The Boy From Ballyclerahan

Chapter 15: The Choice

The Gaol, St. John's, Newfoundland, September 3, 1811

"Ye said you'd take care of dem, Pat," a familiar voice emanated, its source obscured by a curious fog. "But ye really messed up, Paddy boy," the voice continued. "Counting on ye, dey were." The words hung for a moment. "Dat's all I asked of ye really. After all I did for ye, you could have at least done dis for me."

Pat shook his head in a confused twitch. "Who are you?" he asked the figure, still cloaked by mist and shadow.

"Who am I? Now dat's a good one Paddy," the figure replied. The voice morphed in tone, its timbre more familiar. "Who indeed! Forgotten so easily. Perhaps dat's why ye didn't care enough to see it t'rough, to help 'em. Yer so-called friends. He's just a boy, Paddy."

Pat peered through the fog, squinting to bring the figure into focus. "What boy?" said Pat in frustration. "Who are you? What boy?"

Without warning, the figure burst through the fog, grabbing Pat by his caribou leather jacket, pulling him close."Liam, for feck's sake!" the figure screamed, spewing sour air and spittle. "I asked ye for one t'ing! Take care of Ed and da boy! Ye failed dem, Paddy!" A copper-tinged smell reached Pat's nostrils. The figure's hands were covered in blood.

He recoiled in horror, realizing the figure's identity. The ashen face, so drawn and pale. It was Jim.

"Patrick Gorman!" the guard yelled, jolting Pat awake. He launched himself upright on the hard, wooden floor, relieved to see the walls of the tiny gaol cell surrounding him.

"Mr. Gorman, ye have been released. Collect yer t'ings and follow me," the guard commanded, gesturing to the time worn shoes tucked underneath a wooden stool draped with his leather jacket. Shoes and a jacket. All he had in the world.

Pat nodded, his chest still pounding after the unsettling encounter. He grabbed the jacket, searching its leather for bloody handprints, finding only scuffs and indentations. A reminder of his tussle with the mastiff. Just a dream, he confirmed with relief.

Having fallen asleep just a few hours ago, Pat needed a moment to orient himself, to restart his exhausted brain. "You're letting me go?" he asked, his racing heartbeat beginning to slow.

"Well of course we're lettin' ye go. Whaddaya t'ink, we'd feed da likes o' ye for days on end? It'd be just what ye wants now wouldn't it, 'by?" the guard declared in a voice that was louder than necessary. "Besides, yer mate posted yer bail. Get yer arse outta here."

Pat straightened his jacket, composing himself. "Thank you, sir." He offered a hand to shake but the guard waved him off. Time to go.

Stepping through the door, he found Ed and Liam waiting. Pat's eyes welled with tears when he saw the boy's sweet little face. Liam leapt towards him, squeezing his thigh with the biggest hug he could deliver. Pat crouched and hugged him back, so tightly he thought he'd never let go. Ed smiled.

"Ed, you shouldn't have paid to let me out. I don't deserve it," said Pat apologetically, recalling his performance on the stand.

"You think you are worth all that much?" Ed smirked. "It was quite a deal, really. They were sick of feeding you, and I said I'd take you. A win for both sides."

"Thank you my friend," Pat replied. "I'm so sorry about the trial." His shame was palpable.

"Never mind that now," said the dwarf, grabbing Pat by the sleeve, leading him down the courthouse steps. "Let's get you out of here before they change their mind."

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"You need to let this go, Pat," Ed pleaded. Things were clearer now. Even in the New World, they were only meat. Minions to the English overlords who regarded them as less than human. He would see no justice for his murdered family. The trial saw to that. It was time to accept this fact and move on. For Liam. And now for Katherine. He gripped his steaming cup of tea reflexively with stubby but able hands, drawing comfort from the routine at his small kitchen table.