Patricia Falvey (42 page)

Terrence sat down by the fire. He studied me while I sipped the bitter golden liquid. “There’s something else, isn’t there?”

“How would you know?” I snapped. “You sound like a priest ready to hear my confession.” I didn’t know what made me say that.

He waited. I took my time finishing the whiskey. A warm fire blazed in the grate. The room was cozy and warm. I felt sleepy.

“You can tell me whatever it is, Eileen.”

If only it were that easy. I had known this man all my life. I had long supposed he was in love with my ma, just like poor Billy. He watched out for me now, particularly since James left. But I had always pretended to be strong. I didn’t need anybody’s protection. So how was I to tell him now that I needed his strength—me, Eileen O’Neill, Da’s warrior? Suddenly I began to cry. Terrence came over and sat on the side of the armchair. He put his arm around my shoulder. It put me in mind of the time Owen had done that.

“I’m pregnant—and it’s not James’s child,” I said.

There—it was out. I looked up at Terrence. “What will I do, Terrence?”

He got up then and walked to the fire. He stood with his back to it and looked at me. I could not read his face.

“Who is the father?” he said softly.

“Owen Sheridan.”

“Does he know?”

“No.”

“You must tell him, then.”

“What good will it do?” I said. “I’m a married woman.”

“He has a right to know, Eileen.”

“Maybe.”

“Have you told James?”

“Jesus, no!” I exclaimed. “He’d kill me.”

“He’ll find out sooner or later.”

“Not if I get rid of it. I hear there’s ways…”

“That would be a sin, Eileen.” Terrence’s voice was gentle but firm. I would get no quarter from him on destroying the child.

“It would be as well off dead!”

“That’s not your decision,” Terrence said simply. “Life and death are in God’s hands.”

I began crying again. “Then what am I to do?”

“Your obligation is to the child, Eileen. Owen Sheridan appears to be a decent man from what I’ve heard of him. He will not see you destitute. And then, of course, there’s James…”

“Aye, well, James is a different matter. Not that he deserves any truth from me.” I hesitated. “Maybe I can still pass it off as his,” I began, but Terrence raised his hand to stop me.

“That would be wrong, and you know it. Those kinds of lies can destroy people forever. Besides, James is not stupid. Unless you have had relations with him in the past three months, he will know the truth.”

I shook my head. “It’s a year or more since I slept with him,” I said.

“Then I suggest you tell him the truth sooner rather than later. And Owen Sheridan as well.”

“But Jesus, Terrence, how am I going to go to the mill every day in this condition? I’ll be disgraced.”

Bless Terrence for not saying that I had already disgraced myself, if he thought it. Instead he said, “You’re a strong woman, Eileen. You have come through much worse than this.”

I nodded, still weeping. Terrence took my hand and pulled me up from the chair.

“Go to bed now, Eileen, and get some rest. You will find a way to tell Owen and James, and things will get clearer after that. I’m sure of it. And, I will pray for you.”

I looked at Terrence’s calm face. Without thinking, I reached up and kissed his cheek.

“Thank you, Terrence,” I whispered. “Thank you for understanding, and not ridiculing me.”

He squeezed my shoulders. “I am in no position to ridicule anyone. We all have our secrets. But I will do everything I can to help you. Good night now.”

He left and I stared after him. What secrets? I wondered. But then we had always known, ever since back in the early days of Glenlea and the Music Men, that Terrence had his secrets.

I REASONED THAT
I should tell Owen first. After all, when James found out, he was likely to go after Owen with a gun. It was no idle thought. James had shot men who had done him no more harm than being on the other side of the sectarian divide. What was he likely to do to a man who had impregnated his wife? Owen at least should be warned so he could protect himself. The thought that James might want to kill me bothered me less. I supposed that he might do it in his rage—but part of me felt he would not kill the mother of his child no matter what she had done. Perhaps it was false reasoning, but it gave me comfort.

I made up my mind to go see Owen at Queensbrook House. Terrence was right—the best way was to come straight out with it. Telling Terrence had been the hard part. Once it was out, it was easier to accept the truth of it. I had my coat and hat on, ready to leave. Aoife was down at Theresa’s, where she had been spending a lot of time lately. Theresa was happy to take her. The excuse that hung between Theresa and me was that I was too sick at the moment to care for her.

A rapping came at the back door. I paused on my way out the front. Jesus. Could that be James? After all this time? Part of me wanted to go on and pretend I had not heard him. I could not see him now. I was supposed to see Owen first. I cursed under my breath as I stood frozen in the doorway. The rapping came again. Sighing, I turned around and went and opened the back door. There stood James, smiling. He wore an expensive-looking brown overcoat and trilby hat. How long had it been since I had seen him dressed up like this, when he used to be such a dandy?

He eyed my hat and coat. The smile faded. “Going out?”

“Oh, aye. Just down to the corner for some bread. It can wait, I suppose.”

He pushed through the door, took off his hat, and sat down. I removed my coat and hat. “I’ll make tea,” I said.

“Leave off the bread”—he grinned—“you’re a dangerous woman around knives. But bring some whiskey.”

I ignored his remark about the knives. “You never take whiskey,” I said, “unless you’re in pain.”

“Well, maybe I’ve developed a taste for it.”

I took down the bottle from the cupboard and poured two glasses.

“And since when do
you
take it?” he said.

“Since it’s been my only comfort on cold nights,” I snapped. The words were out before I could stop them.

James smiled again. “Well, you can leave off it now. I’ll be staying here for a few days. The boys and I have scaled back the operations for the minute.”

I wanted to jump down his throat. How dare he come to my house and announce he was staying as long as he pleased? How dare he think he could waltz right back in here as if nothing had happened? But something made me swallow the words.

“What’s going on? Have youse run out of steam finally now that the treaty has been signed?”

I knew this remark was like a red rag to a bull. To my surprise, he did not rise to the bait.

“We’re planning a big job soon,” he said calmly. “It’s taking a lot of coordination. We can’t afford to get distracted with too many other things. And we need to spend the time raising funds.”

I looked at him. “Sounds like big doings.”

“Aye.”

I sipped the whiskey while the kettle boiled. “How do you know you’ll be safe here? Wouldn’t it be the first place they’d look for you?”

“In the past, yes, but I’ve been away for so long they’d hardly think to look here anymore. Besides, the boys are taking turns watching the house.

“Where’s the child?” he said suddenly.

“Below at Theresa’s. She’s spending the night.”

He looked disappointed. “Oh, I was hoping to spend this time with her. I don’t want her forgetting who I am.”

I shrugged. “I wouldn’t worry on that account. Your ma has your picture up on the wall beside the pope, and she takes it down and shows it to Aoife every time she’s down there.”

James smiled and nodded. “Aye.”

As the whiskey warmed my insides, a thought began to form in my head. It was the devil whispering to me.
Now is your chance
, the voice said.
This is what you were hoping for.
I tried to shake off the thought. I got up and busied myself with the tea. Suddenly James was standing behind me, his arms around my waist, his lips pressing against my neck.

“We have the place to ourselves,” he whispered.

Panic rose in me. I knew fine well what he was getting at, and I wanted none of it. How in God’s name could I sleep with the man now?

“Well, you’ll get a good night’s sleep and not be annoyed,” I said.

He pulled me close to him. His heavy breath was in my ear. “Ah now, Eileen O’Neill, since when did you shy away from a good night in bed? Sure I thought you’d be aching for it after all this time. Unless you’ve been satisfying yourself somewhere else.”

I stiffened. “God forgive you,” I said. “And who would I be satisfying myself with—the likes of fat oul’ Shields, is it?” I tried to laugh it off.

“Or maybe a rich Protestant,” he said, still breathing in my ear.

I turned around to face him. “James, will you whisht. We’ve been through this before. If you want to believe the rumors, go right ahead.”

I felt my soul getting blacker with every lie I told. I was so deep into it now, how was I ever to get out of it? The demon thought entered my head again. It was only just turned February. If I slept with James now, sure mightn’t I go into an early labor six months from now? I was a big woman—it would take a while for me to show. Silently I thanked God for the chance.

“I’VE MISSED YOU
, Eileen. I’ve missed you so much.”

We lay naked in bed in the dusk. In the distance, women’s voices echoed as they called their children in to tea. Here and there a dog barked. James’s body was leaner than I remembered, his muscles sinewy as rope. He smelled of the outdoors and musk and faintly of whiskey. His breathing grew ragged. Then he was on top of me, his lips pressing hard on mine, his body moving in a frenzied rhythm. I closed my eyes. Oh, Owen, my dear, gentle Owen, who made love to me with a fierce yet generous passion, whose kisses honored every part of my body and made me feel beautiful. How could I ever have enjoyed this brutal passion that was James?

When he entered me, I cried out. Not in passion, I realized, but in fear. There was already a baby in there. Could he feel it? Could he hurt it?

James took my cry for passion. He became rougher and more urgent.

“Eileen,” he cried. “Jesus, Eileen. I love you.”

When he was done, he rolled over on his back. He put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. We lay there, staring at the ceiling.

“What happened to us, Eileen?” he whispered.

“What do you mean? Nothing’s changed.”

“Ah, but it has. Too much has come between us. I mean the uprising—everything.” He leaned over and kissed me. “But it will be all over soon. Our lives will be normal again.”

I said nothing. Our lives would never be normal again.

He was silent for a while. “I hope for peace, Eileen. But who knows what will happen? I am a man with a price on my head. I’ve learned now to take it one day at a time.”

And then I understood why he had come. James had finally accepted that he might die. He had come to spend time with Aoife and me in case these days might be his last. He had come dressed up and smiling and trying to pretend that everything was the way it used to be—and would be again. I shivered and pulled the blankets up over us.