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 trickmyboys, 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, youneed 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.”
