“School starts next week. I wondered if you were worried about that.”
“Not at all. I’m looking forward to going back.”
Bridie stood, seeming to be satisfied. “Will you join the debating team again?”
Maeve nodded. “Probably. I’ll see.” How can I tell her that it seems so tame now?
Maeve finished her breakfast. “Do you need me, Mammy? I might take my book and walk down to St. Stephen’s Green for a bit.”
Bridie waved her away. “You go on. I want to write a letter to Elizabeth anyway.”
Maeve paused on her way to the steps. “How are they?”
Bridie shrugged. “Elizabeth worries over Daniel, of course.”
Maeve frowned. “Has something happened?”
“Aside from the fact that he’s off fighting in this hateful war?”
Maeve sat back down. “You didn’t tell me that. He joined the army?”
“I thought the two of you were pen friends?”
Maeve swallowed. “We haven’t written each other for…I can’t remember now…a long time.”
Bridie saw her mother bite her bottom lip. “I thought I mentioned it.”
Maeve shook her head. “No, I would have remembered that. Daniel’s a British soldier now?”
“You sound like your father. Don’t say it like that. It’s not like Daniel’s here occupying Ireland.”
“I know. It’s just a shock. Poor Elizabeth. Of course, she’s worried. Does she know anything about him and where he is?”
“When she wrote this letter, he was just starting training.”
Maeve had a sudden thought. “He’s not gone as a medic, has he?”
“No, unfortunately not.” Bridie went to the writing desk and rummaged for a letter. “Here it is. He joined the infantry. 59th Staffordshire Division.”
“That’s so awful. I hope nothing happens to him.”
“Yes, we’ll say a prayer for him.”
Maeve nodded and rose to retrieve her book and shawl. “I’ll be back later.”
She walked to her favourite bench overlooking the water, but instead of opening her book, she sat lost in thought.
Daniel. I thought you were studying to be a doctor. I’m sorry I stopped writing. Could I have changed your mind? Probably not. A British soldier. I guess that’s the end of us, then. She recalled his gentle manner, and unbidden, she thought of Patrick. She compared Patrick’s rugged looks and strong decisive character with Daniel. She closed her eyes in the warm autumn sun and remembered Daniel kissing her and compared his gentleness with Patrick’s rugged insistence and then her eyes flew open. She glanced around to see if anyone had watched her as she imagined kissing a young man. No one. She sighed. Patrick was exciting, but as she thought of them, it was Daniel that she could imagine walking with, side by side, here in this park. Daniel, whom she could talk to about anything and everything. Daniel, whom she had spent weeks thinking about after he and his mother left last year.
Why did I stop writing letters? Maeve felt a lump form in her throat. I was so wrapped up in school, the debating team and Patrick. She resolved to write him again. I’ll put a letter in with Mammy’s. It can be forwarded.
She opened her book and was soon lost in the poems of W.B. Yeats.
• • •
Maeve got home to find the house empty. She went up to her room to begin writing the letter to Daniel but was distracted when she heard her brothers arrive home. I’ll finish this later.
She came to the parlour where Robert was waggling a finger at his brother. “What are you two arguing over now?”
Malachy waved the newspaper folded open to a sports page in front of her. “The League of Ireland finals.”
Maeve had no interest in sports, but she glanced down at the paper. “Malachy! What are you doing bringing the Independent into the house? Daddy’ll go mad.”
As if conjured by magic, their father walked into the front door. “What’s all the ruckus about?”
Malachy laid the newspaper in his lap and folded his hands over it. “Just sports, Da. Nothing serious.”
Emmet gave Maeve a kiss on the cheek. “Where’s your Mam?”
Maeve slipped her hand through his arm. “Not sure, Daddy. I’ve been out enjoying the fine weather and she was gone when I got back. I’ll go and check with Róisín.”
It was a luxury to have a girl to help with the housework these days. Maeve knew that Róisín’s father had been killed in a factory accident, and suspected that her father had convinced her Mam to hire the girl more to help Róisín’s family out than because Bridie needed help.
Emmet smiled. “Check when lunch will be served as well, will you? I have to get back for a meeting.”
As Maeve stepped out of the room, she heard her father’s voice. “What’s that you have there then, Malachy?”
Maeve reached the kitchen where the girl was busy making lunch. “Róisín, do you know where Mammy is?”
“She went out to post a letter. I’m sure she’ll be back any minute now.”
There goes my plan to add a letter for Daniel.
“Right, thank you. Daddy was wondering how soon he could have his lunch as he’s in a bit of a hurry.”
The sound of raised voices reached them in the kitchen. Róisín eyes widened. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”
Maeve patted the young girl on the shoulder. “He’s not angry with you. I have a feeling it’s something Malachy did.”
Maeve wasn’t surprised to see her father with the newspaper in his hand. Her father’s face was flushed.
Maeve took the paper from his hand. “Daddy. It’s not worth getting so worked up.”
Malachy sat with his arms crossed, looking sullen, while Robert had shrunk down into the easy chair in the corner.
Emmet’s eyebrows were pulled into a deep frown. “That rag is not welcome in this house. The traitors that put that so-called news out, should be in jail.”
Maeve made her voice as gentle and calming as she could. “I know, Daddy. I agree with you, but Malachy’s only a boy. He didn’t mean any harm.”
Malachy muttered. “I only wanted to see the sports results.”
Maeve frowned at her brother.
Emmet took a deep breath but before he could say anything further, Bridie came in, unpinning her hat.
Maeve smiled at her mother. “Mammy, Róisín is just getting lunch organized and will be ready shortly. Daddy has to eat early.”
Maeve left them to discuss lunch as she slipped away to throw out the offending newspaper. What was Malachy thinking bringing that paper in the house? Everyone knew her father had a bitter disgust for the paper that always represented the Treaty side of the argument.
Maeve went out to the back garden to throw the paper into the bin, but in the midst of rolling it up, she stopped. She felt the blood drain from her face and thought she would faint. She stumbled to the wrought iron stool and crumpled on to it. The words blurred in the burn of her tears as she read the article buried on the back page. She hadn’t taken the time to read their own newspaper this morning, so the story was a shock.
Maeve read about the load of munitions which had been captured in Hannahstown, County Antrim. The authorities knew now that the weapons had been delivered by persons unknown two nights previously but they had only been discovered as they were moved to a hiding place at McCafferty’s farm outside Hannahstown.
Maeve skimmed over the details.
There was a gun battle.
One RUC member was wounded, and Patrick was…Maeve could hardly take it in. Patrick is dead.
The newspaper lay open on the small garden table when her father came outside. Maeve looked up at him and saw the scowl on his face turn to a look of puzzlement and then concern. She stood. “Oh, Daddy.”
He patted her back as she cried against his shoulder. “There, there.”
When her sobs quietened, he gently pushed her away from him to look in her face. “What is it, Maeve? What’s h
appened?”
She turned and pointed at the newspaper. “I knew him.”
Emmet picked up the paper and read through the story. “This Dermody man? You knew him?”
Maeve nodded.
“How could you know him? This was up north. It was probably just someone with the same name.”
He crumpled the paper and went to the bin. He closed the lid and came back to Maeve to lead her inside. “Run in and wash your face, dear. You don’t want Mammy to worry. I’m quite sure you’ll find it’s just someone with the same name and not your friend at all.”
Maeve wanted to hold him there and tell her father everything. He would understand. After all, he had inspired her to be involved. Then the moment was gone, and Maeve watched the door close behind his retreating back.
She followed slowly. She went up to her room and poured cool water into her basin. She bathed her eyes and wiped her face, inspecting herself afterwards. The freckles across her nose stood out against her pale skin. Her eyes still swam so it was hard for Maeve to be objective.
Robert shouted up the stairs. “Come down, Maeve. We’re all waiting on you.”
I’ll have to go down for lunch, but I’ll be sick if I eat anything.
Maeve took a deep breath. “I’m coming now.”
She took her place at the table and her mother said grace. She took the smallest amount she felt she could get away with, but still her mother noticed.
“Are you feeling all right, Maeve? You just don’t seem yourself.”
“I’m fine, Mammy.” Maeve tried a smile.
Her father snorted. “It’s all the upset of having the traitor’s paper in the house.”
Maeve saw Malachy flush. “It’s nothing. Please, let’s just eat lunch.”
By the end of the meal Maeve was in control of her feelings. I must be strong to carry on. That’s what Patrick would expect.
It wouldn’t be easy, but she would do her part.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Dublin, Christmas 1942
The Emergency, as the war was called in Ireland, continued to cause rationing, but aside from that, life was quite stable compared to other countries. Robert thrived working in the bakery and at first he brought home misshapen loaves that represented his early attempts, but these offerings became less frequent as his skill rose.
Maeve went back to school although she was heartsick after reading of Patrick’s death. Soon after learning the news, Liam had come to the house. He and Maeve had a few moments alone in the parlour.
It was a relief to shed a few tears over Patrick, but then she dried her eyes with her embroidered handkerchief and asked Liam what she could do to be involved.
He took her hand. “You need to focus on school. The country needs different work now. Work that you’re suited for.”
Maeve squeezed his hand. “I am focused on my studies, Uncle Liam. That doesn’t mean that I have to give up the other.”
He shook his head. “I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you.”
“I do this of my own free will. Anything worth having is worth fighting for. Didn’t you and Daddy teach me that?”
Liam folded his arms across his chest. “There are different ways of fighting. You said so yourself, and your Da taught me that when we were in America.”
Maeve frowned. “He doesn’t talk much about his time in America.”
“That’s because he doesn’t take the pride that he should in his work there. The speeches he wrote, and articles he published were very inspiring to thousands of people.”
“I guess he feels it wasn’t the same as taking action, getting his hands dirty, as you call it.”
Liam sighed. “He thinks that’s what other people feel.”
Maeve shrugged. “Tell me what’s next. What can I do to help?”
Liam shook his head. “I’m leaving for a while. I’ll be out of touch.”
Maeve clenched her teeth. “You’re deliberately leaving to prevent me from helping.”
Liam shrugged. “Things are quietening down right now. The war has changed the priorities.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“The time will come when you’ll be called upon. Meanwhile just study and think about how you could change things in a different way.” His voice dropped. “Without guns.”
“This coming from you. You believe that’s possible?”
“I think anything is possible.”
Maeve knew he wouldn’t help her any further. “Fine. Then leave. I’ll find my own way.”
“Don’t be cross. You’re like a daughter to me.”
Maeve sighed. “I’m not cross, Uncle Liam. I just feel lost somehow.”
• • •
Maeve did focus on her studies. She faded away from the debating society. She didn’t officially resign, but she didn’t go often. She didn’t have the heart.
When she read the war news in the paper, she found herself thinking of Daniel again.
“Mammy, did you hear anything more from Daniel’s mother about where he is or what he’s doing?”
Her mother shook her head. “No, I’ve had no response to my last letter.”
Maeve bit her lip. “I thought I might write to him, but I don’t know how to get a letter to him.”
Her father who was at his desk working on an article at the time raised his eyebrows. “The same Daniel that’s now a British soldier?”
Maeve bit her lip. “Uncle Liam was once a British soldier too.”
Da nodded. “That’s true, but for entirely different reasons. He was in it for the money and it helped support his family when times were very tough. This fella’s in it for his country.”
Maeve jutted her chin. “So I suppose he’s doing what he thinks is right, going over to fight for the Allies.”
Mammy interrupted. “I’m sure he would appreciate hearing from you. We can put it inside an envelope to Elizabeth and she will know how to send it on. I’ll write a quick note to Elizabeth as well if you’re doing a letter.”
“All right, I will.”
Dear Daniel,
I’m sorry I haven’t written for a long time. I do think about you, though and wonder how you’re managing. We hear such awful news and, as usual, the Irish are torn about the war. Some say that England’s problems are good for Ireland, but others say that there are so many terrible things going on that Ireland should stand with the Allies. I don’t know what the answer is. None of it seems to have anything to do with a United Ireland, so I just wish it was over. When I think of you somewhere in France or wherever, trying to live through appalling circumstances, risking your life every day, I worry.
I had a friend who died recently. He was at school with me, and just seemed far too young and alive to suddenly be gone. I hate to imagine that you risk that every day. I might seem very bold to you, but I must say that I would like to see you hale and hearty, here in Dublin again one day. I did so enjoy our walks and talks, and star-gazing. Let’s make a promise to enjoy those things again. All right?
Write back when you can. Meanwhile, be well.
Your friend,
Maeve K. Ryan
She sent her letter just before Christmas, imagining what Daniel’s holiday might be like. Will he even have a holiday? War doesn’t stop just because it’s Christmas.
She didn’t hear back from him and as the weeks passed with no word from him, she wondered if she was too late.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Belfast, April 1943
Maeve decided she wouldn’t be put off simply because Liam wasn’t there to help her. She started by tracking down a man that she had met with Patrick a year previously. He went to her college, and while he was a year ahead of her, everyone came to the library eventually. She spent as much time in the reading room as possible, hoping to see him eventually. When she did, she reintroduced herself.
He seemed startled when she approached him. He sat at the long library table with his books open, blinking rapidly
at her. He was thin with straight, floppy, dust-coloured hair and his round, steel-rimmed glasses gave him an owlish look.
“I don’t know if you remember me. My name is Maeve Ryan. I was a friend of Patrick Dermody’s.”
He nodded. “I remember.”
“I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.”
Even that seemed like more information that he was willing to give. He licked his lips. “Eamon Connolly.”
“May I sit down, Eamon?”
He shrugged and then stood to pull out a chair for her.
She sat and then leaned in close. “I miss Patrick.”
“We all do.”
“I’d like to continue to help, but not sure how.”
He studied her. “Patrick trusted you.”
She nodded. “He did.”
Eamon tore a piece of paper from his notebook and wrote down an address. “We have a discussion group you might like to join. Tuesday evening at seven.”
“Thank you. I’ll be there.”
Maeve left him to his studies and moved to a quiet table in another corner. She saw her friend, Brigid coming to join her.
Brigid stacked her books neatly and then sat across from Maeve. “Who’s that you were talking to?”
“No one really.”
Brigid frowned. “You were sitting with him. I saw you when I came in. He must be someone.”
Maeve glanced over and saw Eamon watching them. She turned back to Brigid. “He was a friend of Patrick’s.”
“Oh. The boy from your debating team?”
“Yes.”
“Right. The one who died up north?”
“That’s him.”
Brigid touched Maeve’s arm. “Stay away from him then, Maeve. You have no idea what those people are up to or are capable of.”
“What do you mean?”
“My father said those IRA ones are all murderers.”
Maeve pursed her lips. “I think that’s rather an overstatement. Anyway, don’t worry. I just saw him sitting there, so thought I’d say hello. Nothing more.”
Brigid nodded and opened one of her books. “Let’s get started on this paper.”
• • •
The address that Eamon had given her was close to school. She easily found the shop on Stable Lane near Leeson Street Lower. She tried the door of the shop but it was locked. As she stood there peering in to the darkened bicycle repair business, she heard steps approaching and moved away from the window. Two girls, a little older than her, looked at Maeve curiously.
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