Torn Asunder

by Renny deGroot

  Emmet shrugged. “I don’t know. Sometimes yes, most times no.”

  Kevin frowned. “If I had my way there’d be no one other than me here.”

  Emmet studied his brother. “You’d like to be a hero?”

  “That has nothing to do with it.” He waved his hand at the group that was mingling around the yard. “As long as all these men are here, they’re less able to work for the movement.”

  Emmet nodded. “I didn’t look at it that way.”

  Kevin grinned and tousled his brother’s hair. “So what have you been learning from your roommate?”

  “He suggested I keep a journal.”

  Kevin nodded. “Great idea. We need as many of you scholars as possible to chronicle what’s happening.”

  Emmet stood up and Kevin followed him, rolling his shoulders. He put his arm around Emmet’s shoulders. “I’m serious, you know. We’re part of history here. We need a record. The words of Connolly, Pearse and Clarke. They’ve been put down for all to see in the future, but the likes of you and I, the likes of Tom Ennis. These are the moments that need to be recorded. We’re fighting for every person of Ireland and it’s of them and for them that we need to record it all.”

  Emmet felt a lump in his throat. “I will. I’ll do my best.”

  “Good man. Come now and let’s see what the latest rumours are all about.”

  Chapter Eleven

  July 1921, Dublin

  On July 9, Emmet wrote in his journal:

  The word went from mouth to ear like falling dominoes. It’s a truce. Will we be let out? Some say yes, some say no, some say some. The bigger question is what happens now? The country divided. Is this what we’ve fought for? What good men died for?

  Emmet paused, listening to the babble of discussion around him as he sat alone at the end of a long table in the dining hall. He heard the debates and speculation and tried to think about how he felt about it all. God, I can’t wait for Mam’s cooking. A real meal with food that smells and tastes like something I can recognize. A lamb roast. Small spuds fresh from the garden.

  He thought of the last meal he had eaten as a free man. A cheese sandwich. Kevin was right, of course. I should have had something more memorable.

  As if he had conjured him up, Emmet saw Kevin coming towards him. In only six weeks his brother seemed to have shrunk; his jacket hung on him as if it belonged to another man. But sure, aren’t we all different men now? Emmet closed his journal. His heart wasn’t into deep thoughts.

  Kevin sat down across from Emmet. “Did you hear the latest, then?”

  Emmet shrugged. “I’ve heard everything from we’re going free to we’re being shipped off to England or Wales.”

  Kevin nodded. “I’ve heard all that as well.” He hesitated and leaned in close to his brother. Kevin’s breath made warm puffs in Emmet’s ear. “We’re going home. I’m sure of it.”

  Emmet didn’t question how he knew that. Kevin just knew things. True things. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling his heart pound the blood in his temples. He opened them to turn his gaze on his brother. “My God. When?”

  Kevin sat back and grinned. “That I don’t know. Soon, though.”

  • • •

  On July 11 the truce was official. Ireland and England were no longer at war.

  On July 12th, Kevin and Emmet were on their way home. They only had the clothes on their backs to carry and Emmet’s notebook and pencil. A lorry took them as far as Finglas and from there, they walked. A farmer with a horse pulling a hay wagon picked them up at Kilshane Cross and for half an hour they lay back in the sun-warmed hay to rest, but then they had to walk again. After giving the farmer some heartfelt thanks, Kevin seemed to find a new energy and he set off at a march, arms swinging.

  Emmet had to put all he had into it to keep up with Kevin. “Are we in a race, then?”

  Kevin held up his arms as if to touch the sky which had turned grey with a light drizzle. “I’m keen to get home out of the wet. Are you not?”

  “I am, of course. I’m just savouring it.”

  “Being soaked to the skin?”

  “Freedom.”

  “And have you thought about what you’ll do with the freedom?”

  “Go back to work, I hope.”

  “And what about that lass of yours?”

  “Yes, that’s playing on my mind. I haven’t seen her for a few weeks now. Maybe she’s found someone new by now.”

  Visitors were allowed to talk to prisoners between eleven in the morning and one in the afternoon and many had come each day to crowd at the fence where, with luck and cooperation, they could visit through the chain link. Bridie had been a regular and had successfully coaxed a guard to take the notebook and pen from her to give to Emmet. Many of the guards had been good that way.

  Kevin put his arm around Emmet’s shoulder. “I saw the look in her eye when she was with you. I don’t believe she’s found someone new.”

  Emmet shrugged, and Kevin’s arm fell away. “We’ll see.”

  “She’ll stick by you. I know it.”

  Emmet smiled. “And you’re always right, I suppose?”

  Kevin lifted his hands. “When am I not?”

  This time the homecoming was expected, and all the family greeted the boys with hugs, including Emmet’s two-year-old nephew in the arms of Michael. Mam had made a lamb roast, just as Emmet had longed for, and the end of the war was celebrated, none of them realizing how short-lived it would be.

  • • •

  Emmet gave himself plenty of time to cycle from Ashbourne to St. Stephen’s Green. He had sent a note to Bridie to suggest they meet there and her response confirmed she’d be there but seemed cryptic. A simple ‘yes, I’ll be there.’ As he rode along, he relished the sun on his back, but wished it were cooler so he wouldn’t sweat so much.

  He parked his bicycle at the gate and walked to their meeting place by the pond. His stomach churned almost as much as when he had raced into the Customs House. She’s through with me. I know it, and sure, she’s probably right. I’ll just bring her heartache. The Cause will be my life and I’ll leave the romance for others.

  He watched the swans swimming gracefully in pairs. He tried to steel himself but then he turned and saw her. His heart pounded, and his eyes burned when he saw the look on her face.

  Chapter Twelve

  Dublin, July 1921

  He watched her approach. Even at a distance he saw the tears on her face. As she got close he noticed that her eyes, normally blue, looked grey, filled as they were with tears.

  She’s done with me. At least she’s here to tell me in person. Don’t blub. He felt his own eyes burn.

  And then she was there and reaching for him despite the open and public place. Her wide brimmed hat got in the way and she pushed it back so that it hung around her neck and she kissed him full on the mouth. She pulled away and they both took a breath.

  She straightened her hat. “Emmet, you’re as thin as a rail. We’ll have to fatten you up.”

  He took her hand and led her to a shady spot. Slipping off his light jacket, he laid it on the grass for her. “Don’t worry yourself. I’m fine and my mother is working hard to put the meat back on me.”

  There was a silence as they sat side by side. He plucked a blade of grass, playing with it as he spoke. “Why did you not come to see me at the end, Bridie?”

  “It wasn’t because I didn’t want to.”

  He threw away the grass and turned to look at her. “Why, then?”

  “My parents.”

  “Have they set against me now?”

  She shook her head. “Not really. It’s just they decided it wasn’t seemly for me to be going to that place.”

  “And that’s the only reason?”

  “It is.”

  Emmet’s voice was low. “I thought maybe you had found someone else.”

  Her voice was choked. “There’s no one else.”

  He took her hand in his and it felt c
omfortable and safe captured in his.

  He studied her. He felt his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Bridie, but if you want to finish it with me, for whatever reason, I understand.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t.”

  He heaved a heavy sigh, as if he was exhaling the worries of the world. “That’s all right then. I fretted when I didn’t see you anymore and didn’t hear anything. How bad is it with your folks?”

  She shrugged. “They aren’t happy. They think I can do better.”

  “I don’t blame them. I wouldn’t want someone troublesome for my daughter either.” He patted her hand and then released it.

  She smiled. “You’ll have to prove to them you aren’t troublesome, won’t you?”

  “I’ll do my best, I promise.”

  She took a deep breath. “It’s time to think of the future. What will you do now?”

  He turned back to her, shifting a little to be able to talk to her face to face. He hesitated and bit his bottom lip. “There’s a rumour out that they’ll be looking for some men to go to America.”

  She frowned. “Who’s they?”

  He glanced around as if to see that no one was near by. It was an automatic reaction. Something he picked up in Kilmainham. “The party. Michael Collins.”

  “What does that mean to you?”

  He looked away then, watching the swans before speaking again. “I’ve put my name forward.”

  She flinched and leaned away from him. “America? You’re going to America?”

  He shrugged. “I put my name forward. That doesn’t mean I’ll be chosen.”

  Bridie stood, brushing her hands down her skirt to smooth the wrinkles.

  He stood as well and reached out both his hands to grasp hers. “Bridie. Sit down again. Hear me out.” He heard the pleading in his own voice. He needed her to understand. He couldn’t just walk away. Not now.

  “I can’t sit on the damp ground. It’s creasing my dress.”

  “Don’t be cross.”

  She pulled her hands away from him. “You said that if I wanted to finish with you, you’d understand. Perhaps what you were really saying is that you want to finish with me.”

  His hands dropped and hung loosely by his side. “No, not at all. The thought of you is what’s kept me strong all these weeks. I need you, Bridie. I need you to believe in me and stand by my side as we try to make the vision of a united Ireland come true.”

  She stared at him, as if trying to understand what he wanted from her. “America.” It was all she could say.

  He picked up his jacket and shook it out before draping it over his left arm. He offered his right arm to her, but she ignored it and they walked on to the path that led around the lake, the gap between them feeling greater than it was.

  She sighed. “Tell me, then.”

  His voice was almost feverish as he explained how he and Liam wanted to go together to help raise funds for the Cause.

  “So how long would you be away, then?”

  “Not more than a few months.”

  “And what would you do? How do you raise funds?”

  His heart raced as he talked about it. “I would mostly be writing. I’ll write speeches, pieces for the American papers as well as send articles home for the papers here.”

  Bridie shook her head. “I thought that once you were released we’d get to spend more time together.”

  “It isn’t forever.”

  “My friend Mary is engaged.” Bridie flushed.

  “I know it’s asking a lot of you to wait for me, but it’s important. You see that, don’t you?”

  She hesitated. “I see that you think so.”

  He tried to find the words that would explain. “It’s for Ireland. There’s more work to do and I know I have the skills to do that work.”

  She stopped and turned to look up at him. “Here’s what I know. I know that my parents are heartsick at the loss of that beautiful building that you helped burn down. I know that they don’t want me to see you anymore because you’re dangerous.”

  He stared at her. “I didn’t realize you were getting such a hard time from your parents.”

  “Well, now you know. But it isn’t even that. I can tolerate the remarks and disapproving looks. I could tolerate it when I thought that you cared for me..”

  He protested. “I do care for you.”

  She held up her hand, her eyes narrowed. “When I thought you cared enough for me that you were worth the hard times. Now, it seems that I was mistaken about how much you cared. Clearly with you it will always be Ireland first and me second.”

  She turned and strode off.

  He trotted after her and tried to lay his hand on her shoulder.

  She twitched her shoulder and pulled away from him. She spit the words out. “Leave me alone, Emmet Ryan. Don’t follow me. Go to America and I wish you joy with it.” Her angry words were punctuated with tears.

  He stood helplessly and watched her go. It seemed so easy to make these plans when he was far away from her. The Cause was everything when he was in Kilmainham. Now, it didn’t seem so straightforward. I love her. His breath caught with the realization. What do I do now?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Dublin, September 1921

  In early September Emmet, Liam and two other men crossed the ocean to America on the S.S. Columbia which landed in Ellis Island, New York. The trip took five days, and while Liam and one of the others, Joseph, a bandy-legged man with wild dark hair, were sick for most of the trip, Emmet and the fourth man, Paul, a bespectacled fair man, quickly got their sea legs and enjoyed wandering the ship. They were in second class where the four of them shared a cabin and the trip was paid for by de Valera’s fund, as all the expenses of travel and accommodation were. Emmet loved wandering around the ship and talking to people. He wrote pages in his journal about the stories of people on board, crafting articles that he intended to send back for publication. These stories captured the whole range of emotions from excitement of the single men for the adventure ahead to the fear and worry of the family of eight who left only because they had no other options when the jobs and money ran out.

  Emmet chronicled every leg of the journey in letters to Bridie. He had seen her only once after their blow-up in St. Stephen’s Green, and while she hadn’t said she was prepared to wait for him, she had grudgingly agreed to have tea with him, and when he told her that he would write to her she hadn’t told him not to. Emmet took that as a hopeful sign and wrote as if they were still good friends.

  After the whirlwind of landing, the four men were picked up and then assigned jobs, which is how Emmet came to be on a train heading from New York to Chicago. The train jerked and swayed, but still Emmet managed to work on his letter.

  Dear Bridie,

  I’m on the train as I write this, so don’t mind the odd squiggle in the writing. We are going to Chicago to the offices of the AARIR. You may remember me mentioning that organization last year when I read about de Valera’s trip here. They are the American Association for Recognition of the Irish Republic. That’s a grand name altogether, isn’t it? There are three of us going to Chicago and the others are going to Washington. We were given tickets for the train, (people call it ‘the most famous train in the world.’ No one’s told me why, but that’s the American way – everything is the biggest and best.) It’s an express that left Grand Central Terminal and goes all the way to Chicago, with no changing trains anywhere along the way. The price of the ticket was fifty-one dollars American for each of us and for that we get a Pullman sleeping berth (I haven’t seen it yet, but I gather the seats fold down to make a bed with a curtain to draw over for privacy). It’s all very luxurious and I’d say you won’t find any farmers taking their chickens to market on this train! The seats are a dark green velvet with carved wood throughout. There are toilets at either end of the car (one for men and one for women). As soon as I finish this letter, Li
am and I are off to discover the dining car. Naturally he’s choking for a pint.

  We left New York at four this afternoon and expect to arrive in Chicago tomorrow morning around nine o’clock. I’m told that I’ll be put to work writing pamphlets to help drum up support for the Irish cause. Liam and Joseph will go about to different places to help talk it up. They love the old accent here, so Liam lays it on for good measure.

  My head’s in a spin sometimes, imagining that I’ve gone from jail only a short time ago to this.

  I only wish you were here to see it all with me. Perhaps one day.

  Write to me, care of the AARIR, Visitation Assembly Hall, 900 West Garfield Boulevard, Chicago IL, U.S.A. I expect to be there for the next while and not move around anymore, although I understand that Boston is where the real action is. If it looks like I’m being relocated, I’ll let you know.

  Emmet

  In October, while Emmet was in Chicago, he did, at last, get a letter from Bridie.

  When it was delivered to his desk, he put it away to savour later when he was alone in his room. There were too many people around him to afford him the privacy and quiet he wanted. Maybe she’s forgiven me.

  Maybe she’ll tell me to stop writing.

  Instead of opening his letter, he concentrated on reviewing the paper he had written which would be given the next day at a social at the Visitation Sodality Hall. The speech was to be read by the council president, John Conroy, but Liam and Joseph would each take a turn at speaking from the heart as well.

  Emmet made sure to mention that the Catholic Daughters of America had purchased a one-hundred-dollar bond, in the hopes of inspiring other groups to step up and match the donation.

  When he was finished and put the final paper in an envelope for delivery to Conroy, he stretched his back muscles and rotated his shoulders. After tomorrow’s event he would write a piece to send home for his paper to print. I’m a bridge between the two worlds.

  He walked over to the lunchroom where Liam and Joseph debated how they should talk about the delegation going to London to discuss a treaty.