FicWad

The festival of Imbolc passes quietly. Though there is a battle almost daily, the majority are minor skirmishes that result in only small victories or defeats. Strictly speaking, Lynn should not be staying with Jack. While the ancient Celts brought their wives and children to camp behind them to keep them from fleeing, Kerrigan is not fond of the idea. Lynn follows him into battle so he must watch after his wife rather than his troops. Predictably, Eamon lectures Jack about high casualty figures. Jack pays little heed. In mid-February, long after Jack’s siblings left, the five Senatorial Generals are called back to Bridgeton to fulfill their function as Senators. Lynn comes along knowing that she will be sent home.

The matter called upon is a war funding proposition. Jack does not know if it will pass. What he does know is that the emergency fund allotted in case of attack is about to run out. He stops at his house to change into a clean uniform. He is delighted to see how nice Shane has kept the house, however he is greatly saddened to see the little shrine his wife has built upon his low dresser. There, next to his crystal decanter of whiskey, sit a portrait of him, a couple of letters, two of the ribbons he uses to tie back his long hair, one of his neckties, a couple of strands of hair that must have come either from his spare hair brush or his pillow, the white dress gloves and green top hat that he wore during their wedding, and a stash of green-flamed candles that Lynn admits to burning at night.

Jack leaves for the meeting as soon as he has changed into his clean uniform. It is noon when the fallen Angel who is the Senate House stable boy takes Spectre’s reins. Once Jack enters, the entire Senate falls silent. All eyes are on him. Kerrigan and Maire stand and bow their heads in silent respect. The other twenty-two Senators including Julius follow their example. Nobody sits until Jack has taken his seat in the topmost row next to Kerrigan.

One of the Senators two rows in front of Jack stands to make an announcement. Jack knows that announcements are never made except to inform absent Senators of previous votes. “I would like to announce the handing out of medals. Our presenters stand in the hall outside. Before we can discuss funding, we must honor two of our own who have been nominated for and chosen to receive high honors from the Senate. We all know of what these two did and what they gave to keep our nation free from invaders. I first request that we fall silent and bow our heads again for the chiming of the bell to signify the sacrifice given.” The Senators stand and bow their heads while a bell chimes five times. “The Senator who nominated the recipient of the first award specifically requested that the recipient’s son present the medal. He is, indeed, home from boarding school for this. Come in, Jason.”

Jack and Maire both sit forward when Jason walks in. Despite all his mother’s insistence, he has a strong streak of Jack in him. While not exactly eloquent, even Maire has willingly admitted that Jack has a certain charm which Jason inherited. Jason is also bold like his father. “I would like ye to know what I felt when I read a letter sent to me about me da’. I was told he was shot five times and might die. I was scared. All the other kids have two parents together. I have two separate, and I don’t want to lose me da’. He was real sick after Yule. His friends took care o’ me, but I don’t want that to be all the time. When he was shot, I was told I couldn’t play with him if he came home and couldn’t visit him if he didn’t. I was told he might not live, but, if he did, he could be hurt forever. He’s the only da’ I’ve got. I was worried I’d never see him again. I love me da’, and nothing could ever replace him. I’m just happy he’s here now. Da’, this medal’s being given to ye for bravery. Ye went into battle badly hurt just so ye could be wi’ your men. That makes ye a hero, but ye were already me hero. Come down here.”

The entire Senate stands again. Jack makes his way down to the floor at a much slower pace than his customary brisk walk. The residual pain of his injuries, though greatly diminished, is still significant enough to affect his life. Jack looks almost stately walking slowly and carefully down to the center of the semicircular floor. “Dia dhuit, a mhic,” he says.

“On—” begins Jason, trying to remember the words.

“Behalf,” suggests a Senator.

“On behalf of the Vampire Senate and the Vampire people, I present Senatorial General Jack Shepherd with these two medals. The first is for sacrifice in the line of duty and the second for bravery in combat. Please kneel.” Jack carefully kneels on the slick marble floor. He is surely less stately doing this than he was getting there. Jason pins the two medals side by side on his father’s green wool jacket as neatly as he can manage. “Please rise.”

Jack stands and returns to his seat, and Jason leaves. As Jack passes her seat, he thinks he hears Maire whisper her congratulations. Then Death enters. He is a more practiced orator than Jason. “Again, I am called upon to speak publicly. Again, I know what I must say. Again, I struggle to make protocol personal. With a job like I am bound to, being too personal can destroy both parties involved. I got a chance to see another side of things. Normally when someone dies, I show up and take their soul. Leaving job details out for you, I would like to tell you what happened this time.

“I was supposed to take two or three souls. I cannot always tell. I knew that Senatorial General Shepherd had been displaced from his lodgings due to a row and was staying with my mother. I also knew that an assassin had been sent to kill my mother. The assassin did not see her, but he feared a struggle with Senatorial General Shepherd if he went looking, so he shot him. My mother killed the assassin, but surely she did not want her dear friend to die.

“I showed up on time as usual. There was nothing unusual. People try to save their friends all the time. Sometimes they succeed, other times they do not succeed, but success is relative. Eventually they will not succeed. Anyhow, I showed up to claim the Senatorial General and the assassin. I am personally glad that my mother was not seriously injured, though she still bears a bandage upon her arm where she cut herself so that, by her own blood, her friend might live.

“In her attempt to save him, I saw a side of her that I rarely have seen. I saw pure rage turned to help another. She, despite her great wealth, is hard-working and selfless. She was just angry enough to keep him alive.

“The most unusual piece of the event was what happened to me. I took the assassin. He was already gone. Nobody could have saved him. The single most unusual experience, more so than this foreign side of my mother, was the fact that she asked me to help save him. It is not often that I get the opportunity to help save a life. I cannot begin to describe the feeling.

“On behalf of the Vampire Senate and the Vampire people as well as on behalf of Senatorial General Jack Shepherd and myself, I call my mother to the floor. I shall not ask her to kneel, for I would never be able to put the medal on her, but do not fret, for it shall be placed. Senatorial General Kerrigan Sheehan, you have earned this medal for giving what it took to save the life of a dear friend and fellow officer. Thank you, also, for giving me the opportunity to see what it is like to save, rather than take, a life.”

Death bends down, having already pinned the medal onto his mother’s jacket, and receives a kiss on each cheek from her. Kerrigan returns to her seat, and the Senator who made the announcement stands again. “Given that our Senatorial Generals only returned after today’s luncheon, the rest of us voted to suspend debate for the funding appropriations until morning.”

Jack turns to Kerrigan and exclaims, “This is it!”

“This is what, Jack?”

“D’ye remember how I promised that man outside Bridgeton that I’d think o’ his little ones?”

“I do.”

“D’ye remember me sayin’ I’d be after puttin’ a wee bit o’ money for a new school in a defense bill?”

“I do.”

“I’m doin’ it. I’ve the need to bring the childer in wi’ me on the morrow.”

“Jack, do you really think that well-advised?”

“Nay, but d’ye think I can convince these bastards to help in any other way?”

“I suppose not.”

Jack sets off toward the other side of Bridgeton where Mike is preparing to open his pub for the night. When he arrives at the old part of the city, he dismounts and leads his horse so as not to look down on its citizens any more than his height already forces him to do. He tramps through slush and mud and slips on icy streets. This area, which he recalls having been told was once the most prosperous in all of Hell, is now impoverished. The old king had cut it off from trade and forced the farmers in the outlying area to leave their fields fallow or have their crops and homes burned. What little food was produced was often confiscated and allowed to rot. The desperate citizens sold the gold and marble that made and decorated their homes for food. Many left completely, moving far north to the sea. The old city was burned to the ground. Many of the residents who stayed died from exposure, disease, or starvation. Corpses littered the streets, and the living were often found lying among the dead, either wailing and mourning or too tired, ill, or hungry to keep moving. That was Jack’s first winter away from the twins. He had no house of his own at the time and very nearly did not survive. The story was the same across the Vampire District. The king was a jealous man. In fact, the reason Jack moved to the Vampire District in the first place was a decree stating that all Vampires claiming no other lineage were forbidden from inhabiting any other nation of Hell. The king did not like the residents of Bridgeton and several other cities, mainly those in the south, because they refused to worship him. He punished them for many centuries in little ways, but by the time Jack arrived on the heels of his decree, the wealth had long since resettled and the old city was a week away from burning.

He personally laid cobblestones on some of the streets he now walks, cursing the king’s high name with each stone. That was how he met the Kings, the Malones, the Cranes, the Sparrows, the O’Caseys, the Callahans, the O’Farrells, and the Flannigans. Mr. Flannigan had taken a Leprechaun for a wife, and they had a small son by the name of Aiden who was the first child born after the flames died down. There were more builders, of course. They were a strange work crew, but they were the best. None of them were old enough to remember the city’s old wealth. None of them had wives or children except Mr. Flannigan, and none of them had property. They laid streets, built buildings, cursed the king by day, and drank, fought, and chased women by night.

Jack opens the door of The Crane and Sparrow and quickly ducks a bottle thrown at his head by Bridget Crane. The baby is crying; the two youngest boys are fighting over dinner. The eldest boy is reading in one of the corner booths as if nothing is happening. The other two school-aged boys are running around playing under the tables. Jack can tell that the boys are making a considerable amount of noise, but he cannot understand them. All he can figure out is what Mike and Bridget are saying amid the crash of tables and chairs flying, bottles and lanterns breaking, and tin candleholders and iron decorations clattering to the floor.

“I’m goin’ out!” Bridget screams. “I’d like to see ye or anyone else stop me!”

“What of the children, Biddy?”

“Do it yourself.”

“But, Bid, I’ve the need to open the pub.”

“'I’ve the need to open the pub.' Ach, me arse! Jus’ keep the boys here, or, better yet, don’t open a’ ‘tall.”

“Bid, ye ken I’ve the need to. If I don’t we’ve no money. No money means no house an’ no food.”

“I’m sure Jack’d take ye in. I don’ see why ye don’ jus’ ask ‘im.”

“A little thing called decency an’ self-reliance. I work to keep this family alive. Decency? Work? Ever heard’ve ‘em?”

“I work just as yard as ye.”

“Doin’ what? Sittin’ on your arse, ye stupid hussy?”

“Did ye jus’ call me a hussy?”

“’Course I did! Is your ears broken?”

Bridget emits a terrible shriek and lunges after Mike. He puts the bar between himself and his wife. She corners him and starts beating him mercilessly. She hits him with several bottles. Some shatter and cut him upon impact. Others leave bruises or rip skin off his face, shoulders, and arms. He hardly reacts. He merely slips around her and into the room, feeling behind him so he does not trip. She begins throwing chairs and upturning tables. The school-aged boys who were playing usher their younger brothers who had been fighting upstairs. They hide them in a closet while the younger of them retreats into a trunk and the elder under a bed. The baby is still screaming, her cries unanswered. The eldest boy is still reading downstairs, not at all fazed by his mother’s brutality on the man who took him in spite of being of no blood relation to him and whom he calls his father. When she has had enough of throwing tables and chairs, she picks up the wrought iron fireplace poker and swings it like a club. With each hit it makes a sickening crack as it breaks a rib. Mike’s left arm hangs limply at his side. Finally she swings it so hard that it sends him reeling across the room. He lands heavily on the ground where she lifts her skirt above her ankles and breaks what Jack figures must be the remainder of Mike’s ribs by kicking them. She then jumps on his legs until they both snap. He does not scream, fuss, or cry.

“I’d like ye to be after callin’ me a hussy now.”

“Oh, Bid…” Mike moans. “Bid…”

“Aye, Mike?” she says in her sweetest voice, the venom of insincerity just below the surface.

“Ye’re a damned hussy,” he says with a voice as cold and hard as the iron poker with which she hit him.

“An’ ye’re an insolent bastard,” she says, grabbing a very large, very sharp knife off the bar and stabbing him three times before her son finally reacts, running over, though he is unable to prevent two more stab wounds.

As soon as he sees that she has a knife, Mike says, “Go ahead. Kill me. I’d like to see ye try.” His voice is shaky and somewhat wheezy but forceful.

The oldest son throws himself on his mother. She sends him flying, but he gets hold of the knife. She only storms upstairs and changes her dress, not seeing her sons hiding in the closet. Jack steps aside upon her return and, despite, his vibrant hair, remains unseen in Bridget’s blind rage. As soon as she slams the door behind her, Jack rushes over to Mike.

“Don’ die on me. Please, oh please, Mike. Don’ die.”

“Get… the… boy.”

Jack walks over to the corner where Michael’s adopted son lies immobile. “Son, what’s your name?” Jack asks.

“Da’?”

“No. ‘Tis Jack.”

“Where’s me da‘?”

“Mike’s hurt. Your da’s dead. He died ‘afore ye were born.”

“Help me.”

“I will. Tell me your name.”

“Jack.”

“What?”

“Me name… ’s Jack Crane.”

“How old’re ye?”

“Nine. Be ten in June.”

“Stay wi’ me. What hurts?”

“Me ‘ead.”

“Follow me hand wi’ jus’ your eyes. ‘Tisn’t serious. How ‘bout your slats? Can ye breathe all right?”

“Fine.”

“Your legs?”

“Fine.”

“Your arms?”

“Left one’s a little sore.”

“Where?”

“Wrist.”

“We’ll bandage it an’ your ‘ead for now.”

The two Jacks go upstairs together. The younger one calls his brothers out. “Michael, Francis, James, Joseph, ‘tis safe.”

Michael Junior brings baby Maggie with him and hands her to Jack, who does not know what to do any more than the boys do. She refuses the bottle on the kitchen counter upstairs, so he sings her to sleep with the lullaby that he was taught when he was young himself, and tells the younger boys to watch her upstairs and only come down if he calls them or if something happens to one of them or the baby. Michael Junior and Jack Crane accompany Jack downstairs. The boys are unafraid.

When they reach Mike, he is somehow still conscious. The sound of his daughter’s cries ending gave him a great deal of comfort. Jack, whose bullet wounds still twinge and whose back has plagued him since he fell off the roof of McFinn’s, kneels down on the floor next to Mike. Mike is mumbling faintly, but Jack knows exactly what it is.

“I n-ainm an athar, agus an mhic, agus an sprid naoimh, áiméin.

“Creidim i nDia, an tAthair Uilechumhachtach, Cruthaitheoir Nimhe agus Talún, agus i nÍosa Críost a Aonmhac san ár dTiarna, do gabhadh ón Spriod Naomh, do rugadh ó Mhuire ógh, d'fhulaig páis fé Phointeas Píolóid, do céasadh ar an gcrois, fuair bás agus d'adhlacadh, chuaigh síos go hifreann, d'aiséirigh an treas lá ó mhairbhe, chuaigh suas ar neamh, tá ina shuí ar dheasláimh Dé an tAthair Uilechumhachtach, as san tiocfaidh ag tabhairt bhreithiúntais ar bheo is ar mhairbh. Creidim sa Spriod Naomh, sa naomh-Eaglais Chaitliceach, i gComaoine na Naomh, i Maithiúnachas na bPeacaí, i nAiséirí na Colla, is sa Bheatha Shíoraí. Áiméin.”

“Mike, ye’ll live or die by the end’ve your rosary.” Jack tries to remember what Kerrigan did for him. It being the poorest city in Hell, no doctor will be nearby to help. Jack worries most about the legs. Even blood will not heal them if they are not close to set.

“Ár nAthair, atá ar neamh, go naomhaítear t'ainm, go dtaga do ríocht, go ndeintear do thoil ar an dtalamh mar a deintear ar neamh. Ár n-arán laethúil tabhair dhúinn inniu, agus maith dhúinn ár gcionta mar a mhaithimíd do chách, agus ná lig sinn i gcathú, ach saor sinn ó olc. Áiméin.”

Jack splints Mike’s arm. “’Twill be all right.”

“Sé do bheatha, a Mhuire, atá lán de ghrásta, tá an Tiarna leat. Is beannaithe thú idir na mná agus is beannaithe toradh do bhroinne, Íosa. A Naomh-Mhuire, a Mháthair Dé, guigh orainn na peacaigh,anois agus ar uair ár mbáis. Áiméin.”

Jack starts putting Mike’s left leg into a similar splint made of whatever hard objects he can find and old sheets from upstairs. “Ye’re gonna make it. Jus’ don’ give up.”

“Sé do bheatha, a Mhuire, atá lán de ghrásta, tá an Tiarna leat. Is beannaithe thú idir na mná agus is beannaithe toradh do bhroinne, Íosa. A Naomh-Mhuire, a Mháthair Dé, guigh orainn na peacaigh,anois agus ar uair ár mbáis. Áiméin.”

Jack bandages the lower part of Mike’s leg. “Ye’ll pull through. C’mon, Mike. C’mon.”

“Sé do bheatha, a Mhuire, atá lán de ghrásta, tá an Tiarna leat. Is beannaithe thú idir na mná agus is beannaithe toradh do bhroinne, Íosa. A Naomh-Mhuire, a Mháthair Dé, guigh orainn na peacaigh,anois agus ar uair ár mbáis. Áiméin.”

“Shite! Mike, keep prayin’. Keep goin’. ‘Twill be all right. Jus’ don’ let go.” Jack sees the amount of blood Mike has already lost. He cannot work any faster. He is fighting time.

“Glóire don Athair is don Mhac is don Spriod Naomh, mar a bhí ar dtúis, mar atá fós, is mar a bheidh trí shaol na saol. Áiméin.”

Jack searches around for more objects from which he can make another splint. “Hold on, Mike. Hold on.” He feels helpless and becomes frantic.

“An t-Allas Fola

“Ár nAthair, atá ar neamh, go naomhaítear t'ainm, go dtaga do ríocht, go ndeintear do thoil ar an dtalamh mar a deintear ar neamh. Ár n-arán laethúil tabhair dhúinn inniu, agus maith dhúinn ár gcionta mar a mhaithimíd do chách, agus ná lig sinn i gcathú, ach saor sinn ó olc. Áiméin.

“Sé do bheatha, a Mhuire, atá lán de ghrásta, tá an Tiarna leat. Is beannaithe thú idir na mná agus is beannaithe toradh do bhroinne, Íosa. A Naomh-Mhuire, a Mháthair Dé, guigh orainn na peacaigh,anois agus ar uair ár mbáis. Áiméin.”

Jack returns with two towels, an old shirt, a rake from upstairs and a hoe from the shed behind the pub. "Nearly done puttin’ ye straight.”

“Sé do bheatha, a Mhuire, atá lán de ghrásta, tá an Tiarna leat. Is beannaithe thú idir na mná agus is beannaithe toradh do bhroinne, Íosa. A Naomh-Mhuire, a Mháthair Dé, guigh orainn na peacaigh,anois agus ar uair ár mbáis. Áiméin.”

Mike turns his head and spits out blood and teeth that had been knocked loose. Despite the gravity of the situation, Jack cannot help but make jokes. “D’ye get extra points for that 'r summat?”

Mike continues to pray while Jack lays farm implements on either side of his leg and ties a towel around the upper part to hold it in place. “Sé do bheatha, a Mhuire, atá lán de ghrásta, tá an Tiarna leat. Is beannaithe thú idir na mná agus is beannaithe toradh do bhroinne, Íosa. A Naomh-Mhuire, a Mháthair Dé, guigh orainn na peacaigh,anois agus ar uair ár mbáis. Áiméin.”

Jack begins to tie the final splint. “Not so bad, is it?”

“Sé do bheatha, a Mhuire, atá lán de ghrásta, tá an Tiarna leat. Is beannaithe thú idir na mná agus is beannaithe toradh do bhroinne, Íosa. A Naomh-Mhuire, a Mháthair Dé, guigh orainn na peacaigh,anois agus ar uair ár mbáis. Áiméin.”

“Scream if I hurt you.” Jack finds the strongest liquor in Mike’s back room and takes two bottles. Most of Mike’s injuries are only cuts and bruises. Jack asks Mike’s sons to find two clean rags and to get the dirt out of the cuts with the alcohol. Jack ties the old shirt around Mike’s head as soon as the boys clean out the injuries to the back and sides of his head.

“Sé do bheatha, a Mhuire, atá lán de ghrásta, tá an Tiarna leat. Is beannaithe thú idir na mná agus is beannaithe toradh do bhroinne, Íosa. A Naomh-Mhuire, a Mháthair Dé, guigh orainn na peacaigh,anois agus ar uair ár mbáis. Áiméin.”

Mike’s apprentice walks in on the gruesome scene. “Can I help?”

“Clean up the mess. I don’ think Mike’ll be up t’night. Once ye’re done, fetch either McAlpin next door or O’Shea two doors down.” Jack takes the knife that Bridget used to stab Mike and slices his own hand open. Mike does not stop saying his rosary, even while his ribs begin to shift and his teeth begin to grow back in. Mike’s apprentice brings O’Shea, as McAlpin closed his shop early. Upon seeing Mike, he immediately helps Jack bring him upstairs to bed. Jack and Sullivan stay by Mike’s side until he finishes his rosary. Sullivan asks about business. Mike asks him to help with opening and closing and to check in if he can but says to let the apprentice handle it. Jack asks if he can borrow Mike’s three eldest boys to convince the Senate to build a decent school. Mike tells his boys to pack their things. Jack asks if Mike needs more help and Mike asks him to take the other children.

“An’ Bid? What if she returns?”

“I suppose I’ll stay elsewhere.”

“Ye can stay wi’ me,” Jack says.

“’Tis too far. I need to keep an eye on the pub.”

“I’ll let ye stay wi’ me long as ye like,” says Sullivan.

“Thankee.”

Jack takes Michael’s children with him. They find some of their classmates and their teacher, a man by the name of David Byrne with slick black hair and a black suit tattered at the cuffs and threadbare at the elbows and knees. Many of the students’ parents know Jack well, so they have no trouble letting him take the children overnight, especially knowing Mr. Byrne will be there. The parents know that their children will get breakfast and lunch, which is more than most of them could offer. Jack leads the procession as far as the edge of District Five on foot, carrying Mike’s daughter Margaret. When they cross into the affluent side of the city, he hails cabs for them and leads the way to his house. Some of the students have been there, but the rest are awestruck by the size and opulence, in much the same manner as Jack is every time he visits Kerrigan. Many of them never knew that there was anything besides poverty.

When he goes inside to fetch the money to pay the drivers, Jack finds his ex-wife on the sofa chatting with his new wife. Maire hands him John and Jason and leaves, greeting in passing the children staring in awe, as Kerrigan warned her of Jack’s grand scheme. Jack puts Jason down and pays the carriage men for the night, asking them to be back at eight in the morning. Lynn seems delighted to have thirty or so school-aged children in the house in addition to Mike’s three youngest, the younger Malones, Jason, and John. Jack finds beds for all of them in his guest rooms. Shane offers to watch the babies insisting that he can sleep all day and that Jack and Lynn deserve some alone time, which they spend sitting together in an armchair by the fireplace in their bedroom listening to the wind outside and speaking softly.

“I wish it didna have to happen like this.”

“As do I, but there’s no point in sulking, Jack. What’s done is done. At least you lived.”

“Did ye think I wouldn’t?”

“Honestly, yes. I was sick with worry. That’s why we came to see you.”

“I always lands on me feets. ‘S almost sortive a curse.”

“How so?”

“Well, take Mike’n his brother—” Jack begins.

“Which Mike?”

“Mike Crane Senior. He’s been through shite ye wouldn’t b’lieve. He’s from Earth, like meself. I fought in the War’ve the Roses, left the year after it began to fight for York. Me da’, me real da’, fought for England at the very end’ve the Hundred Years War ‘swell ‘s the early bits o' the war I fought in. Mike was a fair bit older’n me. He lived in Ulster. His name was from where he’s from. ‘S a place called Cranfield Point south’ve Belfast. I was on’y eight when he died. He was hanged. I ain’ the one t’say whether what he did to get hisself hanged was wrong or right. What I will say is that he was a good Catholic an’ that his father’s family had bad blood that made him what he is. He died in the summer’ve fourteen forty-nine. He was hanged for protectin’ his land, the land o’ his fathers ‘afore him, his crops, an’ his brother, da’, ma’, wife, an’ kids. ‘Tisn’t easy to get Mike angry. They took his kid brother for a toy. They stole his food an’ his wife an’ little childer. He’s never asked me, but I’ve tried several times to find ‘em an’ can’t. Because of his bloodline, all his children’ll be in Hell somewhere an’ Vampires.”

“So, he lost his wife and children and was hanged?”

“Aye, an’ he’s blamed hisself since for his little brother Francis, little Frank, gettin’ rammed up the arse by a British soldier.”

“He was…”

“Aye. They shot Frank some years later. I remember me aunt an’ uncle hopin’ they’d not be after the sheep that summer. I was eight, nearly nine. Shane was seven in May. Shannon turned four that November. The twins turned two on Litha. Now, when Frank dies, he finds Mike. Apparently, Mike wasn’t always so gaunt. Wi’ out his wife, he’d got to worryin’ an’ blamin’ hisself for his brother. When they was reunited, I was still alive, but from what I’m told, ‘twas brilliant. They had a rare oul’ time livin’ the live o’ Reilly. ‘Swhen I met ‘em. Mike looked after his brother real close, like, but Frank still got gutted an’ died durin’ the Revolution. Right in front’ve Mike, too. Nothin’ he coulda done. He was the first’ve our unit to go. On’y ten’re left out o’ twenty-five. When Frank died again, Mike, he lost everythin’. Frank dyin’ took a part’ve Mike wi’ him to the grave. He’s not smiled since. For a while, he was drinkin’ real bad. Same when he got here. I’d not be surprised if he started again.”

“Why?”

“He’s a wive by the name’ve Bridget. He an’ a fellow named Sparrow opened a pub. One day, Sparrow up an’ leaves sayin’, ‘I’s got a family. I can’t do this no more.’ So, about two decades later, round eleven years ago, Sparrow’s daughter shows up lookin’ for work. She was trouble from the start. Soon after, she finds out she’s pregnant an’ says ‘tis his. Her da’ puts a shotgun to Mike’s chest an’ tells him to marry Bid or die. He did. ‘Twasn’t his son, but he stayed an’ raised the boy. They’ve five’ve theirs as well, but he runs the pub an’ takes care’ve them. Bid’s no mother. She locked the boys in a closet an’ put the baby girl in a sink. That was the day I met ye. She beats Mike in front’ve the kids. He don’t even say ‘no.’ He don’ push her off or nothin’. I put him back together this time. On’y thing keepin’ him from lettin’ go is his baby daughter. I think she reminds him o’ the baby girl he lost on Earth.”

“Poor man.”

“Aye. I’ve half a mind to report Bid an’ have her taken, but they’d take the childer, sayin’ they need a ma’. It’d kill Mike, what’s left’ve him. Then where’d they be when Bid gets out?”

“Poor Mike.”

“Did I mention he’s nothing to call his own. Not two gold to rub together? He’s the pub, an’ they live upstairs. That’s all. ‘Tis better’n some, but Bid spends whatever he’s got on drink an’ pretty dresses.”

“Poor man. Poor thing. Why don’t you just help him out?”

“He’d have none’ve it. The people of District Thirteen, especially Bridgeton an’ the outlyin’ area, especially the old fightin’ men, is proud. We’d not let ye give us a copper. That’s why ‘tis so hard to save. I’ve been tryin’ these fifty-odd years. Faith, ‘tis been so long.”

“Come to bed, you have quite the fight in the morning.”

“True.”

“Jack?”

“Mm?”

“When were you born?”

“Fifth December fourteen-forty.”

“When did you die?”

“Twelfth February fourteen seventy-six.”

“You were?”

“Thirty-five. Aye.”

“You had a good run for your time.”

“Not for the ones who escaped plague. I lost two wives. One to typhus, the other to childbirth. Me third wife kicked me out into the snow. I’d’ve gotten a few more years at least. Maybe enough to see me childer grow up.”

“Faith, ye’ve not had the best o’ luck either.”

“Mine I can live wi’, for, as I told ye, I always lands on me feet.”