Patricia Falvey (44 page)

MY CHANCE TO
tell James came the next night. He showed up at the back door out of the blue. He was in his uniform and unshaven.

“What happened to the dandy fellow was here the last time?” I said offhandedly.

He pushed past me into the house. “Make some tea. I’m famished.”

As we talked over tea, it came out that things were not going well for him. More of his battalion had deserted. A couple of them had been rounded up and were in prison.

“And the money’s slow in coming,” he said. “If it wasn’t for your brother Frank…”

I slammed down my cup. “Frank? What in the name of God has Frank to do with anything?”

James looked puzzled. “I thought he had told you,” he said. “We have certain arrangements with him.”

“What kind of arrangements?”

“Transportation,” said James. “We are so close to the border here, we’re able to transport goods back and forth with little bother. Frank pays us a cut of what he earns.”

“Smuggling? You mean Frank’s smuggling?”

James laughed. “Och, get over it, Eileen. Sure there’s plenty of them at it. Frank just happens to have the brains to set up a big scheme. He’s buying up land with the profits like a drunken sailor.”

“But… but he said he didn’t give a feck about the Cause. He turned Protestant!”

“He doesn’t. He doesn’t care where the money goes. If the Volunteers could do a better job for him, he’d sign up with them in a minute. Frank’s a hard man. Business comes first with him.”

So Frank had not changed. How I had hoped seeing Paddy and hearing the news about Lizzie had softened him. But how could you soften a man like Frank, who needed his hard edge to mask the pain he had suffered?

“Jesus,” I mumbled. “Whatever drove him in that direction?”

“Well, he got little enough guidance from your da, now, didn’t he? Frank had to learn to make his own way.”

I realized that in the past I would have jumped to my father’s defense. But now I said nothing. James was right, after all.

“Stand up,” James said suddenly. It was a command.

I did as he said. “Well, I see the rumors are true,” he said. “I’d say it’s six months along if it’s a day.”

“No,” I cried. “It’s three. The last time you were home. That’s when it happened. I was as shocked as anybody.”

“Me ma says you were feeling sick long before that.”

“Och, what does she know, the nosy oul’ bitch. Troublemaking, that’s all she’s doing.” I wondered suddenly how often he went to see his mother. It had not occurred to me he’d be going to her house as well as mine.

I sank back down in the chair. “It’s yours, James. Who else’s would it be?”

“That’s not hard to guess, Eileen. I’m not stupid. And I hear things.”

I said nothing. Sweat poured down my neck and drizzled down between my breasts. My hands were clammy. I twisted them in my lap under the table. Please… please, God, I prayed silently, let him believe me.

“I’d have thought you’d be happy,” I said at last. “Maybe it’s the son you’ve always wanted.”

“Aye.”

He ate the rest of his food in silence. Then he pushed the chair away from the table and stood up. His face was dark.

“I’ve to be going,” he said. “We’ve an important meeting tonight.”

I put my arms around him, and he pushed me away.

“I’ve no time for any of that now,” he said. “Just pack up a few sandwiches and I’ll be away.”

I packed the sandwiches as fast as I could. I felt his eyes boring into my back as I worked. I tried to hold in my stomach, but a sudden, sharp pain made me let go. The pains had been coming on me for the past week or so. Maybe it will abort itself, I thought, and this mess will be over. Then I blessed myself in shame at the thought.

“What are you doing?” said James.

“Och, sure I’m just saying a wee prayer for your safety,” I said. I turned toward him and put a smile on my face. “Can’t have any harm coming to a fellow about to be a new da.”

There was no answering smile. He took the sandwiches.

“I’ll be back when I can.”

I watched him go, as I had done so many nights in the past. His shadow trudged across the grass and disappeared into the blackness. I stood at the door for a long time. A wind rose up and whipped at my skirt. I shivered slightly, but still I stood there, willing him to come back. I wanted to replay the entire scene. I wanted it to be different. Had I been foolish enough to think he would take me in his arms and swing me around the floor out of happiness? I went back inside, and instinctively I turned toward the wall, looking for the photograph of the Yellow House. But it gave me no comfort this night. The dream was almost destroyed, like so much else in my life. I sank into a chair by the fire and hugged myself, trying to get warm.

TERRENCE CAME THE
following Sunday evening.

“Just to see how you are,” he said as he ducked his head in through the door.

“I’m not an invalid,” I snapped. “I’m just pregnant! You’ve no need to include me in your sick rounds.”

Terrence smiled. “Hasn’t sweetened your temper any, has it?”

I shrugged.

“Where’s Aoife?”

“Theresa took her to mass, and then took her back home with her for her dinner. I wasn’t up to bringing her to mass in Newry today.”

Terrence sat down and stretched out his long legs, his feet up on the fender. “At least
someone’s
looking after the child’s soul.”

“Aye.”

He took the cup of tea I gave him in his hand, blowing softly to cool the hot liquid. He looked tired, as if he had a weight on his shoulders. Well, no more than my own, I thought.

“Have you seen James?” he said casually.

I stiffened. Here came the questions again.

“Yes! And yes, I’ve told him the child is his, if that’s what you’re asking,” I snapped. “And no, I’m not sure he believes me.”

Terrence opened his mouth to reply but thought better of it. Instead he stared into the fire, sipping his tea. I stared into it with him. For a while, we were both lost in our own thoughts. Then he set the cup down on the floor and reached inside his jacket. He pulled out an envelope and held it out toward me. A smile lit up his face.

“I have a surprise for you.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a letter from your sister, Lizzie.” His smile was radiant.

“What… ,” I breathed. “How? When? You found her!”

“Aye. I was able to find her address in Boston.” He smiled. “I asked Father Dornan to write to the archdiocese to make inquiries about her and her husband. They wrote back that her husband had died, but they gave me her address. So I wrote to her.”

My heart did a small lurch. “Och, the poor thing. So she’s widowed.”

“Aye. Sad story. He was wounded in the war, and it left him weak in the chest. Apparently the hard work and the dampness over there caused him to take pneumonia. He was only in his twenties.”

“Were there any children?” I breathed.

“Apparently not. Lizzie stayed on to work as a nurse.”

“You’d have thought she’d have come home.”

“Aye. But it seems Belfast does not hold a great draw for her anymore.”

Terrence reached over and handed the letter to me. “It’s short, but I’ll leave you to read it by yourself. I must be going.”

I took the letter with trembling hands and clutched it while I showed Terrence out. When I heard the sound of his car die away, I sat down by the fire and opened the letter. The handwriting was not flowery, as I would have expected from a well-to-do girl who would have had a fine education. Instead it was clear and neat, not a flourish in sight.

Dear Mr. Finnegan,

I was of course surprised to receive your letter. At first I thought it must be a prank of some kind, but Father Hebert here in Boston assured me of your legitimacy.

Aye, she was well schooled. Look at the size of the words. Ma and Da would have been proud.

The shock that I have another family has not yet settled in. I confess I have no memory of it and I am not sure what to think of it. I will need some time. I appreciate your forthrightness in setting out all the details, distressing as they are. I confess I am glad to know that I have a sister. I always wished for a sister when I was growing up. As to your inquiry as to whether or not I shall be visiting Ireland soon, if you had asked me last week the answer would have been no. I am not on good terms with my mother, and I have made a life for myself here in Boston. I am happy and satisfied to give my life to nursing. It is what I have always wanted to do. However, now that I have your news, I will give the matter some thought. In the meantime, I invite you to write to me whenever you wish. Having a second family is something I certainly never expected.

Yours sincerely,

Elizabeth Butler Donnelly

I read and reread the letter until the words swam in front of my eyes.

“Och, Lizzie,” I whispered, “I always wanted a sister, too.”

T
hat night, after Terrence left, I fell immediately into a sweet, deep sleep—a sleep I had not known in months. I had brought Lizzie’s letter upstairs with me, read it once more, and slipped it under my pillow before drifting off into the hazy memories of childhood. Lizzie and I had joined hands, and we were swinging each other round and round, laughing with delight. Frankie watched us, smiling at first, and then he rushed toward us and tore us apart, shoving me to the ground and snatching up Lizzie in his arms. “Frankie,” I called after him. “Frankie, come back!” But he ran with her toward the barn, kicking buckets and milk pails as he went, sending them clanging to the ground. I woke up with a start, but the noise persisted. I looked around me and realized it was coming from the street below. Rough voices mixed with the clank of metal and the blasts of a horn. Then tires screeched and a car sped away. A cold hand gripped my heart.

As I leaped out of bed and raced downstairs, I knew in that moment something awful had happened. As soon as I was outside, I knew I was right. A crush of neighbors stood staring down at something in the road, while others came streaming out of their houses, wiping their hands on their aprons and trousers.

“Mother of God!” I heard someone say.

Alarm rang through me. I pushed my way through the crowd, and then I saw him. My brother Frank lay in the road, his head and shirt covered in blood, his trousers torn off his legs. The crowd fell silent and parted to let me through. I sank down on my knees beside him.

“Oh, Jesus,” I cried. “Oh, Jesus, Frankie?”

He stared up at me with feverish eyes. He tried to speak, but only groans came out of his bloodied mouth. His arms and legs were black, and the skin was peeling in tatters. He had been burned. I smelled the singe of fire on his skin. I put my fist over my mouth to stem my vomit. Suddenly I was aware of Terrence kneeling beside me.

“God of Mercy,” he breathed.

“Look at the sign,” someone said.

It was then I focused on a white placard tied around Frankie’s neck. The word
traitor
was scrawled in black block letters across it. I stared at it in horror, the letters dancing before my eyes.
Traitor
. It was a reprisal. Images flooded my head. Frankie’s smug smile as he proclaimed his new name and religion—Francis Fitzwilliam, Protestant gentleman, at your service; James’s sly smile when he told me my brother was a smuggler; Frank’s tears when he heard Lizzie was alive.

I knew these incidents happened all the time. Hadn’t I seen enough of it when I had been out in the fight with James? But those men were faceless strangers lying beside a ditch as we passed. Now here it was on my own doorstep.

“Och, Frankie,” I cried, putting my hand on his damp hair.

“Let’s get him inside,” cried Terrence, standing up. “Make way, and give us a hand with him.”

But the neighbors only backed away and stared at us. They would not touch Frankie. Whether it was out of fear or a belief he had brought it on himself, I did not know. All I knew was Terrence and I were on our own.

Terrence took Frank under the arms and I took his feet and together we half carried, half dragged him into the house. We laid him on the parlor floor and I ran into the kitchen to fetch water and towels.