“Well done, lad. Now let’s go find this uncle Paddy of yours. You’re sure now that he will recognize you?”
“No doubt of that — he’ll recognize my arse as well. He used to paddle me when my da’ wasn’t there to do the job. Moved in with us when Auntie Maire died. Him working regular and all, that kept the food on the table.”
It was a moonless night, but they could see the dark path of the bureen clearly enough by starlight. It was close to an hour before they could make out the roofs of Dualla, sharp against the stars.
“You’ll be able to find the cottage?” Condon asked.
“With me eyes closed. I was born there, never went anyplace else until we took the ship.”
“Good. Look, I’m going to wait here until you find your uncle, and you know that everything is all right. I’ll stay in this copse by the road. Come and get me if he is alone. And remember — my name is Kelly. Do you have that straight?”
“Yes, sir,” Gallagher muttered. He had only been asked this question a dozen times. “I’ll see the uncle first.”
He trudged on through the village, finding his way without thinking about it, wondering at what kind of a reception he would get. As he passed the dark doorway of the village store a voice spoke from the shelter.
“Now who would that be, out and about this time of night?”
The cover was opened on a bull’s-eye lantern and he stood transfixed in the beam. In the sudden glare he could make out the distinctive cap of a Royal Irish Constable. He felt his heart surge in his chest, thought he was going to die.
“Speak up, boyo,” the man said, not unkindly. Jimmy fought to speak, managed to squeeze out the words.
“My uncle, here, Patrick Gallagher…”
“So you’re Paddy’s nephew. I could well believe that since you’re the spit of him. Been away working?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well get on with you then. He’ll be wanting to see you.”
Jimmy tried not to stumble when he turned away. Forced himself to walk, not run, from this frightening presence. There was his home, further down the street, a light showing from a chink by the window. Was the door locked? Never to his knowledge. He lifted the latch and opened the door.
“Whoosh,” the man sitting in the chair by the fire said. He had been dozing, only awoke when the door creaked open. “Who’s there?”
“It’s me, uncle. Jimmy.”
Gallagher was awake now — his jaw dropped wide. “May the saints preserve us — is it indeed you, little Jimmy? By God it is, grown and filled out. But you’re in America across the ocean…”
“ ’Tis a long story, uncle Paddy, and I’ll tell you all about it in a moment. But I have a friend with me, could I bring him in?”
“Of course, lad.”
“I met a constable on the way here, he stopped me.”
“That would be old Bert. Rattles the door handles a bit this time of night.”
“Do you think he is still out there?”
“No, he’ll be tucked in by now.” Paddy frowned. “Not in trouble with the law, are you?”
“No, not at all. Let me go get Capt… Mr. Kelly. He’ll explain everything far better than I can.”
He went out, almost whistling. He was home, safe. Everything was going to be all right.
The village retired early because light cost money — and there was very little of that about. Jimmy met no one as he walked between the dark and silent cottages. He found the copse easily enough. “Captain” he whispered when Condon appeared at his shoulder.
“Try to forget my rank, Jimmy, that’s a good lad. You must forget that we’re in the army when we are here in Ireland. If you can’t call me Patrick — well then ‘sir’ will have to do. Did you find your uncle?”
“I did. I told him I was going to get you, nothing else.”