The Birth of Seamus

Seamus was born on the side of a dusty road in the back of a rickety coach during the worst drought in 100 years. His father, Agnius McGillicus O’Leary, was out of work and out of sorts. He was a small man with not much to show for all his bloodshed and cursing, typically making his living as a ranch-hand for the wealthiest man in the county. With a small log cabin built by his own earth-stained hands, Agnius depended on the goodwill of others to keep his family well-fed, well-cared for and well educated. The latter, as came to light, was really of little consequence so long as Aggy was lubricated with the brown bourbon his own father taught him to make. Seamus’ mother, Lord bless her, was a gentle woman of a half-tonned girth, happily sweating the day away as she birthed babies and raised folks to be proud, Western Americans. She loved to cook, sew and, above all, eat. Though her name is of very little consequence and she will make no more appearances in this work after the birth of our protagonist, it was Rachel Loveless O’Leary.

“Aggy,” she said as the wagon-wheels found every hole in the road, every bump, every loose rock. “Aggy,” she wheezed, sweat coming down her brow though it was shaded against the 2 in the afternoon summer-sun, “I think it’s time.”

“Oh, you poor goat,” said Aggy, “you wouldn’t know another birth of a babe from a casual growling of the stomach. We both know they feel the same to ya. Not to worry, lass, we’ll make it to market and back before the wee one’s out.”

“No, no, I don’t think so, Aggy. I don’t think so at all. Matter of fact, my god this hurts like the devil and if I were to lay blame, I’d lay it on you and the Lord himself for the terrible pain, matter of fact, I think the wee one’s coming on a might strong and will be here on this good earth momentarily.”

“It’s just heartburn, Love.”

“Heartburn, nothing Agnius. I say I’m having a baby and by God, I am. Pull this buggy over and let the thing happen, will ya!” Agnius pulled the horses to a trot, coming along the gulley and stopping under some dogwood trees. The girl’s water broke and she stifled a gasp. The three children already in the back of the flat got out, dusted themselves off properly and walked over to the dying stream to wash their faces and rinse the backs of their necks. The grit came on something fierce when the wind kicked up the golden-brown dirt along the roadside. Only little Tristan stayed behind as he was the youngest and knew no better. He was all wide-eyed with his bangs in his face, wiping them away with a flick of his tiny wrist every now and again, brushing them out of his eyes with a quick burst of his breath between pursed lips. He grabbed a hold of Rachel’s skirt tail and held on for dear life.

“Everything’s ok, mama?,” he asked. “Mama, what’s happening?”

“Looks like your little brother is making a scene and coming along a little early.”

“Well, I don’t want him anyway. If you want, we can drown him in the gulley.”

He said this without thinking and with little relish for the act. However, being the youngest, he was prone to getting his way and thought this the grandest idea as it would keep the universe in working order. Rachel had little thought for it and let the back of her hand tell him so. She swiped him, knuckles first, across his face with such force that he fell from the wagon into the mashed and withered grass beneath the tree.

The horses whinnied in the shade as she pronounced, “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that Tristan Michael O’Leary. Now go wash your face and dust off your backside.” The boy walked away ashamed and a little frightened of his gigantic maternal figure. More than his father, Tristan feared the wrath of his mother. After all, she was always home, always watching him like a hawk, while his father, though he meant well, was but a shadow in the mind of the young boy.

The children continued in their parts as silent playmates while Rachel heaved to and fro, causing the buggy to shake and creak under her enormous weight. Agnius unhitched the horses and pegged them to the dry soil, wiping his brow in the heat. They grazed on the scraps about here and there, gritting and grinding their teeth through the soil, getting to the little nourishment left in the earth. The crows settled on the branches of the dogwood again, only rustling at the sounds of her discomfort.

"Dammit boy, come on now. We’re nearly there, aren’t we? Aren’t we, dear lad?" Her eyes glistened even in the shade and her dress was soaked through. “Come on, Aggy, come on now, mate.” Agnius walked to her angry heels and peered under her skirt, tentative and quiet. The blood and water mixed into a stomach-churning visage and the man wretched there in the grass, unhappily sulking. Pulling himself together, he pulled out a kerchief from his back pocket and massaged the sick out of the corners of his mouth.

“Sorry there, love. It’s a usual occurrence. I’m ready for him, now. Happens every time, I swear to the Lord Almighty.”

“They’ll be none of that, now. Not in this heat, this drought. You know He’ll punish us. You know it.”

“Alright then. Forget I mentioned the Lord Almighty, dear love. Just push when you’re ready.” She grit her teeth, closed her eyes and pushed, screaming like a banshee abandoned. The small boy came out quickly enough, crying readily and healthy. With a swipe of the pocket knife, the cord was cut and his body was wiped clean with the same cloth from Agnius’ back pocket.

“Welcome home, Seamus Christopher O’Leary. Welcome home, dear boy.”

In the background, Tristan wept while his siblings played tag around the dogwood trees.