“Thank you, Mrs. O’Hara, but—uh—regulations—-that is, personally I’d like nothing better—but the colonel wouldn’t—um—he’d think—”

“I understand,” said Scarlett kindly. “Maybe some other time?”


The first toast of Harvest Home was to The O’Hara. It would have been the first toast anyway, but now the salute was a loud roar.

72

Winter made Scarlett restless. Except for riding there was nothing active to do, and she needed to be busy. The new fields were cleared and manured by the middle of November, and then what did she have to think about? There weren’t even many complaints or disputes brought to her office on First Sundays. True, Cat could walk across the room herself to light the Christmas candle and there were the New Year’s Day ceremonies of harm brack against the wall and being the dark-haired visitor in town, but even so the short days seemed too long to her. She was warmly welcomed in Kennedy’s bar now that she was known to be supporting the Fenians, but she quickly tired of the songs about the blessed martyrs to Irish freedom and the loud-voiced threats to run the English out. She went down to the bar only when she was starved for company. She was overjoyed when Saint Brigid’s Day arrived on February 1 and the growing year had begun again. She turned the first sod with such enthusiasm that soil flew out in a wide circle around her. “This year will be even better than last,” she predicted rashly.

But the new fields put an impossible burden on the farmers. There was never enough time to do everything that needed doing. Scarlett nagged at Colum to move some more laborers into the town. There were still plenty of vacant cottages. He wouldn’t agree to let strangers in. Scarlett backed down. She understood the need for secrecy about the Fenians. Finally Colum found a compromise. She could hire men just for the summer. He’d take her to the hiring fair at Drogheda. The horse fair would be on, too, and she could buy the horses she thought she needed.

“ ‘Thought,’ my foot, Colum O’Hara. I must have been blind and half-witted too when I paid good money for the plow horses we’ve got. They don’t go any faster than a box turtle on a rocky road. I’m not going to be cheated again that way.”

Colum smiled to himself. Scarlett was an astonishing woman, amazingly competent at many things. But she was never going to best an Irish horse trader, he was sure of that.


“Scarlett darling, you look like a village lass, not landed gentry. No one will believe you can pay for a merry-go-round ride, let alone a horse.”

Her frown was meant to intimidate. She didn’t understand that she really did look like a girl dressed up for a fair. Her green shirt made her eyes even greener and her blue skirt was the color of the spring sky. “Will you please do me the kindness, Father Colum O’Hara, to get this buggy moving? I know what I’m doing. If I look rich, the dealer will think he can stick me with any old broken-down thing he has. I’ll do much better in village clothes. Now come on. I’ve been waiting for weeks and weeks. I don’t see any reason why the hiring fair can’t be on Saint Brigid’s Day when the work starts.”

Colum smiled at her. “Some of the lads go to school, Scarlett darling.” He flicked the reins and they were on their way.

“A fat lot of good that’ll do them, ruining their eyes on books when they could be out in the air earning a good wage besides.” She was cranky with impatience.

The miles rolled by, and the hedgerows were sweet with blackthorn blossoms. Once they were really on their way Scarlett began to enjoy herself. “I’ve never been to Drogheda, Colum. Will I like it?”

“I believe you will. It’s a very big fair, this, much bigger than any you’ve seen.” He knew that Scarlett didn’t mean the city when she asked about Drogheda. She liked the excitement of fairs. The intriguing possibilities in a crooked old city street were incomprehensible to her. Scarlett liked things to be obvious and easily understood. It was a trait that often made him uneasy. He knew she had no real understanding of what danger she courted with her involvement in the Fenian Brotherhood, and ignorance could lead to disaster.

But today he was on her business, not his. He intended to enjoy the fair as much as Scarlett.


“Look, Colum, it’s enormous!”

“Too big, I fear. Will you choose the lads first or the horses? They’re at different ends.”

“Oh, bother! The best ones will get snapped up in the beginning, they always do. I’ll tell you what—you pick out the boys and I’ll go straight for the horses. You come to me when you finish. You’re sure the boys will go to Ballyhara on their own?”

“They’re here for hiring and they’re used to walking. Some of them likely walked a hundred miles to be here.”

Scarlett smiled. “Better look at their feet, then, before you sign anything. I’ll be looking at teeth. Which way do I go?”

“Back in that corner, where the banners are. You’ll see some of the best horses in Ireland at Drogheda Fair. I’ve heard of a hundred guineas and more paid.”

“Fiddle-dee-dee! What a tale teller you are, Colum. I’ll get three pair for under that, you’ll see.”

There were big canvas tents that served as temporary stables for the horses. Ha! thought Scarlett, nobody’s going to sell me an animal in bad light. She pushed into the noisy crowd that was milling around inside the tent.

My grief, I’ve never seen so many horses in one place in my life! How smart of Colum to bring me here. I’ll have all the choice I need. She elbowed her way from one place to another, looked over one horse after another. “Not yet,” she said to the traders. She didn’t like the system in Ireland at all. You couldn’t just walk up to the owner and ask him what he wanted for his animal. No, that was too easy. The minute there was any interest one of the traders jumped in to name a price that was way out of line one end or another and then badger buyer and seller into an agreement in the end. She’d learned the hard way about some of their tricks. They’d grab your hand and slap down on it so sharp it hurt, and that meant you might have bought yourself a horse if you weren’t careful.

She liked the looks of a pair of roans that the dealer shouted were perfectly matched three-year-olds and only seventy pounds the pair. Scarlett put her hands behind her back. “Walk them out in the light where I can see them,” she said.

Owner and dealer and people nearby all protested furiously. “Takes all the sport out,” said a small man in riding breeches and a sweater.

Scarlett insisted, but very sweetly. Catch more flies with honey, she reminded herself. She looked at the horses’ gleaming coats, rubbed her hand over them and looked at the pomade on her palm. Then she caught expert hold of one horse’s head and examined his teeth. She burst out laughing. Three-year-old, my maiden aunt! “Take ’em in,” she said, with a wink at the dealer. “I’ve got a grandfather younger than them.” She was enjoying herself very much.

After an hour, though, she’d only found three horses that she liked both as animal and as a good buy. Every single time she had to coax and charm the owner into letting her examine the horse in the light. She looked enviously at the people buying hunters. There were jumps set up in the open, and they could get a good look at what they were buying, doing what they were buying it to do. They were such beautiful horses, too. For a plow horse, looks weren’t important. She turned away from the view of the jumping. She needed three more plow horses. While her eyes accustomed themselves to the shaded interior of the tent, Scarlett leaned against one of the thick tent supports. She was starting to get tired. And she was only half done.

“Where is this Pegasus of yours, Bart? I don’t see anything flying over the jumps.”

Scarlett’s hands reached for the thick support. I’m losing my mind. That sounded like Rhett’s voice.

“If you brought me on a wild goose chase—”

It is! It is! I can’t be mistaken. No one else in the world sounds like Rhett. She turned quickly, looking into the sunlit square, blinking.

That’s his back. Isn’t it? It is, I’m sure it is. If only he’d say something else, turn his head. It can’t be Rhett. He’s got no reason to be in Ireland. But I couldn’t be wrong about that voice.

He turned to speak to the slightly built fair-haired man beside him. It was Rhett. Her knuckles were white against her hands, so tightly was she holding on to the post. She was trembling.

The other man said something, pointed with his crop, and Rhett nodded. Then the fair-haired man walked away, out of her sight, and Rhett was there alone. Scarlett stood in the shadow, looking out to the light.

Don’t move, she ordered herself when he started to walk away. But she couldn’t obey. She burst from the shadows and ran after him. “Rhett!”

He stopped awkwardly, Rhett who was never clumsy, and he spun around. An expression she couldn’t recognize flickered on his face, and his dark eyes seemed very bright beneath the shading bill of his cap. Then he smiled the mocking smile she knew so well. “You do turn up in the most unexpected places, Scarlett,” he said.

He’s laughing at me, and I don’t care. I don’t care about anything as long as he’ll say my name and stand near me. She could hear her own heart beating.

“Hello, Rhett,” she said, “how are you?” She knew it was a foolish, inadequate thing to say, but she had to say something. Rhett’s mouth twitched.

“I’m remarkably well for a dead man,” he drawled, “or was I mistaken? I thought I glimpsed a widow at the dock in Charleston.”