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you’ll make a fortune.” Michael spoke with an angel’s tongue.
    “Then why don’t you do it yourself?” Rafferty asked.
    “Well, because I have to leave, Billy. Kathleen . . .”
    Kathleen’s heart pounded. Was he going to spill their secret now? Though these two young men likely shared darker secrets than that of her child.
    She could not help herself; she stepped out of the thicket of reeds.
    “Is it true, Michael? For whiskey? You stole the grain so whiskey could be made from it? While children starve all around you?”
    Michael and Billy jumped. They looked at Kathleen—at once guilty and defiant.
    “Where else should I have sold it?” asked Michael. “They would have caught me right away if I’d tried anywhere else. The men in the mountains, they keep their mouths shut; never fear. They won’t tell their lordships. They have their honor, Kathleen. No one talks; no one is betrayed.”
    “Except for Billy Rafferty,” Billy grumbled. “You can do as you like with me.”
    “Oh, shut your mouth, Billy!” Michael yelled at him. “You’ve gotten plenty of money for loading three sacks of grain on a mule. I did the rest, as you know. Now pack your things and think about your tidy profit this weekend in Wicklow. You can take over this very Saturday. But think up a good excuse. Can’t you play the tin whistle? Just say I got you a job playing music in the tavern.”
    Reluctantly, Rafferty withdrew. He would have liked to haggle for more money, but he did not like the thunderclouds in Kathleen’s eyes. A woman’s scolding was the last thing he needed. And besides, he felt more like celebrating than fighting. Four good English pounds in his hand! He was rich. Billy Rafferty forgot his anger and strolled back to the village, whistling.
    “You want to send this idiot to Wicklow with whiskey?” Kathleen asked, horrified. “Michael, he’ll give the scheme away as soon as he unpacks the stuff. If he doesn’t choke drinking it all down on the way. Fine, it doesn’t bother me if Billy Rafferty makes himself miserable. But you and I, Michael, we can’t let Trevallion throw the families in the village out on the street.”
    Kathleen told him about Trevallion’s appearance in front of the church.
    Michael bit his lip. “He won’t really do it,” he mused. “But you’re right—we ought to make ourselves scarce before someone suspects something and talks. The best thing would be to disappear tonight.” Michael tried to put his arm around her.
    Kathleen shook him off indignantly. “And if Trevallion does do it?” she yelled at him, disgusted at his cold-bloodedness. “Especially if I run out on him too. He has hopes—likely more than I supposed if I’ve understood Father O’Brien right. It’ll put him in a rage if I up and vanish. Then he’ll do even worse to the village.”
    Michael shook his head. “No. When I’ve vanished, he’ll know who stole the grain. So he won’t need to punish the others.” His eyes flashed. “I’ll just drop off a bottle of whiskey in the barn for him. As a thank you.” He laughed.
    Kathleen did not find any of it funny. “Michael, it’s no good. We can’t make our happiness off the unhappiness of others. Where would the villagers go? There’s no work anywhere. It’s bad enough you stole, and worse Trevallion’s grain ended up in an illegal distiller’s vat instead of the children’s stomachs.”
    Michael shrugged. “I’ll confess it,” he assured her. “Sometime. But Kathleen, I’m thinking of our baby before anything. It ought to grow up in a better country where it needn’t starve. I can’t get the grain back from the vat and into the sacks. So, do you want to go with me now or not?” He wrapped her in his arms.
    Kathleen briefly gave in to Michael’s tender, comforting embrace. But then she found her way back to reality.
    “Of course I’m coming with you!” she said. “But not right away. Not this week, when the village and