Patricia Falvey (21 page)

I patted her arm. “I’m sure it’s nothing,” I said. “It will all die down.”

“Sometimes he stays away the whole night,” Theresa went on. Her eyes flashed with sudden anger. “If we’d known he was going to go on like that, me ma would have had no need to put our Fergus out in the shed.”

“What?” I said.

“Aye, Prince James had to have his own bedroom, and there’s not enough room in the house for all of us. I sleep in the granny’s room off the scullery. So Fergus was put out in the back shed with only a bed and no heat. He can come in for his meals, but that’s all. Some nights when they’re asleep or James is not home, I bring him in to warm himself by the fire.”

“And James let this happen?”

“Aye, well, it was Ma’s doing. But to tell you the truth, I don’t even think James has realized it—he’s too preoccupied with his own business.” Theresa shrugged. “Ma never treated our Fergus well—came from him not being her own son, I suppose. Fergus’s own ma died when he was young, and his da married my ma. She always resented having to rear another woman’s child.”

Poor Fergus, I thought. I understood now why there was always something secretive about his nature, as if he carried a deep resentment toward the world. And he had been in particularly bad form at the Ceili House the last few weeks. I wanted to smack oul’ Mrs. Conlon, and I wanted to shake his brother.

ONE EVENING
NOT long after my conversation with Theresa, I found myself alone with James. Theresa had invited me over to tea, but her mother had insisted she go with her to hear a priest from the African missions. Missionary priests, with their firebrand tales from faraway lands, were great sport, and the churches were always packed on mission nights. Theresa apologized, but I told her to go on, refusing the offer to go with them.

“I’ll just finish my tea,” I said. “I can get the seven o’clock tram.”

I was just leaving my cup down in the scullery when James came banging through the door.

“They’re away to hear the missionary,” I said in response to his questioning look. “I’m away home myself now.”

I reached up to the wall peg to get my coat. He came over and stood beside me. Again I was aware of how big he seemed in this small house.

“Could you stay on and have a cup of tea with me?” His voice was quiet, and I could read nothing in his face. I was wary just the same.

“I’ve had me tea,” I said. “I’ll just be on my way.”

He put his hand on my arm. “Will you not stay, Eileen?” he said. “I’d appreciate the company.”

His grip tightened on my arm, and I looked down at his broad, brown hand and then into his eyes. What I saw in them was neither arrogance nor anger, but a cool control that made me reluctant to cross him. I shrugged, dropped my coat on the sofa, and walked into the kitchen.

“You’d think a big fellow like yourself could make his own tea,” I said as I bustled about with the kettle.

He stood at the door of the kitchen and grinned.

“Aye, but sure when you’re the favorite son in the house with two women fussing over you day and night, you have no need to learn to do for yourself. It’s helpless I am without a woman around.”

“Aye, the favorite son who lets his poor brother sleep outside in a cold shed while he enjoys his creature comforts.” Anger tinged my voice.

His face registered surprise. “Who told you that?” he demanded.

“Your sister,” I retorted, “and don’t tell me you didn’t know.”

“I didn’t,” he said. “I never would have let—”

“Well, your sainted ma thought it was good enough for him.”

“I’ll speak to her,” he whispered.

“You do that. And now get out of my way and let me do my woman’s work.” I made sure he caught the sarcasm in my voice.

I made tea and sandwiches and brought them into the sitting room on a tray. James sat on the sofa, his long legs stretched out to the hearth, his feet propped up on the fender. I nodded toward the red chair. “You’re not on your throne tonight.”

He laughed aloud. “Och, sure it’s the most uncomfortable seat in the house, but I haven’t the heart to tell Ma that it cuts the circulation out of my legs every time I squeeze my arse into it.”

I smiled. “You do look like a quare bird when you’re all hunched up.”

He took a cup of tea off the tray. “It wouldn’t suit you either, miss,” he said. “You’re almost as tall as myself.”

“I wouldn’t dare sit there,” I said. “I made that mistake once and your mother almost turned me to stone.”

I sat in the other armchair and sipped my tea. James attacked the sandwiches like a starving man, washing down the mouthfuls with hot tea. The fire blazed in the hearth, and the mantel clock chimed half-past six.

“No meetings tonight, then,” I said.

He looked up, startled. “Meetings?”

“Aye. Theresa says you’re out every night till all hours.”

He didn’t answer for a while, but sat chewing on the last sandwich. “Did she say anything else?”

I shrugged. “No. Well, except your ma’s worried you’ve joined up with the Republicans.” I laughed to put a bit of lightness in the comment because his face had turned dark.

“Maybe I have,” he said.

“It’s your business.”

We both sat and stared at the fire. I had a feeling that something important had been unearthed and that if I didn’t leave now, I might be pulled into it. I put down my cup and stood up.

“Don’t go,” he said. It was not a command this time.

“It’s late. Theresa and your mother will be back any minute, and wouldn’t I look a right eejit if I was still here after saying good-bye two hours ago?”

I stacked the dishes on the tray and lifted it. He jumped up—light on his feet for such a big man.

“Let me take that. I’ll walk you to the tram.”

I shoved the tray at him. “There’s no need. I can find my way there blindfolded.”

Hurriedly, I put on my coat and scarf and walked to the door.

“Cheerio,” I called into the kitchen.

“Wait.” He came into the sitting room and over to the door where I stood. We looked at each other in silence. “Well then,” he said at last, and opened the door for me. “Safe home. And thanks for the company.”

I ran up the street toward the tram stop. I was in an awful state and didn’t understand why. I had the sense of narrow escape—from what, I did not know. All I knew was that I had come close to entering a place that was so unsettling, it had all my nerves rattling. I breathed deeply as I slumped down on the bench to wait for the tram.

D
uring the next few weeks, I spoke to James only occasionally. At lunchtimes he sat on the grass in the middle of a circle of young fellows from the mill. They looked up at him with such reverence, you would have thought he was Moses giving them the Ten Commandments. He was clearly the leader of the band. I suspected it all had to do with politics, and part of me wished I could sit and listen to him as well.

My own interest in politics grew, and I had to admit much of it was on account of James. I read about the Irish nationalist movement that was catching steam. Militias known as the National Volunteers, the Irish Volunteers, and the Irish Republican Brotherhood numbered well over one hundred thousand. A man from West Cork named Michael Collins was stirring things up in the South. He was by all accounts a firebrand, inciting crowds at rallies with his fine oratory. His picture was often in the newspapers. He was a handsome fellow.

One lunchtime my curiosity got the better of me, and I strolled over to where James sat with his followers. He looked up when he saw me. I could see he was surprised, but I could not tell if he was pleased.

“Hello there, Eileen,” he said politely.

The young fellows around him elbowed one another and grinned. I glared at them. I supposed they thought I was just another love-struck mill girl trying to get James’s attention.

“Can I sit in?” I asked.

James arched an eyebrow. “We were just finishing up,” he said. He stood up and nodded to the other men to leave. Then he turned to me. “What did you want to talk about?”

“I want to know more about this Collins fellow,” I said firmly. “I’ve been reading up on him.”

A brilliant smile lit his face. “Michael Collins, is it? Aye, he’s a handsome fellow all right. There’s plenty of women flocking to the cause of Irish freedom on account of him.”

My cheeks reddened. I wanted to slap the grin off his face. “Well, I’m not one of them,” I said sharply, “I’m only interested in his politics.”

His grin stretched even wider. “Well then, you’d be a rare one, Eileen O’Neill.”

I shrugged. “Being different is nothing new to me.”

He put his hand on my arm, and I let him lead me across the green toward the mill buildings. His hand was rough on my arm, as if a fire seared my skin. I thought of the warm glow Owen Sheridan’s touch always caused. Just now I liked the fire more. James was silent for a minute, as if making up his mind about something. Then he stopped and turned to face me.

“If it’s serious you are,” he began, “you can come and listen to him yourself. There’s a rally below in Dundalk next Thursday night. The boys and I have hired a car to take us down. There’s room if you’d like to go.”

He waited to see if he had called my bluff.

“All right,” I said, rising to the challenge.

He grinned again. “Meet me at my house after work,” he said.

He strode away toward the weaving shed. I watched him go, his long legs striding easily across the grass. He carried himself well, I thought, like a man who knew who he was and what he was about. For myself, I had no idea what I had just got myself into—but I wasn’t going to back down.

I RODE DOWN
to Dundalk squashed between three of the mill boys in the back of a motorcar. James sat in the front beside the driver. I had never set foot in a motorcar before, and I was giddy with the experience. Dundalk lay in County Louth, partway between Newry and Dublin. I had never been that far south before. I realized what a sheltered life I had led—Newry to Queensbrook and back every day and mass on Sundays—it seemed so dull now. I craned my neck, looking out the window, ignoring the taunts and winks of the red-faced youths beside me.

As we neared the hall, crowds appeared, streaming down the main street. There were men and women, old and young, well dressed and poor. Among Collins’s followers, I knew, were laborers and clerks, teachers and doctors, and poets. We all crowded into the small hall where a podium was set up, behind which was hung the green, white, and gold Irish tricolor flag. People greeted one another with handshakes and salutes. Several men came up to greet James as if he were an old friend. I squeezed into a row near the front. James sat to my right. I was aware of his body close to mine, the heat from his arm that brushed my own, and the rhythm of his breath. I sat as straight up as I could, trying to contain myself in my own space.

A cheer went up as Collins strode onto the stage and stood behind the podium. He was an impressive-looking man—tall and broad-shouldered, with wavy brown hair brushed back from his temples. He was so well dressed, he could have given James a run for his money. There was a hint of a swagger in his walk that spoke confidence but not arrogance. I glanced at James, who was standing and applauding as loudly as the rest of them. He glanced back at me and smiled. There was a shuffle of feet as the crowd settled and the applause died down.