Patricia Falvey (43 page)

JAMES WAS GOOD
to his word. He stayed for three nights. He confided in me the way he had done when we first met. He said he thought there was an informer somewhere. He did not seem to suspect Fergus, as I did, so I said nothing. He said he felt very much alone. Men were deserting him right and left. He cried when he spoke about Michael Collins and how by signing the treaty, he had let us down. We made love, and again I closed my eyes and thought of Owen.

Aoife was delighted to see him. He played with her, telling her stories, singing to her. They danced as I played the fiddle, fighting back tears as I watched them. I pushed down the regret that we never were, nor ever would be, a family like this: loving, happy. I had an awful feeling I was watching us all together for the last time.

On the fourth night, he left. He handed me a fistful of pound notes.

“Won’t you be needing this for the Cause?” I snapped, the old resentment returning.

“We’ll raise plenty more, never you mind.”

I shoved the money in my pocket. Then on impulse I threw my arms around him and drew him close. “Be careful,” I whispered into his shoulder.

He stroked my hair. His hand trembled a little. Then he turned and walked away. I watched his tall, straight figure disappear into the darkness. I heard his boots crunching over the frosted grass. Then there was only silence.

T
he days at the mill wore on. I prayed Owen would not appear, and my prayers were answered. At the same time, I was worried. Was he off on a dangerous mission just like James? Would I be relieved if he was killed? Would I be relieved if James was killed? The thoughts made me dizzy. Of course I did not want to see harm come to either of them. But if I had to choose, what would I do?

It seemed to me I had made my choice already. My decision to pass off the baby as James’s weighed on me, but it seemed the best of a bad bargain. Of course, Terrence would not agree with that. Well, it was none of his business.

I waited another four weeks or so. Then I said casually to Theresa, “You know your mother might be a fortune-teller after all.”

Theresa eyed me. “Why?”

I held my head down in a shy sort of a way. Jesus, I was a great actress.

“Well—as I told you, James was home for a few nights—and now I’ve just missed me curse—and I’m feeling a bit queasy on top of it. I’m wondering if I might be—you know—pregnant.”

Theresa stared at me. It was hard to read her eyes. Then she shrugged.

“You’d think you’d know better, Eileen. You seem to have your hands full taking care of one child, let alone two.”

It was not the response I’d expected. But then it dawned on me. Of course. Poor Theresa was jealous. She wanted a child of her own more than anything.

“Well then, you’ll have to help me with this one, too,” was all I could think to say.

“I’m not your servant,” she snapped, and turned on her heel and left.

My clothes began to feel tight. I stopped wearing belts. Fortunately, the big work apron hid many a sin. I was actually beginning to feel well again. My cheeks bloomed and my skin shone. Of course, I had to make a show of running away from my machine in the mornings, pretending I was sick. Word got around, and a few of the women congratulated me. Most of them just stared at me and whispered among themselves. Shields came over to me.

“I hear you’re in the family way.”

“Aye.”

“And how will you be supporting yourself?”

“That’s my business.”

“But you’ll not be able to work for a while,” he persisted.

“Who says so?” I snapped. “I’m as strong as a horse and you know it.”

“There’s plenty of women out of a job would be glad of a chance.”

“Aye, Protestant women, no doubt. Well, I’ve no intention of stepping aside for the likes of them. I’ll be here until the baby drops, and then I’ll be back.”

I sounded more confident than I was. Inside, I was worried sick about what would become of me. James had not supported me in years. I was dependent upon myself alone. I prayed I would stay well enough to work up until my time.

Terrence came to the house one night at the end of March.

“I have news about Lizzie,” he said. To his credit, he did not inquire if I had told Owen or James about the baby.

I dried my hands on my apron and pulled him toward the table. “Well?” I said. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”

He sat down. “It seems she was reared by a well-to-do family in Belfast.”

“Och, I knew it!” I exclaimed.

“They were Protestant.”

I stared at him. “Protestant?” It had entered my head that the name Butler could be Protestant, but I had shoved the thought away. “Protestant? Are you sure?”

Terrence nodded. “Aye. The father was a banker. He died some years ago. Seems the mother was active in society, but she took to her bed after the husband died.”

“And what about Lizzie?”

Terrence hesitated. “Seems she ran off to America with some Catholic soldier she had nursed in the hospital.”

I clapped my hands. “Och, she’s my sister after all. A mind of her own.”

But my delight dissolved as quickly as it came. “America?”

“Aye. About three years ago. They think Boston.”

I sat down. “So she’ll not be back,” I murmured.

Terrence leaned over and patted my hand. “Now don’t give up hope, Eileen. We might find an address for her. Maybe she’ll be persuaded to come—for a visit, at least.”

I was doubtful. “Maybe,” I said.

Then Terrence switched the subject. “You’re looking better,” he said.

“Aye.”

He laughed. “Amazing what clearing your conscience will do.”

I said nothing. Terrence looked at me closely. “Jesus, Eileen, you haven’t told them, have you.”

I shook my head. Terrence sighed. “You’ll have to do it soon. You are starting to show.”

Instinctively, I looked down at my belly.

“I am not!” I shouted. “And what would you know about these things, anyway?”

“I have eyes.”

“All right. I’ve told everybody I’m pregnant except James and Owen, so it will be no surprise to anyone.”

“Except to them! Jesus, Eileen, how can you do this?”

“That’s not the worst of it,” I cried. “James came home a few weeks back and I slept with him. I’m telling people the child is due in the autumn.”

Terrence gaped at me. “But it’s due sooner than that, surely.”

“End of July,” I said. “But many women in the mill have had premature births—they say it’s the conditions there that cause it…”

Terrence stood up and paced around the kitchen. He ran his fingers through his hair.

“Eileen! For God’s sake. Who will believe you?”

“I’m a good actress.”

He drew in a deep sigh. “Och, Eileen.”

I looked up at him. “You’ll keep my secret, won’t you, Terrence? Say you will.”

He was silent for a minute. At last he said, “I won’t volunteer anything, Eileen. But I won’t lie for you, either.”

He left then. Well, that was that. I was on my own, as usual. A da killed in the fighting, a mother in the asylum, and a sister who had run away to America. One brother sitting on his backside beyond on a big estate, caring about no one but himself, and another brother raised with a stranger’s family. It was a sorry state of affairs. Look what had happened to the great O’Neills!

I AWOKE THE
next day with a cold, empty feeling inside me. Anger and fear snarled at the edges of my heart. I had to face the world alone. Well, I was up to the job. Hadn’t I always been forced to make my own way? A new resolve settled over me. I’d do what I had to do to get through this thing no matter what anybody thought, no matter who had to suffer—and let the devil take the hindmost.

I was only in the door of the mill when Shields came bustling over to me.

“You’re wanted in the office.”

“What for?”

He glared at me. “Get in there and mind your mouth.”

I took my time removing my boots and putting on my apron. Shields stood like a general beside me, hands on his hips. When I was good and ready, I walked past him and into the office. Owen sat behind the desk. A strange rage rose up when I saw him.

“Yes?” I said sharply. “What is it you want?”

He looked surprised at my reaction. He nodded toward a chair. “Sit down, Eileen. This will not take long.”

I sat. He walked over and closed the door, leaving Shields standing outside.

“I understand you are pregnant,” he said, sitting down.

“That’s old news now,” I said. “You must be the only one didn’t know weeks ago.”

He studied me. “Is it mine, Eileen? I must know.”

“Yours?” I laughed, although my heart was thumping to beat the band. “And where would you get an idea like that?”

“You know very well,” he said quietly.

“Well, don’t flatter yourself. It belongs to my husband.” I was ashamed at the lies I was telling. I was hurting him with every word—I could see it on his face.

He put his head down and studied his hands in front of him. I wondered what he was thinking. Disappointment? Relief? Most likely relief, I told myself; what would he want with a child by a penniless Catholic worker? And he had already said the Quaker community was judging him. If they found out he’d had a child by a mill worker, they’d disown him surely.

“So you have seen your husband recently?” His eyes turned a dark violet. There was accusation in his voice and something else. I realized it was jealousy.

“Of course I have,” I snapped, glad to have his anger to respond to. “He’s my husband, isn’t he? And he has his rights. So you can relax. You had no part in it.”

“Rights!” Owen shouted. “What rights can that man possibly have? He left you and the child destitute, for God’s sake.”

“It’s not your business!” I cried. “Stay out of it.”

He stood up. “I just don’t understand how you could have… have slept with him, so soon after…” His voice was quiet. “I thought the time we had together meant as much to you as it did to me. Apparently I was wrong.”

His eyes searched my face. Pain stabbed at my heart.

“I told you that was a mistake,” I said. “Is that all? I need to get back to work.”

“Of course.”

Before he could say more, I stood up. As I reached for the door, his voice came from behind me. “I would have been proud to be its father, Eileen.”

I rushed past Shields, nearly knocking him down, and went to my spinning frame. I started it up with a loud rattle and furiously pressed the trestle so that the threads spun in the air like bullets.

Well, I’d had my chance to reverse all the lies, and I did not take it. Why would I? Just because Terrence said it was a sin? What did I care? What did I owe God, anyway? As I pressed away at the trestle, I thought about James. I would have to get word to him. He should have no reason not to believe me. I looked down at my belly. There was a rise beneath the apron. How was I to convince people I was only three months along? Well, I’d worry about that when the time came.

Owen’s words came back to me all day.
I would have been proud to be its father
. Och, Owen, how could you mean that? Did he really love me as much as he had claimed? Or was he just lonely like myself? I recalled what he had told me about his hopes for his wife to come to the Yellow House, where they would raise a family. He had been sad when he told me, and my heart had ached for his sadness. Was he hoping that at last he would have a wee son or daughter? I tried to put the thoughts out of my head. I didn’t owe him his happiness. A whisper sounded in my head:
What about your own happiness, Eileen? Is what you’re doing going to make you happy?
I shook off the thoughts and kept working.