The Grey Horse by R. A. MacAvoy

Author:R. A. MacAvoy
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Media Sci-Fi & Fantasy
Published: 1987-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

Ó Murchú's Sacrament

Áine was tying the peas to the fence when the priest came walking up the path. She was also cursing, very mildly but undeniably cursing, because Ruairí had let out the old grey pony and it had done some damage to the kitchen garden. When she saw Father Ó Murchú she took three steps backward and broke a vine off at the root, but this time she didn't curse.

"God to you, Father. How is it that I didn't hear you coming?" She beat her apron with her hands, as though it were dirty.

Ó Murchú stopped five feet from her. Though Áine was an older woman and not a likely target for gossip, neither the priest nor she would have been comfortable with closer proximity. "I don't stomp as I walk, Áine, and the day is so gentle it would have been a crime to make more noise."

Áine opened the garden gate and then trotted around behind Ó Murchú, where she attempted to push him through like a very respectful sheepdog. But Tadhg Ó Murchú did not want to be pushed, and so he lounged in the gate as though he hadn't noticed, fingering the broken pea vine and appearing perfectly at ease.

"You won't tell me that you walked all the way from the parish house."

Ó Murchú smiled until his small dark face appeared Chinese. I won't. I took a kind ride from Tim Ó Súilleabháin in the beer dray and only turned up your long drive here. Two miles. It was a lovely day for a walk."

Áine glanced up, though she knew already that the sky was unbroken blue. She realized that her hand wringing was making a mess of her apron and she let it drop. She took a breath. "Well enough, Father, but you don't need to stand out under the heat now. Do go in and I'll run to find Anraí, who is out playing he is still a young man, fool that he is."

The priest leaned more fixedly and smiled harder. "I'd like to see him, certainly. But it was with the excuse of talking to Ruairí MacEibhir that I've taken this holiday." He lowered the bag he was carrying gently onto the grass.

"Ruairí? That scamp? Well, forgive me, I won't cast names, but surely you might have only sent a lad out to tell him to come to you."

Ó Murchú looked very like a scamp himself as he replied, "…and I'll do that, the next time it rains, Áine. But I wanted not to be home to people this afternoon, and there is a matter of a baptism."

Áine took in a shuddering breath and turned to go. But she could not endure the uncertainty and so came back to ask, "Has he really done so much harm as that? I hadn't thought he'd been in the county long enough for such a . . ."

" Áine! It's his own baptism at issue here, and there's no need for a woman who works so hard to run my errands.

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