Flight of the Earls Read Online Free Page B

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    â€œWhat’s wrong with Da?” Caitlin massaged a soapy blue dress against the rusted iron ribs of a washing board.
    Clare plopped a wicker basket of dirty clothing at her sister’s feet and eyed her father who was slouched on a wooden fence rail off in the distance with his back to them. He hadn’t moved much since sunrise.
    â€œYour father has much weight he’s carrying. It’s not yours to be concerned.”
    â€œIt’s just, I’ve never seen him . . . you know . . . not work.” Caitlin started scrubbing again.
    Clare reached in the water. “It’s getting cold. I set a kettle to boil inside.”
    On the way back to the house, she noticed the boys were pushing a cart full of manure from the barn toward the field. She wondered whether to assign them another chore, but let them be. There was no need to spread muck on a dead crop, but Clare wasn’t prepared to tell them the family was angling toward ruin. Even though she was writhing inside with anxiety.
    She entered the door and heard the hissing sound of water splattering on red peat coals. She grabbed a cloth for her hands, then reached in and pulled the large black kettle off its hook above the flames as steam rose in anger. The heaviness caused her to stumble, and Clare shrieked as the boiling water just missed splashing on her legs. After catching her balance, she set the kettle down on the floor.
    The noise must have woke Ma from her slumber in her chair. “Clare? Is that tea you’re making? Tea sounds lovely, dear.”
    Clare snatched up the kettle and stomped toward the door, but then paused and exhaled. She composed herself and then faced her mother with all the gaiety she could muster. “Yes, Mam. I’ll make you a cup. Did you nap well?”
    â€œSleep? No. Not these days.”
    Clare lifted the lid to the clay teapot on the table. The tea leaves inside were pale and flavorless, but it was all the family had left. She poured some of the venting fluid into her mother’s empty teacup on the small table by the rocking chair. When it was full, Clare looked up to see Ma had already fallen back to sleep.
    Clare’s shoulders slumped, but then she smiled and kissed her ma on her forehead. “Enjoy your tea.”
    With the cast-iron kettle in tote, she went back outside. “Stand aside, Cait.” She spouted the boiling water into the cleaning tub. Laughter rang out in the distance and Clare looked to the field. The two boys were throwing dung at each other. Ronan limped after Davin, losing ground before throwing wildly at his younger brother.
    â€œMercy.” Clare plopped the kettle down and let out a deep sigh.
    Caitlin laughed but then covered her mouth when Clare glared.
    â€œYou think it’s humorous, do ya?” Clare struggled to fight back a smile herself. “Well, then. After you finish up these garments there, you can put this water and soap to work on scrubbing your brothers.”
    â€œWhat? Why me? Just for laughing?” She looked at Clare with her choreographed sad eyes. “What crime is joy?”
    Caitlin always had a way of disarming Clare, who had to restrain herself from surrendering her authoritative stance.
    â€œCaitlin Mae. Neither you nor your brothers will set one toe into our home smelling like the wrong end of the cow. Are we clear?”
    â€œWe are.”
    Despite Cait’s assurance, Clare figured she would probably end up washing the boys herself. But the sullen figure of her father ambushed her thoughts. A flush of compassion swept over Clare and she desired to console him.
    â€œShouldn’t you leave Da be?” Caitlin’s concerned voice trailed behind her, but Clare’s determination grew with each step.
    â€œFather.”
    He barely acknowledged her, continuing to seek wisdom from something far and unseen on the horizon. His body was knotted in tension and Clare wanted to embrace away the hurt. But he