Free Flight of the Earls by Michael K. Reynolds

were here to the wee hours, full of drink and full of themselves. My husband finally sent them off barely fit to walk.”
    â€œDo you know where they headed?” Clare asked.
    With her free hand, the woman tucked some of her stringy blonde hair behind her ear. “Away. Which was all I cared about.” Without tarrying for a response, she went into the building and closed the door behind her.
    Clare headed back to the wagon in defeat and confusion. It would take her several hours to walk back to Jack and Colleen’s farm, and with what she knew about the sacrifice they had already made, she couldn’t bear to burden them further.
    She also couldn’t hinder Finn, even though he wasn’t pressing her anymore. He was seated in the driver’s seat, with the reins limp in his hands, patiently awaiting her decision.
    Clare put her hand above her eyes to shield against the morning sun and scanned the road in both directions one last time, desperate to spot approaching silhouettes. Nothing.
    Perhaps she should just go home and beg for her father’s mercy and forgiveness. This all seemed too much for her to bear. But this thought lasted only for a moment, and she grasped on to the last strand of her faltering courage. No. She would not go back. She would not quit.
    Seamus and Pierce must have decided to head on the road to Cork ahead of them. She climbed up on the seat. “Let’s go.”
    Finn flashed a smile of relief and didn’t allow Clare an opportunity to change her mind. The wagon’s joints and wooden planks groaned in protest, and arriving shortly at the main fork in the road, they headed south in the direction of the great port city before them. Behind, the buildings of the small town diminished from her view. Were her chances of meeting up with Seamus and Pierce fading as well?
    She closed her eyes as she cried softly. “Lord. Please bring the boys to me.”
    They covered the miles, each alone to their thoughts, passing vast acreage of field and farm of rich verdure. Clare was surprised by how many were sewn with potatoes. Her father spoke of how the tuber was being touted as the crop that would bring the tiny nation out of the clutches of poverty, and she could see firsthand the land was lined with believers. If the contagion spread throughout the country, this faith would be repaid with tragedy.
    Clare continued to keep a heedful eye in all directions for signs of the boys. If they were on foot, even the plodding wagon would eventually catch them. With each group of sojourners they approached in the road, she would look them over with expectation, but each stranger’s face only added to her growing disillusionment.
    As they were more than halfway to their destination, and with her resolve well tempered, the road began to lead through a forested area. Clouds gathered ominously above and Clare began to rue her choice. She would be in Cork before too long and then what would she do?
    She heard a noise and spun to see two figures running up from behind them.
    â€œWait! I see them.” Clare’s heart lifted as the prodigal sons approached.
    â€œWhoa.” Finn pulled on the reins and the wagon slowed. But when he glanced behind him, his eyes widened and he snapped the reins, clamoring at the reluctant beasts to regain their momentum.
    â€œWhy aren’t you stopping?” Clare shouted above the sudden frenzy.
    â€œTinkers!” Finn’s complete focus was on the road before him.
    Clare turned and saw indeed there were two men gaining ground on them rapidly, and neither of them was her brother or Pierce. Her elation morphed to fear. She heard many stories about gypsies terrorizing the roads of Ireland, but they were rarely seen or heard of in Branlow.
    The tinkers drew closer to where she could hear them panting from the chase, and the horses were too encumbered by the load to offer much of a contest. Within a few moments, the men were on both sides