Emmet pulled back, wary at Liam’s solemn expression. “What is it, Liam? I thought I’d see you over the past couple of days. You must have been in the thick of things by the look of you.”
Bridie came back with three glasses and the bottle of Jameson’s whiskey and set the tray down on the small round table beside the sofa.
Still gripping Emmet’s shoulders, Liam finally spoke. “I was in the thick of it, but I’m not the only one.”
Emmet pulled away and poured out 3 measures of whiskey. “I know that. I was in the Gresham.”
Liam nodded. “I heard.” He bit his lip. “Emmet. This isn’t a social call. I’m here on behalf of the Dublin Brigade.”
Emmet stood holding two glasses. “What does that mean?”
Liam took the glasses and set them back down. “Emmet, there’s no easy way to tell you this. Your brother..”
Goosebumps shivered up Emmet’s spine.
“Your brother, Kevin was involved. He was up at the outpost in the YMCA.”
Emmet shook his head. “No, he’s in Cork.”
“He was in Cork.”
Bridie moved to Emmet’s side and put her arm around his waist.
Emmet shook his head again.
Liam continued. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Kevin was killed in the fighting when the Free State troops tunnelled into the building.”
Emmet remained standing for another second and then stumbled to a chair to collapse. “I don’t believe it.” Even as he spoke the words, he knew Liam wouldn’t say it unless he knew it was true.
Liam picked up the whiskey and shoved it into Emmet’s hand. “Drink.”
Emmet tipped his glass to drink the whole measure. It served to unlock the anguish that gripped him. He put the glass on the floor between his feet and hid his face in his hands, elbows pressed into his knees. He tried to hold the sob inside, but at the feel of Bridie’s hand on his back, he groaned. “No, no, no.”
Liam crouched down in front of Emmet. “He died doing what he believed in. He died as a brave and true Irishman.”
Emmet looked up, his face inches from Liam’s. “I thought he was safe. I never thought to look for him.”
Liam shook his head. “He didn’t want you to know he was back. He knew you’d worry. There was nothing you could have done. You did your job, chronicling the fight. He did his job. You both did what you had to do.”
Bridie perched on the arm of Emmet’s chair and rubbed his back.
Tears burned Emmet’s eyes. “It wasn’t enough. I should have been by his side.”
Bridie squeezed his shoulder. “Where would I be, then?”
Liam nodded. “Listen to Bridie.”
Emmet jumped up. “My parents. I need to let them know.”
Liam shook his head. “No. We’re doing that. Right now, Kevin is on his way home. Two of our boys borrowed an ambulance and they’re taking him back to Ashbourne.”
Emmet stood, his arms hanging by his side, tears smearing his face. “What do I do now? I should be doing something.”
Liam moved to Emmet’s side. “Right now we are going to finish this bottle of whiskey. Then you are going to bed and in the morning, you’ll go home to be with your family.” Liam refilled their glasses.
Emmet sat down again and took the glass that Liam put back in his hand.
Liam lifted his and Emmet and Bridie both lifted theirs to clink the three glasses together. “To a fine man and a good, good friend.”
Bridie spoke through her tears: “To Kevin.”
“To Kevin.” They chorused.
Bridie went to the kitchen and set her glass on the work top, not finishing the drink. She cut some bread, cheese and cold chicken and took the platter out to the living room for Liam and Emmet to pick at during the long evening ahead.
Later when the bottle was finished and most of the food gone, Liam helped Bridie get Emmet to the bedroom and lay him on the bed. He heard Bridie walk Liam to the door and while he knew they were talking, their voices came as if through a heavy fog. Muffled sounds. He thought he heard Liam say ‘congratulations’ but knew that couldn’t be right. There was nothing to celebrate tonight. Emmet felt his life crumbling around him. No job. Kevin dead. It’s all gone badly wrong. It was his last thought before exhaustion overcame him.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ashbourne, July 1922
After the funeral, people crowded into the old farmhouse. Emmet’s mother sat by the Aga cooker in the kitchen most of the time, her face white and her blue eyes rimmed with red and swimming with restrained tears. His father circulated with bottles of whiskey and Emmet poured pints of Guinness from a keg they’d gotten from the hotel.
Emmet watched his brother Michael for a moment. Michael stood looking out the window holding his young son on his hip. The child must have sensed his father’s distress because the small hand kept rubbing his father’s neck, as he’d no doubt, felt his mother do for him when he suffered a childish hurt. Emmet turned his eyes away, feeling a sob build in his throat.
Bridie appeared beside him. “Shall I take over pouring pints? Why don’t you take a break? Maybe sit with your mam for a bit?”
He shook his head. “I’m not strong enough.”
Bridie touched his cheek. “You are. She needs you.”
He nodded and left her there to go and join his mother. “Mam. Can I get you anything? A drink or sandwich?”
“Ah, no. Thank you, though.”
He pulled a chair close to her and took her hand in his two. He stroked her hand, feeling the frailty of it. And feeling the strength of it.
She turned her fingers to grasp his hand. “It’s hard to go on, isn’t it?”
He nodded.
“There’s always a feeling of guilt that those of us left behind feel. I think about what I could have done differently to change the outcome.”
He frowned. “Mam. There’s nothing you could have done. You taught him to think about what he believed in, and to stand up for those beliefs.”
She nodded. “I know, but it’s human to imagine we might have done something, isn’t it?”
He closed his eyes. “Yes. I guess it is.”
She squeezed his hand again. “But there’s nothing either of us could have done.”
He sighed. “No, nothing.”
She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Remember that, so.”
He swallowed, trying to dislodge the lump in his throat.
She smiled. “It’s time for you to think of the future. What will you do now that you aren’t with the Journal?”
He shrugged. “Look around for something else.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t take long about it.”
“We’re all right. We have some savings.”
“Ah.”
“What does that mean? Ah?”
She stood up. “I better go and talk to some of our neighbours. And you, you better talk to your wife.”
Emmet shook his head as he watched her move into the sitting room. He followed her, looking around for Bridie. Michael had taken over at the keg and she sat with Michael’s wife, with the child on her lap. He wandered over and rested his hand on her shoulder.
She smiled up at him. “All right?”
He shrugged. “Mystified.”
“Oh?”
“Mam told me to come talk to you.”
Bridie exchanged glances with Michael’s wife. She stood and handed the child back to his mother and then led Emmet outside into the garden.
Bridie linked her arm through Emmet’s. “Your mother is a wise woman. Even at a time like this, she misses nothing.”
Emmet wrinkled his forehead. “What am I missing?”
She stopped and turned to face him. “I’ve been waiting for the right time, but maybe indeed this is it. The right time.”
He stared at her.
“Emmet. I’m pregnant.”
For what felt like the hundredth time that day, Emmet’s eyes burned with
tears. “In death, there is life.”
She nodded. “I know it isn’t ideal, with you out of work, but I thought I could take in some sewing.”
He pulled her to him in a close hug. He kissed her hair. “It’s time for a new start. I’ll find work, no matter what it is.”
Emmet heard the door open and Liam’s voice. “Out here canoodling, are you?”
He released Bridie but kept his arm around her shoulder as he turned to face Liam. “And why not? Why shouldn’t I give the mother of my child a hug if I like?”
Liam smiled. “Ah, that’s brilliant. It’s great to hear something good right now.”
Emmet had a feeling that his best friend wasn’t entirely surprised, but let it go. “I just wish..”
Liam stepped forward to shake Emmet’s hand and to kiss Bridie’s cheek. “Never mind wishing. Kevin would have been over the moon for you, and you’ve got a pack of other people in the house that could use some cheering up right now.”
Emmet looked down at his wife. “Can we tell people already?”
“Yes. I’ve been to the doctor already and all is well.”
Emmet shook his head. “I’ve been so focused on everything else that I didn’t pay attention to what was happening in my own home. I’m sorry. Things will be different from now on.”
She smiled and gave him a gentle push towards the house.
They held hands as they went first to tell his mother. Kathleen smiled when she saw them and nodded. “You’ve told him, then.”
Emmet’s father blinked away tears when they told him. “It’s a blessing.” He looked up and crossed himself, as if saying a silent prayer.
Emmet hugged his father. “Da, I’ll have a hard time being a father as good as you’ve been.”
His father patted him on the back. “Just follow your instincts, son.” His father then called out for quiet in the room. “We’ve had enough sadness for the day. My son Emmet and his wife Bridie are just after telling me that they are expecting their first child, and we know that Kevin will be an angel above watching over this happy news. Who will give us a song for Kevin and for the baby to come?”
Someone pulled out a fiddle from under a chair. Another man took out a harmonica and they started up the music. Drinks were refilled, and voices joined the music in song.
As women crowded around Bridie to talk about pregnancy and babies, Emmet went back outside in the dusk. He looked out over the green patchwork hills as they faded to browns and yellows in the fading sun.
A child. I’ll be a father.
He was still trying to imagine it when Liam came to join him.
His friend put a glass of whiskey in his hand. “Congratulations, my friend. You’re an adult now.”
Emmet looked at the pale gold liquid in his glass. “You’re always magically showing up with whiskey when I need one.”
“That’s my job.”
“And what’s my job? What’s it all been for, Liam? Starting with 1916 and here we are six years later, still fighting and losing the same battles. Kevin lost his life, and for what?”
Liam sighed and took a drink of his whiskey. “If it was easy, it would have been done a couple of centuries ago.”
Emmet tilted his head as he looked at Liam.
“Freedom for Ireland. That’s always been the goal, Emmet. It’s what Kevin died for. It’s my job and it’s yours.”
Emmet took another sip. “I don’t think anything I do can make a difference.”
Liam rested his hand on Emmet’s shoulder. “Of course, it does. Probably what you do even more so than anything I can do.”
Emmet frowned. “Why do you say that?”
Liam gripped Emmet’s shoulder. “I’ve told you before. Your words. They can touch people in a way I can’t. Just tell your stories. You show ordinary citizens why this makes sense for them, and for their children.”
Liam dropped his hand and they finished their drinks in silence.
Finally, as the last of the sun’s rays faded to darkness, Emmet murmured. “For our children.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Dublin, July1922
Bridie raised the subject of getting work again. “Emmet, perhaps I should take in some sewing.”
Emmet looked up from the desk where he was writing letters. “Nonsense, Bridie.”
“But how will we manage?”
“I’ll get something. It isn’t for you to worry about.”
Her voice was sarcastic. “I wonder would the former Minister of Labour agree with that notion.”
Emmet felt himself flush. “I hope you don’t intend to follow in the footsteps of the Countess Markievicz.”
Bridie smiled. “I’m not quite that ambitious, but at the same time, she is a model for all Irish women to admire.”
Emmet threw down his pen and held up his hands in surrender. “All right, all right. If you have something you feel you should do, then I won’t hold you back.”
Now that Bridie had won the argument, she didn’t seem keen on the idea of taking in sewing. “I’ll give it some thought.”
Emmet folded the letter he had now completed. “Meanwhile, I’m off to meet someone that might be helpful to us.”
Bridie kissed him at the door. “Good luck.”
Several hours later Emmet returned. He rocked unsteadily in front of Bridie with a grin on his face.
Bridie grimaced. “Have you been celebrating or drowning your sorrows?”
He leaned in to kiss her.
She leaned back and waved her hand in front of her face. “You’ll have me drunk just from your fumes.”
He pulled her close and kissed her despite her complaints. “Good news. I am once again a working man.”
“Truly, Emmet?”
“Truly.”
She wriggled out of his arms and pulled him by the hand to sit down. “Tell me.”
“It’s that new paper called Poblacht na hÉireann.”
She nodded. “Of course. The Republican paper.”
“That’s it. That’s the right place for me.”
She smiled. “It is.”
• • •
Two weeks later Emmet came home from work to find Bridie singing as she stirred a pot on the cooker.
He kissed her neck. “You seem in good form. Are you feeling better?”
She tipped her head forward and Emmet kissed her neck again, enjoying the salty summer sweat that was the taste of her.
She turned then with a smile. “The morning sickness is almost gone, but I’m in good form because I have work.”
“Oh?”
She set down her wooden spoon and led him to the sofa. “Let me tell you what happened today.” She proceeded to tell Emmet about her conversation with Mr. Riley who owned the dry goods shop down the street. She apparently impressed him when she tallied up what she owed him in her head as he was still noting down on paper the various items and prices. He called her a marvel when she put the exact money on the counter before he could add it up. He then went on to say he wished he had her talent because he was always in a muddle with his bookkeeping.
With a triumphant grin Bridie finished the story. “So the upshot is, I’m to do his books as a regular thing. For now, I’ll go to the shop two mornings a week, but once the baby comes, I can do the work here at home. Either I’ll pick up the receipts or he’ll bring them to me. What do you think of that?”
Emmet took her hands and kissed each of them. “I think Mr. Riley knows a good thing when he sees it. You are a marvel with numbers. No question.”
She smiled. “Well, this marvel better see to the dinner.”
He went in to lay the table and slice some bread. He was still heartsore at the loss of his brother, but he was learning to live with the constant ache. Despite it, he found himself smiling more than he had in a very long time.
They went on to talk about his day. Every day was exciting for Emmet now that he didn’t have to curtail his true feelings. He interviewed politicians and so
ldiers. He went to functions and listened to arguments in Parliament. He often went to Dublin Castle, something that both he and Bridie found amazing after all the years of British rule.
Emmet finished the last of his dinner. “It’s sad to see Michael Collins standing on one side and de Valera on the other. After everything we’ve been through, they should be standing shoulder to shoulder.”
Bridie nodded. “It is. I hope they can come together somehow, but with the North opting out of the Free State, it’s hard to know how they will ever agree again.”
Emmet drained the last of his tea. “Did I tell you I heard from Liam?”
“No. Where is he and what’s he up to?”
“Not really sure. He just said he’s up in Belfast at the moment but expects he’ll be going to Cork next month. When he’s in the south he hopes to come by and say hello.”
“I couldn’t see myself going here and there like he does. He never stays home.”
Emmet smiled. “He doesn’t have a home to stay in.”
Bridie wrinkled her forehead. “That’s true, isn’t it. How sad.”
“He would say that a united Ireland is his home, so until that happens he can’t settle anywhere.”
Bridie was silent for a moment. “And if it never happens?”
Emmet shook his head. “Don’t even think that. The day will come. It won’t be easy though, especially when I see how complacent most people are.”
Bridie reached across the table to rest her hand on his. “As long as the battle you fight from now on is only with your words.”
Emmet put his free hand over hers. “I understand that I was lucky that your uncle helped me out. Don’t worry, my love.”
Bridie pursed her lips. Emmet suspected it wasn’t enough of a promise, but it was all he could give her.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Dublin, August 1922
The headlines screamed the news. Michael Collins Assassinated
The country was embroiled in a civil war. Emmet worked long hours to capture the hour-by-hour news, but he was paid very little for the effort.
Bridie counted the pay packet. “Oh, Emmet. It’s hardly worth all the hours you put into it.”
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