Fortunate Son Read Online Free Page B

Seán ambling toward him, carelessly swatting bushes with a sapling stick. “Seán!” Jemmy stood, his filthy wet clothes sticking to him. “Look at this!” Just then the centipede raced across his hand and up his arm. Jemmy shouted, flinching, whacking his chin with the stick, hurling the creature high into the tree.
    â€œM’God! Get it off me!” Seán was immediately screaming. “Get it off me!”
    Jemmy raced around the giant oak to see Seán writhing on the ground, kicking and swatting at the empty air, demon-possessed, wild-eyed and scared. “What’s at ye?” Jemmy shouted. An orange flash tumbled from Seán’s waistcoat, scurrying for cover under the leaves.
    Seán didn’t stop. “‘Tis bitting me! ‘Tis killing me!” He kept thrashing.
    â€œStop, will ye! Take in some air! ‘Tis gone!” Jemmy suppressed a grin.
    Seán was panting, his round face pink, blue eyes wide. “Jumped on m’face!”
    Jemmy helped him up. “‘Twas nothing Seán. Nothing.”
    â€œNay, ‘twas something big!” His hands wriggled over his head and chest. “Ye see it?”
    â€œPerhaps just a little—” His mouth creased into a grin.
    â€œâ€˜Twas nasty with big teeth! Fangs! Fangs, Jemmy! I saw ‘em, I did!”
    Jemmy was fighting back tears of laughter, struggling to keep control. It was nearly unbearable—Seán’s terrified face and one orange centipede running scared.
    â€œIt had a million legs, it did!”
    That was it. Jemmy roared with laughter, stuttering, “I’m sorry, Seán. Did m’best. But I counted only seventeen!” Then the dam broke and he dropped to his knees, lurching forward to the ground, giggling hysterically. Sean stopped and stared, totally confused, which only made Jemmy laugh harder. Finally Jemmy settled, feeling the cut under his chin. “So? Did ye bring me some food this mornin’?”
    â€œDa wouldn’t let me,” Seán mumbled.
    â€œWhy not?” Jemmy soured rapidly at the thought of no breakfast. His jaw may have ached a bit, but his stomach burned.
    â€œSaid ye’re being mule-headed to stay here. Said there’s no reason to stay away from him. Ye aren’t protecting nobody out here, least not yerself. Said ye should come back t’ Mr. Purcell’s.”
    â€œI don’t care what he says,” Jemmy blurted. Silence hovered and they sat in it, motionless, watching a man canter his horse across the far end of the green. The beast’s snorts steamed in the early air. “If I’m there at Purcell’s, that fathead Richard and his men will come. I know it. I’ll stay hidden till this is gone.”
    Seán pulled himself to his feet. “‘Tis not going t’ just pass, I don’t think.” He walked a few paces to the creek bank. Swollen gusts whipped the leaves above, and a few wrens and yellow-winged hammer birds began to fill the morning with warble and echoing song. “I miss Dunmain.”
    â€œAye,” said Jemmy. They were thinking of the Annesleys’ country estate in southern Ireland, the land where both he and Seán were born, where they had played the first ten years of their lives. Seán was born in the servants’ quarters, the son of the stablemaster. Jemmy was born in his mother’s bedchamber, one of the twenty-eight rooms of the lavish Dunmain House. Jemmy longed for the rolling green hills, the forests, the long stone fences, the random ruins and ancient abbeys lying in wait to be discovered. But he did not miss the house. The immense, cold house held a trove of bad memories—his father beating him, his mother leaving.
    â€œJemmy!” Seán blurted. “Look at this!”
    As Jemmy stepped beside Seán, his eyes followed Seán’s outstretched finger down toward the creek. Lying half-exposed in the slick clay was