Wanted

Chapter 58

'Jeremiah,' John thought, his heart racing in hopeful anticipation that must have shown in his eyes for McCarthy looked at him suspiciously and held onto him with a firm grip on his good arm as he tried to move passed him towards his bed and trunk. He would need to get his things.

"Not so fast boy, we're not quite finished yet," McCarthy told him and then sent his son to see who was at the door.

Turning his attention back to John, McCarthy told him that he still had some questions to answer, namely about the use of bad language in the first place and what he'd been up to in the livery, and why he didn't come home straight away. John did the usual, pressed his lips together in defiance and stared McCarthy out, determined not to give him any answers. He could do this all day, if need be but with Jeremiah at the door probably only had to hold out a little longer.

"I can wait," McCarthy told him nonchalantly and with equal determination.

But then they were both proven wrong as they heard Blunt's voice from the hallway, telling Horace he had come to see his father, and then Horace telling him to wait in the 'good room'.

John's heart sank, and McCarthy saw that too. Mistaking it for fear he looked at John pityingly, "Don't you worry boy, in this house it's only my belt you have to fear," and then mumbled to himself, "little use it is," under his breath, as he reached for the belt that he had laid on the table.

"I heard," McCarthy told his son when he came rushing back into the kitchen, before he even could tell his father who it was.

"Dad, he brought the sheriff and Father McNally and all," Horace announced anxiously.

"Did he now?" McCarthy asked with contempt in his voice, looking down at John who looked up at him wondering what this might mean for him, "well then Horace, don't leave the good gentlemen waiting, bring them in here."

"Into my kitchen?" his wife asked more shocked than surprised which made Horace pause before following his father's request.

"Yes Clarissa, the kitchen, why not?!" McCarthy replied confidently and then instructed his son to do as he was told and fetch the guests while Mrs McCarthy quickly cleared away some dishes from the table into the sink before she took of her apron and hung it on the back of the door to the pantry.

McCarthy watched his wife hurrying through her kitchen with slight irritation, but then averted his attention back to John whose disappointment now had changed to worry. The clergy and the law that could not mean anything good, and that they had come because of him was a no brainer. His mother used to be scared of them. McCarthy however seemed utterly unimpressed, and John wasn't sure what to make of it. John tried to steal himself away, in the opposite direction this time, towards the back door, but McCarthy stopped him again with a firm grip on his arm.

"Don't be worrying. You do as I tell you and you'll be alright. You see this spot of dirt on that white kitchen tile," McCarthy asked John, having moved his hand to the back of his neck, where he held onto John with just as firm a grip.

"There is no dirt on my floors. I have just finished washing them," Mrs McCarthy protested, as she turned back into the room and joined them to see what her husband was talking about.

John nodded with pursed lips and clenched teeth that were meant to hold his mixed feelings inside.

"You keep your eyes peeled on that speck and don't move from my side, understood?" McCarthy instructed which was meant to reassure John.

Despite not feeling reassured at all, John nodded and when McCarthy gave his neck a little squeeze and faint shake, John followed it up with the desired 'yes sir,' even though this was the last thing he wanted to do. He just wanted to get out of there, crawl into a hole and hide.