Naomi stood by the river, holding Polly against her chest, watching as her son chunked stones across the roiling surface. He managed to get one to bounce and he threw his arms into the air in victory.
"Did you see that, Mama? Did you see?"
"Yes, that was amazing!"
He beamed, then grabbed at another rock. "I can get it further!" His brow screwed in concentration and he set at it.
A birch tree to her right shimmered, and then a wren hopped out onto a nearby branch, its small tail bobbing in rhythm.
She looked at it, her eyes welling. "Oh, look, Johnny. It's a wren. It's here for wren day."
Johnny spun in a circle. "Wren day! Wren day!"
"Your grandpa always loved wren day," she smiled down at him. "He grew up in Ireland. There, the day after Christmas was a special holiday."
"For wrens!"
"Yes, for wrens," she agreed. "The boys would catch a wren and then go around town asking everyone to donate money in order to bury it. Then they'd all have a big dance in the evening, to celebrate."
Johnny smiled up at her. "I like to dance."
"And you're a very good dancer," she agreed. "Your uncle William used to dance with me every wren day. My father would play the fiddle, my eldest sister, Mary, would sing, and we'd dance all night long."
"We should have a dance!"
Naomi glanced back toward the house, hidden through the trees. "I don't know, sweetie. Bill really doesn't like to dance."
Johnny's face fell.
Her heart went out to the small child before her. The wren on the branch hopped closer, and it seemed a sign.
"I'll see what I can do."
He brightened, and he nodded. He seemed to believe she could work miracles.
Somehow, she would.
She brought out the fishing gear, got herself set, and after an hour of chilly, attentive work she had hooked a plump pumpkin seed. Her stomach turned inside out in hunger but she held it in, bringing her prize home. She held it out to Bill as she stepped into the room. "Look what I've got you for Wren Day, Bill! I'll grill it up, just the way you like it."
His eyes lit with interest. "Now that's the way I should be eating," he agreed. "Even if it is for that stupid Mick holiday."
Johnny looked up in confusion. "Grandpa's name is William. Just like Uncle William."
Bill's eyes sharpened. "Mick means he's Irish, you dolt. He was born over in Crack-filth."
Naomi pressed her lips together. "Carrickfergus."
Bill laughed. "Right. And he was dirt poor. The bottom of the bottom." He turned to his son. "So you know what happened?"
Johnny shook his head.
"Well, boy, the English moved in with a giant broom and swept up all the dirt. They gathered up all those louse-ridden kids and packed them into ships. Sent them over to the colonies to be good little slaves."
Johnny looked up at Naomi. "Grandpa was a slave?"
"Many were slaves," agreed Naomi sadly. "But your grandpa was lucky. He was an indentured servant, so he gained his freedom once he turned eighteen."
Bill snorted. "He was definitely lucky. Micks are worse than Negros. You could buy six Micks for the price of one Negro, and if a few died off, you'd still have a few left over."
Johnny's eyes grew wide.
Naomi held the sunfish up. "I should get this ready for you, Bill – I bet you're hungry!"
Bill's eyes fixed on the fish. "Johnny, stop bothering your ma. She's busy."
Johnny dropped his eyes. "Yes, Papa."
Naomi followed her son into the bedroom, then laid his sister down in the crib. She gave her son a kiss, then whispered in his ear, "I'll save you a piece. Don't worry."
His eyes lit up, and he smiled at her.
Naomi returned to the main room and carefully gutted and prepped the fish. Then she stoked up the fire, getting it ready, before kneeling down before it. She attentively grilled the fish until it was crisping on the edges while maintaining that delicate moistness within.
She glanced behind her. Bill had his back to her, pouring a mug full of whiskey.
She bent down, breaking off a corner of the fish and laying it on a stone. Then she turned with the remaining meal. She moved to a plate, sliding the fish off and layering it into pieces.
He smiled in pleasure, breathing in the aroma. "Now this is more like it." He went into action, breaking down the fish, shoveling the pieces into his mouth as quickly as he could. It was only a few minutes before a sprawl of slender bones remained.
He wiped his mouth off on his sleeve, then drank down the rest of his whiskey. He turned to the bottle. He frowned as he held up the empty container.
He drew to his feet. "I'm going to the tavern for the night." The corner of his mouth quirked up into a sharp grin. "Wren day, after all. Need to celebrate."
Naomi held her breath. If she seemed too eager, he might not go. "Are you sure? We could always stay home together and –"
He gave a coughing bark. "Are you deaf, crow woman? I said I'm out of whiskey. I'm not sitting around this house without some liquor to get me through the night."
"Of course," she demurred. "I'm sorry."
He barked a laugh, then burped. He crossed the room and drew on his coat. When he was set, he turned to look toward the bedroom. His brow creased. "Hey, pappy sack. You be good while I'm gone!"
Johnny came to the door of the bedroom. He somberly nodded. "Yes, Papa."
Bill swept his eyes to pin Naomi for a moment, as if to warn her, too, to behave. Then he stepped out into the fading light.
Naomi moved to the door, watching until he disappeared in the far elms. Then she shut the door and moved to the fireplace. She carefully gathered up the remaining piece of fish, calling out, "Johnny!"
He was in his chair in a flash, and she laid down the plate before him with a warm smile. Then she gathered up Polly and sat down alongside him, feeling her daughter as her son joyfully ate the fish meal.
When he had finished with his dinner, she cleaned up the table. She glanced nervously at the door, but she knew that Bill would be gone until early in the morning.
She gathered up Johnny next to her. "Would you like to go see Auntie Elizabeth and do some dancing?"
He eagerly nodded.
She bundled him into his jacket, carefully tucking in the scarf around his slender neck. Next she drew on her own, thin coat. She took one last look around, then stepped out into the darkened night.
The moon shone high overhead, and she took Johnny's hand with a smile, walking the well-known path toward the village. She began humming, and after a moment the words sang out.
"The wren, the wren, the king of all birds,
St. Stephen's Day was caught in the furze,
Although he was little his honor was great,
Jump up me lads and give him a treat."
Johnny laughed in delight. "Jump up me lads! Jump up me lads!"
She tousled his head. "That's right, lambkin."
"But what's a furrs?"
"Furze," she corrected. "Your grandpa says it's an evergreen bush. Sort of like a pine tree, but short and fluffy. It's where little birds like wrens would live in Ireland."
His eyes glowed. "Oh! A bird bush!"
"Exactly. So the boys would go out to catch a wren, on St. Stephen's Day, which is today. And then they'd go door to door asking for money to bury it. The chorus goes:
"Up with the kettle and down with the pan,
And give us a penny to bury the wren."
Johnny swung his arms with delight. "Up with the kettle! Down with the pan!" He turned to his mother. "Mama, why don't we have a kettle?"
"We don't need one," she explained. "We just heat water in our pot, and it does as well. Means there's fewer pots to clean."
He skipped along at her side, his feet making small, round holes in the soft snow. "So what's the next verse?"
She grinned at him.
"As I was going to Killenaule,
I met a wren upon the wall.
I took me stick and knocked him down,
And brought him in to Carrick Town."
"Where's Carrick Town?"
Naomi shrugged. "It's somewhere in the middle of Ireland. I don't really know."
"But you said grandpa came from CarrickFarrus."
"Carrickfergus," she corrected. "That's over on the eastern coast, near England. It's part of why the English could sweep up my father and all his young friends so easily. The soldiers just went up and down the coast gathering up the poor boys and girls."
Johnny frowned. "Why didn't the parents stop them?"
Naomi gave his hand a squeeze. "I'm sure they fought back, but sometimes there's only so much you can do, if the other person is stronger."
Johnny looked up at her with big eyes. "Like you and Papa?"
Her shoulders tensed, and it was a long moment before she nodded. "Like me and Papa."
There was a motion in the shadows up ahead, and she froze. There were robbers throughout Tennessee, and, heck, throughout the entire young country. But she'd never had anything of value to worry about them stealing it.
Until now.
She pressed Polly close to her breast and drew Johnny behind her. The snow glistened in the moonlight, shimmering silver dripping from the fir trees along her side.
Naomi's throat was tight. "Come out. Show yourself."
A moment passed ... then two ... then David stepped from the dark shadows.
She flushed. When she'd met Bill it had been like a tornado hit her. She was swirling, spinning, unsure of her footing and relishing the wild abandon. But when David looked at her, it was deeper, richer, like the sturdiness of the mountains draped in the gentle softness of a morning mist. His gaze was the deep amber of a sunset, and his eyes held hers as if they'd never let her go.
His voice was low with concern. "You shouldn't be out here all alone."
She released her tight clutch on Johnny's hand with a relieved chuckle. "I know. But Bill's off at the tavern again, and Johnny here wanted to dance. In honor of the wren, and all. So I thought we'd come by my brother's house and have some music."
David nodded, falling in at her side as they continued ahead. "I'm sure they'd like that a lot. They're worried about you, you know."
Johnny looked up with big eyes. "Worried about Mama? Why?"
David glanced at Naomi, and his brow creased. "Well, for one thing, she's looking a bit thin."
Naomi's hand automatically moved to her belly. She strove to keep her face even. "I'm ... I'm not feeling well, is all."
Johnny nodded enthusiastically. "She got sick all over the snow yesterday. She was out there for hours."
David's eyes shadowed. "Naomi, are you all right?"
"I'm fine," she reassured him. "I'm sure I'm over that cold – or whatever it was."
"When's the last time you ate?" he prodded.
Johnny beamed with pride. "Momma caught us a fine pumpkin seed! Daddy ate most of it, but she saved me the best piece of all."
David patted his head. "I'm sure she did. She is a good Mama, isn't she."
Johnny glowed. "She's the best in the world."
Naomi's foot caught on a root hidden in the snow, and she tumbled. David's arm swept up around her, sure and firm, bringing her back to her feet. The warmth of him soaked through her, and for a long moment she leaned against him.
Suddenly she remembered seeing David at the wedding. As everyone gathered for the ceremony, Elizabeth had been nervous, almost trembling, in a beautiful dark-blue dress with spring flowers in her hair. The bride-to-be had walked toward the church, stumbled - and David had been right there at her side to be her support. He had seemed so mature and adult, even though Naomi knew now that he was only four years her senior. He had stayed right at Elizabeth's side, soothing her, lending her his strength.
Naomi had thought how lucky Elizabeth was, to have a brother like that, and to be marrying William, who Naomi loved dearly. She wondered if, when it came time for her to marry, if she would be as fortunate.
And then she'd met Bill ...
Naomi wrapped her arms around herself, shivering.
David looked down in concern. "Are you all right?"
She nodded. "I'll be fine. Really."
He nudged his head. "Well, we're almost there. We'll get some hot cider into you, some fresh stew, and I'm sure you'll feel better."
Johnny perked up. "Do you think Aunt Elizabeth will have pecan pie?"
David smiled. "I'm absolutely sure she'll have pecan pie for you."
They rounded the corner, and the village was laid out before them in ivory splendor. Warmth eased through Naomi's heart. It was just the way it should be. Snow traced along the roofs and danced along the edges of the windows. Wagon tracks wore down the path along the center of the road. Elizabeth's home shone with golden light.
Johnny set out at a run, streaming for the house, and Naomi reached out a hand to draw him back.
David patted her reassuringly on the arm. "Let him go. He won't get far."
The gentleness of his hand soothed her, and she drew Polly in closer against her. For a moment, for a brief, shimmering moment, they were almost like her dream of a family. She had children she adored. A man worthy of them stood by her side.
If only it could be true.
Johnny hammered on the front door of the neatly-kept home, and in a moment it was drawn open to laughter and smiles. Hiram tumbled out to draw him into a warm hug. Above him, Elizabeth looked from Johnny out to the street and her grin grew. "Naomi! I'm so glad you could come out! Ready to celebrate St. Stephen's Day with us? You know it was one of your father's favorite holidays."
Naomi nodded, and when Elizabeth put her arms out for Polly, Naomi handed her young daughter over with a smile. David was at her back, helping her with her coat, and it was almost as it should be. One big, happy family, content, relaxing in each other's company.
Elizabeth and William's home was beautifully kept, with polished wood floors and dark blue curtains on the windows. A fire flickered merrily in the fireplace, and a pot of fragrant stew hung over it, setting Naomi's stomach to rumbling. A trio of wooden chairs were pulled up around the fire, and further back was a long wooden table with a bench on either side. A pair of candles at its center flickered with a gentle, welcoming light.
To the left a set of stairs headed up, and Naomi knew that the two bedrooms upstairs gave a privacy to the adults that she could only dream of.
It was an Eden.
Elizabeth turned in place, cuddling the young girl in her arms. "Ah, Naomi, I wish I'd been able to meet your father. He sounds like an amazing man. He must have had all sorts of great stories to tell, of the things he went through."
"He died when I was only ten, so I wasn't able to hear many of them," Naomi murmured. "I remember him swinging me up onto his tall shoulders and running around the yard. I remember him singing songs in a rich, Irish brogue. I would fall asleep to those songs. It soothed my heart."
William walked into the room, smiling at his sister. "He loved our mother dearly," he stated. "And she, him. They used to sing together every night. And when special holidays came around, like Christmas or St. Stephen's Day, it just gave them even more reasons to enjoy life."
Johnny lit up. "Wren's Day!"
William grinned. He tousled his nephew's hair. "La Fheile Stiofan, as your grandpa would say."
Elizabeth took Naomi by the arm. "Why don't we sit down and have a snack, and the boys can do a Wren Day parade for us."
Johnny and Hiram erupted into cheers of delight, but Naomi could barely hear them over the loud gurgling of her stomach. It seemed weeks since she'd eaten properly. She settled down at the table, willing herself to be patient while Elizabeth tucked Polly into a basket, fetched a pottery bowl from the shelf, and moved to the large, cast-iron pot.
Opposite her, William reached up to the top of the shelf and drew down a fiddle, bow, and bodhran. He handed the bodhran over to David, then settled onto one of the chairs by the fire with the fiddle. He plucked experimentally at the strings, tuning it, then looked over at David.
David stood by the fire, his eyes caught on Naomi's.
Naomi soaked him in. She felt ... safe.
Elizabeth moved between them, breaking the spell, and placed the fragrant stew down before Naomi. Naomi took up the spoon and tasted the first mouthful.
She groaned with pleasure.
It was amazing.
David's face eased, and he nodded. Then he began thumping out an intricate rhythm with the bodhran.
William tapped his toe in time, and then he wove his melody in with it. The words flowed out, heavy with an Irish accent, as he sang the song the way he'd learned it from his Irish father.
"The wren, the wren, the king of all birds,
St. Stephen's Day was caught in the furze,
Although he was little his honor was great,
Jump up me lads and give him a treat."
Johnny was in his element now. "Jump up! Jump up!"
Hiram echoed him in delight. "Jump! Jump!"
The two boys leapt and whirled around the living room, laughing in glee.
The song frolicked along.
"Up with the kettle and down with the pan,
And give us a penny to bury the wren."
Johnny and Hiram made hand motions as they went up and down, round and round.
Naomi hummed along with the music. She would have loved to sing, but this food was just too good. Her stomach was demanding she give it more ... more ... more ...
"As I was going to Killenaule,
I met a wren upon the wall.
I took me stick and knocked him down,
And brought him in to Carrick Town."
The boys enthusiastically whacked away at imaginary wrens. Naomi wondered if she should feel sorry for the ghostly birds, but at the moment she couldn't bring herself to care. Little Polly was safely nestled in her basket, snoring away. Johnny was having more fun than he'd had in months. And she was getting full ... she was getting full ...
"Droolin, Droolin, where's your nest?
'Tis in the bush that I love best
In the tree, the holly tree,
Where all the boys do follow me."
Johnny seemed to love that word. "Droolin! Droolin! Droolin!"
Hiram laughed. "Da, why was the wren drooling?"
William chucked at his son. "The word's droolin, and that's Gaelic for wren. Your grandfather would call them droolins all the time."
Hiram seemed to like this explanation, for he joined in with Johnny, swirling around, yelling out, "Droolin! Droolin! Droolin!"
William winked at David, and they kicked the song into a higher gear.
"We followed the wren three miles or more,
Three miles or more, three miles or more.
We followed the wren three miles or more,
At six o'clock in the morning."
Hiram and Johnny took each other's hands and spun around in circles, like a small brown whirlwind. Naomi sat back in contentment, watching them, and then took a long drink on her warm cider. It was rich with fragrant spices.
Elizabeth smiled over at her. "There's more stew, you know."
Naomi shook her head. "I am full, really. That was wonderful, as always."
William played a lively bridge on the fiddle, and then they plowed into the final verse.
"I have a little box under me arm,
Under me arm, under me arm.
I have a little box under me arm,
A penny or tuppence would do it no harm."
The boys raced in circles waving their arms about them. "A penny! A penny! A penny!"
Naomi tapped her fingers on the table in time with the music, a smile glowing on her face.
Elizabeth watched her for a moment, then stood and went over her brother. She took the bodhran from David, deftly maintaining the beat. She nudged her head over to Naomi.
David held Naomi's gaze, then moved to stand above her. He put out a hand.
She looked at it for a long, powerful moment. Just one dance. It couldn't hurt to have a tiny token of fun. To pretend, for a little while, that her world was full of laughter. Of family.
Of love.
She slipped her fingers into his.
The world shimmered away. Her brother's fiddle soared, the rich melody of a freed robin. Elizabeth's voice twined in harmony. The children's laughter filled in the crevices, making it just right.
Naomi's world reformed fresh and new. She was back home again, her mother's rich voice soaring, the fiddle playing, the drumbeat rolling. The boys swirled around her, laughing, cheering.
David moved with her, perfectly in time, his body meant for hers.
Naomi held back the tears. If only it had been David walking along the road, that fateful day. If only it had been David's eyes she had caught; David's world she had been drawn into.
If only it had been David she had ended up with.
How different her life could have been. She wouldn't spend every night crying herself to sleep. She wouldn't spend every morning praying for some way – any way – to get her children away to safety.
David's body turned with hers, spiraling, and she was lost.
The music drew to a rousing finale, and the room filled with cheers and laughter. Then David was gazing down at her, his eyes rich with concern, twined with emotions she found it hard to name.
His voice was rough when he spoke. "Naomi, what is it?"
She opened her mouth to speak.
The front door slammed open, rebounding against the far wall with a crash. A massive shape staggered into the room, bear-like, glowing with fury. Calloused hands clenched into fists, and Bill's eyes shone red with the heat of a thousand fires.
"What the hell is going on here?"