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“It’s as natural as the fall of leaves in autumn,” said Nora. “Don’t be fashing yourself over what has to come to all of us sooner or later. God decides when our time is due. Be it sudden or slow, He’ll be by our side.”
“Finn doesn’t even have that consolation.” Mother Ross returned to the dishes in the scullery. “I sha’n’t be long, Nora. Pour out the tea when it’s ready.”
Nora Casey was a broad, black-haired, pretty girl with a ready smile and a gentle, affectionate nature. Most of the young men in the village and many of the older as well would have given their right arm for her favours, but she politely refused them all. Flynn Casey was her man. She had loved him since before she even understood the meaning of love, since she was a child almost.
“Such a pair of dovey lovebirds never existed,” Mother Ross once said to Finn. “I’m sure that childhood-sweetheart marriages have as much chance of succeeding as any others, but I’d be just a wee bit happier if Nora had had more boyfriends and more experience of men.”
“Like Caitlin, you mean,” Finn had said.
“Oh, I didn’t mean anything bad about Caitlin,” Mother Ross had said.
“I didn’t think you did. But you’re right about Nora. More experience wouldn’t have done her any harm.”
But Nora had married Flynn Casey, to the surprise of no one in Corrymore, and swore that she would love him till death parted them.
“And if things go on much longer as they are in Ireland,” Ignatius Sweeney had once said, “that may be sooner rather than later. There’s a lot worse trouble coming. I know there is. The whole country’s waiting for it. And Flynn Casey’s involved in it up to his neck.” Here Sweeney drew his finger across his throat.
One day at a fair in Clondarragh an old gypsy woman looked perturbed when Nora coaxed the sceptical Flynn Casey into letting the wrinkled tinker-lady see his hands. Pressed to explain the worried frown, the palmist said in a southern brogue, “He bears the Sign of the Scaffold, a chroí. It’s only the second time I ever seen it, but it’s there all right.”
Flynn had tried to pull his hand away.
“No, let me see, Flynn.” Nora turned to the gypsy woman and asked, “Where is it?”
The old woman still held Flynn’s hand. “There. See? Below the second finger. That’s what we call the Mount of Saturn. If you look you’ll see a cross there. It’s quite distinct. It terminates the Fate line. It’s a sure sign of a sudden and violent death.”
Libros Libertad 