Patricia Falvey (46 page)

“Hello there, how are you? Here, would you like my hat to play with?” He offered her his hat, and she took it in her chubby hands and grinned.

“That may be the last you’ll see of that,” I said as I filled the kettle and put it on the hob to boil. I needed something to do with myself to avoid meeting his eyes. I felt him watching me as he pulled out a chair and sat down at the table.

“I’m very sorry about your brother, Eileen. It was barbaric of them to bring him to your door like that.”

“Aye. Even if it was my own side did it.”

“So I’m told,” he said. “But the other side would most likely have shot him.”

“P.J. says it was James saved him,” I murmured, “but he may as well have let them kill him. He’ll be an invalid if he lives. Frankie would hate that.”

Owen fell silent as I made the tea and brought two cups to the table. I pulled out the chair across from him and sat down. My heart thumped in my chest. Aoife sat on her little chair, wearing Owen’s hat. She looked so comical, I had to smile. He followed my gaze.

“She’s a beautiful child, Eileen,” he said, “and I’m sure the next one will be just as beautiful.”

It was now or never. I sucked in a deep breath. “The child is yours!”

There—it was out. There was no taking it back. Owen put down his cup and stared at me. His eyes clouded like a soft sky. As tears stung my own eyes, I blinked them back. “I’m sorry,” I said, “I should have told you sooner, but…”

He put out his hand and clasped mine. “It’s all right, Eileen. I believed from the beginning the child was mine. I just knew it. Dear God, I just knew it.”

A broad smile creased his face and he jumped up and dragged me to my feet. He put his arms around me and began to waltz me around the kitchen, singing and laughing like an eejit. Aoife watched us in astonishment. Then Owen leaned over and took her up in his arms and waltzed all three of us.

“I’m so happy, Eileen!” he shouted. “You have made me the happiest man on earth! I love you!”

“And I love you,” I whispered. “Och, Owen, I’m sorry I lied to you.”

I had never seen him like this. He had always been calm and confident, except when he showed a bit of temper. Now he was like a child at Christmas. I laughed along with him, and in that moment my heart leapt with love for him. We fell back exhausted into our chairs, but then a sudden panic gripped me.

I grabbed his hand in mine and looked at him in alarm. “You can’t be telling anybody, Owen,” I cried. “If this gets out, it will ruin both of us.”

He frowned. “You can’t possibly mean that. I am its father, why should I keep it a secret?”

“What about your family?” I said. “If they find out, you’ll be disinherited. I don’t want that on my conscience.”

“They may want to at first,” he said, “but I doubt that they will follow through. I am their only son, and in the end they would only want to see me happy. But it doesn’t matter. You, Eileen… you and our child are all that matters to me. God, I want to shout it from the rooftops.”

I had no choice but to tell him the rest of it.

“You don’t understand,” I cried. “After I found out I was pregnant, I slept with James. I wanted him to think the child was his. I know it was wrong, but I couldn’t bear the thought of going to the mill every day carrying an illegitimate… I mean, carrying your child. God, Owen, if James or his people find out, they’ll kill you, or me, or the both of us.”

Owen stood up and stared at me for a long time. A cloud passed over his face. A muscle in his jaw twitched, and I waited for his anger to explode. Then he was the calm, confident soldier again. “No!” he said. “I will not have you let James Conlon go on thinking this child is his. It’s not fair to either of us. You cannot tell half a truth, Eileen, you must tell it all.”

“But…” My tears escaped and I put my head down on the table and sobbed. Aoife came over and put her hand on my head. I cried even harder.

“I’m afraid, Owen,” I said between sobs. “I’m afraid for all of us.”

He came over and stood beside Aoife and stroked my head along with her.

“Ssh, Eileen,” he said. “Nothing will happen to you, I promise. I love you.”

He leaned over and gently lifted me to my feet so that our faces were level. “You have made me the happiest man in the world, Eileen. Do you not know that? Do you not realize how beautiful you are and how much I love you?”

He kissed me gently on the lips. I stood trembling. His arms tightened around me. Then his lips roamed over my face and my hair, leaving a trail of sweet kisses. I felt his body tensing as his passion rose.

“Oh, Eileen,” he whispered, his voice ragged, “I’m sorry I was angry with you. I was so jealous of James—and God help me, I still am. But I understand why you did what you did…”

He buried his face in my hair, and his shoulders heaved.

I put my arms around him then. “Ssh,” I whispered. “Och, Owen, I love you, too. I’m so sorry I hurt you. Please forgive me.”

We stayed that way for a long time, until Aoife tugged at my sleeve. I let go of Owen and reached down and lifted her up. She still wore Owen’s hat. I lifted it off her head.

“You have to give this back now,” I said.

She took the hat and placed it on Owen’s head. Grinning, he saluted her. Then he leaned over and kissed her cheek and then mine.

“I don’t want to leave you,” he whispered, “but I’m on duty. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Aye. Be safe.”

He pulled me to him and kissed me again—a long, hard kiss filled with passion. I felt the child move in my belly as I pressed against him. At length, he gave out a long sigh and let me go. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a fistful of pound notes. “Here,” he said, “it’s all I have on me at the moment.”

I shook my head. “I don’t want your money,” I began. “That’s not why I told you.”

Before I could get up a head of steam he smiled. “I should have known better,” he said. He turned and handed the money to Aoife. She snatched it from him with tiny fists. I watched him as he turned and went out into the parlor. I did not move. I heard the front door close gently behind him. I pulled Aoife close to me. She squirmed in my arms.

“Let go, Mammy,” she said.

“No, I’ll not let you go,” I said.

When I had put her to bed, I went back downstairs to clean up the kitchen. I took the dishcloth in my hands and waltzed around the room. I smiled as I hummed the tune Owen had sung. I felt lighter than I had in years.

THE IRISH HAVE
a great respect for logic, but an even greater respect for things beyond logic. Superstitions, premonitions, and apparitions are all part and parcel of our everyday reality. And so in the days following my confession to Owen, when the child inside me churned with agitation, my skin tingled with strange sensations, and my dreams were filled with taunting ghosts. I recognized the omens of approaching danger. On the surface, all was quiet. Right after Owen’s visit I got a note from him saying he had been called away to England. His father was in hospital there and had taken a turn for the worse.

I went to the mill each day and did my work in silence. No one spoke to me. Even Theresa swallowed her thirst for gossip and kept her distance. It was as if they were all waiting. I waited, too.

TOWARD THE END
of June, I sat in my kitchen drinking tea with Billy. Aoife played on the floor with her tin whistle. She was coaxing sounds out of the instrument that were almost tuneful. Billy beamed at her.

“She’s going to be a great player one of these days, aren’t you, Aoife?”

Aoife smiled up at him. She loved Billy.

I leaned over and took another slice of the cake Billy had brought. Jesus, I was getting as big as a house. I stroked my belly. How had I ever thought I could pass this child off as premature? I had a month yet to go, but I looked ready to deliver any minute. Billy watched me, a tender smile on his big, round face. I smiled back at him. How glad I was that I had forgiven him long ago. He was as innocent as a big child. Da’s death had not been his fault.

A sudden loud thud at the front door made us all jump. Aoife dropped her tin whistle, and Billy instinctively caught the child up in his arms. His eyes bulged with fear. My own heart thudded as I stood up and walked through the parlor. Somehow I knew my waiting was over.

James burst into the room. He was wearing his IRA uniform. Fergus and two of James’s men stood behind him. They were all armed.

“Have you never heard of knocking?” I said to James.

He elbowed past me into the kitchen. “I want none of your lip,” he said.

I followed him. “What is it you want?” I said, trying not to let fear creep into my voice. Billy sat clutching Aoife. They both stared at us. James planted himself in front of the fireplace. I’d forgotten what an imposing figure he made in his uniform. The years of fighting had given his body a sleek strength, and his handsome face had lost all the soft traces of youth. But his eyes still burned with the same passion, and they bored through me now. I stood riveted to the spot.

“I need to know once and for all,” he said, “whose is it?”

A chaos of emotions ran through me. It was time. I could lie, and cry, and carry on, or I could stand up to the truth like the warrior I had always believed myself to be. I put my shoulders back and tilted my chin toward him in defiance.

“Owen Sheridan’s,” I said.

My words echoed like a gunshot around the room. James did not move. I did not move. Billy tightened his grip on Aoife. We all held our breath and waited. The evening sun painted the kitchen with an unreal golden light. Then, like an unleashed animal, James sprang forward.

“I knew it!” he cried. “You fuckin’ harlot! You fuckin’ traitor! You’re worse than your fuckin’ brother. Cowards, the lot of you, including your precious da.”

In one movement, James swept all the crockery off the table. It crashed in smithereens on the floor, sending sugar and cake and tea everywhere. Aoife screamed, and Billy leaned back in terror. Then James stood in front of me. He put out his hand to hit me but thought better of it. His face turned dark. He looked at me with such contempt that I felt my insides curling up as if from the heat of a fire.

“I can’t stand even to touch you,” he said.

His words hurt more than if he had assaulted me.

He reached instead for Aoife, snatching her from Billy’s arms.

“What are you doing?” I screamed.

“I’m taking her away. You’re not fit to rear my child, you bloody whore.”

Aoife squirmed under James’s hold. I leaped forward and thumped my fists on his arms and shoulders. “You can’t take her. You can’t!” I cried.

“Will you look at the cut of yourself,” James shouted, “standing there bold as brass swelled up with another man’s child? Och, I always knew you had nerve, Eileen. But I never thought you had no shame.”

He swung Aoife around. “Come on, Mary Margaret, I’m taking you out of this house.”

The child screamed and fought as James carried her toward the door.

“Mammy! Mammy!” she cried, her small arms thrust out toward me.

I ran outside after them, Billy behind me, carrying the tin whistle, which he pressed into Aoife’s hands. Then he ran back inside. The noise roused the neighbors, and a group of them stood in a huddle out in the street, watching us. I didn’t care what they thought. I screamed and pulled at James’s clothes to get him to release his hold on my child.

“No!” I pleaded. “No!”

Fergus came over and pulled me away from James. “Let it go, Eileen,” he said, “it’s best.”

I swung around. “How can you say that, Fergus? For God’s sake, she’s your godchild. How can you let him take her?”

Fergus had me in his grip, my hands pinned behind my back. “Let me go,” I screeched, “for God’s sake, Fergus! Why don’t you stop him?”

Fergus shook his head. He had the look of a defeated man, a man who had given up entirely on life. “It’s best, Eileen,” he whispered. “If you don’t let him take her, he’ll do worse. He’s lost his head entirely.”

“Start the car,” shouted James, and one of his men jumped in and started the engine. The other waited outside, his rifle in his hand. Fergus maintained his grip on me.