“I like the serpent-men myself,” Maureen commented. “They always look to me like they’re enjoying themselves.” Scarlett looked where Maureen was pointing. The bronze mermen knelt in the huge basin on their elegantly coiled scaly tails with one hand on hip, the other holding a horn to the lips.

The men spread rugs under the oak tree Maureen selected, and the women put down their baskets. Mary Kate and Kathleen deposited Patricia’s little girl and Katie’s smallest boy on the grass to crawl. The older children were running and jumping in some game of their own design.

“I’ll rest my feet,” Patricia said. Billy helped her to sit with her back against the tree trunk. “Go on,” she said crossly, “no need for you to spend all day at my elbow.” He kissed her cheek, slid the straps of the concertina off his shoulder, and put it down beside her.

“I’ll play you a fine tune later,” he promised. Then he strolled toward a group of men in the distance who were playing baseball.

“Go get in trouble with him, Matt,” Katie suggested to her husband.

“Yes, go on, the lot of you,” Maureen said. She made shooing motions with her hands. Jamie and his tall sons set off at a run. Colum and Gerald walked behind them with Matt and Billy.

“They’ll be starving when they get back,” Maureen said. Her voice was rich with pleasure. “It’s a good thing we packed food for an army.”

What a mountain of food, Scarlett thought at first. Then she realized that it would probably all be gone inside an hour. Big families were like that. She looked with real affection at the women of her family, would feel equally fond of the men when they came back carrying their coats and hats, their collars open and their sleeves rolled up. She had put aside her class pretensions without noticing their departure. She no longer remembered her uneasiness when she learned that her cousins had been servants on the great estate near where they lived in Ireland. Matt was a carpenter there, Gerald a worker under him doing repairs on the dozens of buildings and miles of fence. Katie was a milkmaid, Patricia a parlormaid. And it made no difference. Scarlett was happy to be one of the O’Haras.

She knelt beside Maureen and began to help her. “I hope the men don’t dawdle,” she said. “This fresh air is making me right peckish.”


When there were only two pieces of cake and an apple left, Maureen began to boil water for tea over a spirit lamp. Billy Carmody picked up his concertina and winked at Patricia. “What’ll it be, Patsy? I promised you a tune.”

“Shhh, not yet, Billy,” said Katie. “The little ones are almost asleep.” Five small bodies were on one of the rugs in the densest shade of the tree. Billy began to whistle softly, then took up the tune with the concertina, almost muted. Patricia smiled at him. She smoothed the hair from Timothy’s forehead then started to sing the lullaby Billy was playing.

On wings of a wind o’er the dark rolling sea

Angels are coming to watch o’er thy sleep;

Angels are coming to watch over thee,

So list to the wind coming over the sea.

Hear the wind blow love, hear the wind blow,

Hang your head over, hear the wind blow.

The currachs are sailing way out on the blue,

Chasing the herring of silvery hue.

Silver the herring and silver the sea

Soon they’ll be silver for my love and me.

Hear the wind blow love, hear the wind blow,

Hang your head over, hear the wind blow.

There was a moment of silence, then Timothy opened his eyes. “Again, please,” he said drowsily.

“Oh, yes, please, miss, sing it again.”

Everyone looked up, startled, at the strange young man who was standing nearby. He was holding a ragged cap in rough, dirty hands in front of his patched jacket. He looked about twelve years old, except that he had a stubble of dark whiskers on his chin.

“Begging your pardon, ladies and gentlemen,” he said earnestly. “I know I’m being too bold, crashing in on your party and all that. But my mam used to sing that song to me and me sisters, and when I heard it, it called my heart over.”

“Sit down, lad,” said Maureen. “There’s cake here with no one to eat it, and some grand cheese and bread in the basket. What’s your name, and where are you from?”

The boy knelt by her. “Danny Murray, milady.” He pulled on the stringy black hair over his forehead, then wiped his hand on his sleeve and held it out for the bread Maureen had taken out of the basket. “Connemara’s me home, when I’m there.” He bit hugely into the bread. Billy began to play.

“On wings of a wind . . .” sang Katie. The hungry boy swallowed and sang with her.

“. . . hear the wind blow,” they finished after three full repetitions. Danny Murray’s dark eyes were shining like black jewels.

“Eat, then, Danny Murray,” Maureen said. Her voice was rough with sentiment. “You’ll need your strength later. I’m going to brew up a pot of tea, then we’ll want to hear more of your singing. Your angel’s voice is like a gift from heaven.” It was true. The boy’s Irish tenor was as pure as Gerald’s.

The O’Haras busied themselves arranging teacups so the boy could eat unobserved.

“I learned a new song I think you might like,” he said while Maureen was pouring the tea. “I’m on a ship that stopped in Philadelphia before it come here. Shall I sing it for you?”

“What’s it called, Danny? I might know it,” Billy said.

“ ‘I’ll Take You Home’ ?”

Billy shook his head. “I’ll be glad to learn it from you.”

Danny Murray grinned. “I’ll be glad to show you.” He tossed the hair off his face and took a breath. Then he opened his lips, and music poured out of him like shining silver thread.

I’ll take you home again, Kathleen,

Across the ocean wild and wide

To where your heart has ever been

Since first you were my bonny bride.

The roses all have left your cheek.

I’ve watched them fade away and die.

Your voice is sad when e’er you speak

And tears be-dim your loving eyes.

And I will take you back, Kathleen

To where your heart will feel no pain.

And when the hills are fresh and green

I will take you to your home, Kathleen.

Scarlett joined in the applause. It was a lovely song.

“That was so grand I forgot to learn,” Billy said ruefully. “Sing it again, Danny, for me to get the tune.”

“No!” Kathleen O’Hara jumped to her feet. Her face was streaked with tears. “I can’t listen again, I can’t!” She wiped her eyes with her palms. “Forgive me,” she sobbed. “I have to go.” She stepped carefully over the sleeping children and ran away.

“I’m sorry,” said the boy.

“Whist, it’s not your fault, lad,” said Colum. “It’s real pleasure you’ve given. The poor girl’s pining for Ireland is the truth of it, and by chance her name is Kathleen. Tell me, do you know ‘The Curragh of Kildare’? It’s a specialty of Billy’s, him with the music box. It would be a rare favor were you to sing with him playing and make him sound like a musician.”

The music went on until the sun dropped behind the trees and the breeze became chill. Then they went home. Danny Murray couldn’t accept Jamie’s invitation to supper. He had to be back at his ship by dark.


“Jamie, I’m thinking I should take Kathleen with me when I go,” said Colum. “She’s been here long enough to get over being homesick, but her heart’s still aching.”

Scarlett nearly poured boiling water on her hand instead of in the teapot. “Where are you going, Colum?”

“Back to Ireland, darling. I’m only visiting.”

“But the Bishop hasn’t changed his mind about Tara, yet. And there’s something else I want to talk to you about.”

“Well, I’m not leaving this minute, Scarlett darling. There’s time for everything. What do you think, with your woman’s heart? Should Kathleen go back?”

“I don’t know. Ask Maureen. She’s been up there with her ever since we got back.” What difference did it make what Kathleen did? It was Colum that mattered. How could he just pick up and leave when she needed him? Oh, why did I just sit there singing with that filthy dirty boy? I should have gotten Colum to go for a walk the way I planned.

Scarlett only picked at the cheese toast and potato soup they had for supper. She felt like crying.

“Oof,” Maureen groaned when the kitchen was tidy again. “I’m going to take my old bones to bed early tonight. Sitting on the ground all those hours has me stiff as a plow handle. You, too, Mary Kate and Helen. Tomorrow’s a school day.”

Scarlett felt stiff, too. She stretched in front of the fire. “Good night,” she said.

“Stay a bit,” Colum said, “while I finish my pipe. Jamie’s yawning so, I can tell he’s about to abandon me.”

Scarlett took a chair across from Colum’s, and Jamie patted her head on his way to the stairs.

Colum drew on his pipe. The smell of the tobacco was sweetly acrid. “A glowing hearth is good for talking by,” he said after a while. “What’s on your mind and your heart, Scarlett?”

She sighed deeply. “I don’t know what to do about Rhett, Colum. I’m afraid I might have ruined everything.” The kitchen was warm and dimly lit, the perfect setting for opening her heart. In addition, Scarlett had a muddled notion that, because Colum was a priest, everything she told him would be kept secret from the rest of the family, as if she were confessing in the cramped little closed booth in the church.