Chapter Ten
“Ian’s risk of fallingoff the roof is almost nothing compared tomine.” Finbarr stood at the base of the ladder Patrick had leaned against the side of their brother’s house. “I think you had best tackle this repair on your own.”
“It’s not m’wish to see you fall to your death, lad,” Patrick said. “I’m after teaching you to help with building so you can do a bit of work on that house of yours. Does a man good to labor on the place he means to call home.”
“And that includes a blind boy on a roof?” Finbarr’s sarcasm held a noticeable note of self-pity. How well Patrick knew that weight. He couldn’t bear to see his baby brother swimming in the same poison he himself had been drowning in for a third of his life.
“I can’t say that I’m too impressed with your counting skills, Finbarr.”
His scarred face pulled in confusion. “My counting skills?”
“That you think you’re a boy makes me wonder if you’re able to count past ten with your shoes on.” He nudged Finbarr closer to the ladder. “Up with you, bean sprout. I’m behind you.”
Finbarr kept stubbornly still. “I can’t stay on a roof if I can’t see the edge of it.”
“I’m planning to tie you to the chimney. And I learned to tie blasted good knots while living in Winnipeg. The place is crawling with seafarers.” Again, he nudged his brother. “Up with you. Our sister needs her roof repaired. We’ll not fail her in this.”
Finbarr made the climb very slowly, very cautiously. Patrick held the ladder still, watching his brother closely.
“Your hand’s next spot’ll be the roof itself,” he called out. “Hoist yourself up and have a seat.”
“How steep is it?” Finbarr asked.
“Judge it with your hand,” Patrick said. “If you still can’t tell, I’ll help you sort it.”
To his credit, the lad set himself to the task. After a moment, he crawled onto the roof. Hands taking careful measure of the space around him, he sorted out a spot for himself.
Patrick climbed up the ladder, two long ropes looped over his arm. He sat beside Finbarr and began tying the end of one rope into two large loops. “I worked on the viceroy’s residence in Ottawa. That pile of stone is far taller than this house. The foreman on that job taught me how to tie off so I’d not kill m’self if I slipped.”
“Are you tying yourself to the chimney up here, as well?”
“For sure, for sure. I’ll not be up here dancing in the wind.” He pulled Finbarr’s arms through the loops. “God is good, but—”
“—don’t dance in a small boat.” Finbarr finished with him, word-for-word.
Patrick let himself chuckle. “Ma still says that, does she?”
“All the time.”
Patrick tied the loops together across Finbarr’s chest, necessary so that if the lad slipped he wouldn’t simply slide out of the harness. He created the same thing with the other rope and put it on himself.
“I’m going to anchor us. Then we can get started.”
“I have helped build and fix roofs,” Finbarr said as Patrick walked carefully toward the stone chimney. “But that was before— That was when I could see. I don’t know how much help I’ll be now.”
“Don’t fret, bean sprout. We’ll stumble our way toward some answer or another.”
