had the courage to look back once, and her eyes sought out Father Quinn, who raised a hand in farewell. They churned with a good pace and in near silence for the first few miles.
    Now days later, thumping in the back of the cart, their emotional separation from their family and friends seemed distant. Since leaving, they sloshed in tumultuous rainfall, poached slumber in the fields of farmers, slunk by dark strangers, struggled to find warmth in chilling winds, and after several days of arduous travel, welcome indeed was the sight of the hog cart pulling up beside them.
    Despite the unpleasant smell and the jolting ride, there was luxury in the knowledge they had a ride all the way to Cork.
    Their ride on the wagon, though it paced slowly, was still much swifter than fellow migrants who lumbered on foot by the hundreds. There were the young and strong who had vibrancy to their steps. But many were entire families, whose progress was curtailed by the weakest among them: the sick or crippled, small children and aging grandparents. Many carried their life’s possessions on their shoulders or in handcarts so overfilled they were on the brink of toppling.
    The nation was on the move.
    â€œYou’ll be happy to know, dear sister, we lightened your pack while you were sleeping.”
    Clare didn’t know whether to feel grateful or violated. “You didn’t throw anything away, did you?”
    â€œNo, your precious books are split between your two mules here, although I’m sure we’ll assess some type of fee for our services.”
    â€œSo Clare,” Pierce grinned, “are you ready to share your little secret?”
    Her hand went to her pendant and she stroked it. “I told you already, the keener asked me not to share.”
    â€œBut you never promised her you wouldn’t,” Pierce said. “It’s just the two of us.”
    â€œThe hogs can be trusted,” Seamus said. “They told me