by A. O'Connor
Michael was nervous about meeting Éamon again after his long absence in America. A lot had changed. Michael had changed. He had just been another delegate before De Valera had left. In his absence he’d had a meteoric rise, his fame and reputation now eclipsing even De Valera’s. In the British press Michael had almost become an obsession as tales of his organisational brilliance, inability to be captured and aura of mystery were becoming legendary and were reported daily.
As the automobile pulled up outside the house, he looked up the pathway at the now familiar building. He had been there every week in De Valera’s absence, making sure his family were alright and bringing them supplies.
He got out of the automobile and, opening the garden gate, walked up the frosty pathway and knocked on the door.
It was opened by Éamon’s wife, Sinéad.
“Good morning, Mick,” she smiled, beckoning him in and kissing his cheek.
He had got to know Sinéad well over the months and come to respect the discreet and sensible woman.
“He’s arrived back, I take it?” asked Mick.
“He has.” She spoke softly so as not to awaken the children. “He’s waiting for you in the parlour.”
Michael followed her down the hall.
She gently opened the door and ushered him into the small room where Éamon was sitting beside the fire.
“Well, if it isn’t the Big Fella,” said Éamon, standing up and shaking his hand.
Michael saw that Éamon had hardly changed at all physically during his time in America. His long face had hardly aged at all, and his intense eyes continued to shine behind his trademark round spectacles.
“Good to see you, Dev,” said Michael as Sinéad closed the door, leaving them alone.
“And it’s good to be back. Back in my own home. I’ve been living in hotel rooms for so long that I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be in my own bed.”
“I know that feeling, Dev, only I haven’t been sleeping in hotel rooms but any room, attic or hayshed I can find,” said Michael with a smirk.
“Indeed, the world has become tantalised by your exploits. Even the New York Times delights in saluting how you have evaded the authorities ‘through your wit and charm and intelligence’, to quote an article I read about you last week.”
Michael laughed. He thought he detected a cool mocking tone in Éamon’s voice. Almost a resentment.
Éamon turned and walked to the fire and put some coal on it. “I thank you most genuinely for what you did for Sinéad and the children while I was away. Things haven’t been easy for them, not having me here. But they were never short of anything, thanks to you, and I hear you took the time to play with the children and listen to them.”
There didn’t seem to be any resentment in Éamon’s voice as he spoke these words, but Michael still sensed he was being made to feel that he had been intruding. He knew Sinéad would have only spoken highly of him and with gratitude … maybe that’s not what Éamon needed to hear either. As Michael knew only too well, the heart could play cruel tricks on the mind.
“It was nothing, Dev, I did nothing special.” Then he asked about the one thing that was burning him up with curiosity. “No Harry?”
“No – no Harry,” confirmed Éamon.
“When he is due to come home?”
“I have no plans for Harry to return to Ireland just yet. We need a strong presence in America, more now than ever, and Harry can fulfil that role. He can be our ambassador, for want of a better word. He will continue to lobby our cause and raise the much-needed funds.”
“But you have already raised nearly six million pounds,” said Michael.
“A fairly decent amount of money and enough to get us up and running once we have independence. But we will need ten times that amount to rebuild the country after the destruction I’ve seen since I arrived back yesterday. And that’s only coming from the port to here. I shudder to think what the rest of the country looks like.”
Michael shrugged. “It’s been total warfare, Dev.”
“Well, there’s a train of thought that says what is the point of having an independent country if that country has been wiped out and there’s nothing standing there anymore.”
Michael looked at Éamon in surprise. It was almost as if he was criticising him and how he had conducted the war in his absence. He decided not to engage him on that point.
“I can’t imagine Harry was so happy about being left behind,” he said instead.
“Well, no, he wasn’t … he’s very anxious to come home. He misses his family… and there’s a young woman involved, I understand, from Longford?”
“Yes – Kitty Kiernan.”
“Unfortunately, the personal life must come second while we put country first. As you are only too aware, Sinéad and the children have had to suffer long enough without me. She did come to join me for some weeks in America, as you know, but she had to come back for the children.”
“Sure, they couldn’t do without her, or her them.”
“Yes, and the whole circus of the political and fundraising circuit in America was too much for her … she’s a private woman, and she couldn’t be on show like that. Perhaps this Kitty Kiernan woman is different, and Boland could send for her to join him in America?”
“I – I –” Michael didn’t know what to say after just hearing she was engaged to Lionel.
“I understand he did ask her to join him when he was going there first,” said Éamon.
Michael didn’t know what to say. He certainly wasn’t going to start talking about Kitty Kiernan with Éamon. He didn’t want Harry hearing about her engagement through another source if Kitty hadn’t told him herself.
“But I know what good friends you are with Harry and what a great team you make,” said De Valera.
“We do,” said Michael, wondering where this was heading.
“So, I have made a decision.”
“What’s that?”
“You are to go to America to replace me there. From now on I’ll be taking over your role here in Ireland and you will be taking over mine in America.”
Michael’s mouth dropped open with shock.
“As I said, everyone knows what a great team you and Harry make – and I have no doubt you will take America by storm.”
That evening Michael was in the Gresham Hotel where he had arranged to meet some close friends including Gearóid. He had very much looked forward to spending Christmas Eve at the hotel, having dinner and Christmas drinks. But he had been totally thrown by his meeting with De Valera.
As he sat in the plush restaurant, he told his team about De Valera’s plan to send him to America.
“America! But sure, he can’t do that! Who’d run everything here?” demanded Gearóid.
Michael sighed loudly. “He will – seemingly.”
“What? That’s nuts! He wouldn’t be able to do what you do!”
“No more than I could do what he does! Could you imagine me going around posh hotels and conferences in New York and Chicago hobnobbing with high society while looking for handouts at the same time?”
There was a chorus of voices shouting “No!”, followed by loud laughter at the thought of Michael in such a scenario.
“That’s not you, Mick – dressed up in black tie watching your p’s and q’s!” said Emmet.
“Fuck that!” laughed Michael as he grabbed his beer and took a swig before continuing to eat his turkey dinner. “I don’t mind telling ye, lads, I’m very hurt by what Dev wants to do – sending me into exile. I thought he’d want me close by him, especially after … after everything. But no, he wants me the other side of the Atlantic!”
Gearóid could see De Valera ’s plan had affected Michael deeply.
“Of course, the reason he wants you gone is because he’s jealous of you!” he said.
“Get away out of that!” Michael said dismissively.
“He’s jealous of the power and respect you’ve got and he’s tryi
ng to marginalise you so he can take it all back for himself!”
Michael sighed – the notion had gone through his own head which made him even sadder. He leaned towards Gearóid. “When are you heading down to Granard?”
“First thing in the morning.”
“I bumped into Kitty a couple of days ago out shopping with her fiancé!”
“Oh, yes, Lionel!” Gearóid rolled his eyes.
“Bit of a turn-up for the books,” said Michael. “The question I want an answer to is – does Harry know?”
“I haven’t a clue, Mick. Sure, you know Kitty – if you started asking her too many personal questions you’d get a slap across the face quick enough!
Suddenly Michael spotted Auxiliaries marching into the restaurant. The others followed his gaze as the Auxies quickly secured the back entrance to the kitchens and the windows.
“Stay calm, lads, show no reaction,” muttered Michael as he tried to figure out what was going on.
Once the restaurant was secured a group of Auxies marched straight to Michael’s table, pointing guns.
On reaching the table the captain said, “Michael Collins, you are under arrest.”
CHAPTER 17
Maud had been very concerned about Gearóid as he was supposed to be in Longford for Christmas morning. When he didn’t show up Maud began to fear the worse.
“He’ll be fine, Maud. He’s probably been delayed by the weather,” Kitty comforted her as she looked out at the wind and the rain.
“Something’s happened, I know it. He was meeting Mick for dinner last night.”
Kitty bit her lower lip on hearing this as her concern expanded from Gearóid to Michael. Like Maud, she started feeling sick from worry as the day moved into the evening.
“I’m sure Gearóid will be fine – he probably had a puncture,” said Lionel to Kitty.
“It doesn’t take a whole day to fix a bloody puncture, Lionel!” snapped Kitty.
If something had happened to Gearóid, the likelihood was something had also happened to Michael. She couldn’t bear the thought of that. As she twisted her handkerchief in her hand, she felt sick at the thought but also perplexed as to why she was having this reaction.
There was a collective sigh of relief when Gearóid finally arrived in, just as it was getting dark.
“Any turkey left?” he asked with a laugh as Maud ran to hug him.
“What happened? What are you so late?” said Kitty.
“That’s quite a story – I’ll tell you – but, first, where’s my Christmas dinner?”
Gearóid was sitting in the parlour, replete with turkey and Christmas pudding, whiskey in hand. Maud was sitting at his feet, holding his hand, the rest of the family gathered round listening to his account of what had happened the previous night.
“So, there we were, surrounded by British Tans, their guns pointing at us and them telling Michael they knew who he was and putting him under arrest – along with the rest of us, mind you!”
“And what happened?” demanded Larry.
“Mick held his cool – I don’t know how but he did – and insisted he was not Michael Collins but John Grace, an accountant, with a practice in Dame Street. The Tans didn’t believe him and showed him a copy of that grainy old photo of him, the really bad one that you can hardly make him out in, and insisted he was Collins. They even got him to part his hair like in the photograph to prove it was him!”
“Then what?” asked Chrys.
“Mick stuck to his guns – insisted he was John Grace, with no connection to Michael Collins, out having Christmas dinner and drinks with a few friends and they should leave him alone. I tell you – Mick was that convincing I nearly believed he wasn’t Michael Collins myself!”
Everyone laughed except for Kitty who was horrified at the story.
“Finally – after much persuasion from Mick, the Tans actually believed his story and left us alone. We left the Gresham as soon as we could without arousing suspicion and headed up Vaughan’s Hotel on Parnell Square, where we knew we were amongst friends and safe. And we drank whiskey into the night out of relief, celebrating at not being caught and it being Christmas as well!”
“And that is why you were late down to us then!” said Maud, slapping his arm playfully. “It was from a sore head and nothing to do with Tans nearly arresting you last night!”
“It was a lucky escape for sure! I tell you Mick should be on the stage he’s such a good actor! That fella is very lucky – he has nine lives.”
“Yes, well, even the luckiest of cats run out of lives!” Kitty snapped. “What were ye doing going into a place as public as the Gresham on Christmas Eve? Sure, it was asking for trouble!”
“We just wanted to celebrate Christmas,” said Gearóid, surprised by her attack.
“And what, Gearóid, is there exactly to celebrate?” Kitty went on angrily. “With the country on its knees and no sign of this cursed war ending? And you and Mick running around playing Cowboys and Indians!”
“Kitty!” admonished Maud, shocked at the sister’s outburst. “What is wrong with you?”
Kitty remembered herself and shook her head before saying quietly, “Nothing – nothing at all.”
She turned and went to the window where she stared out at the rain lashing against the glass.
As usual in the Kiernan house nobody went to bed early on Christmas night. There was singing and piano-playing and dancing. Alcohol flowed and chocolate and fine food were served well past midnight.
Kitty was sitting on the couch, Gearóid next to her, the fire blazing beside them.
Gearóid turned to her and said, “Sorry if I upset you earlier, Kitty – talking about what happened in the Gresham Hotel last night.”
“Oh, it’s me who should be sorry, Gearóid. I can be so contrary at times … I was just upset that you and Mick were nearly caught. I’m very fond of the both of ye. And Maud would be devastated if anything happened to you.”
“Nothing will happen to me, Kitty, don’t you fret. As for Mick – he’ll soon be out of danger’s way anyway, if Dev has his way.”
“What do you mean?” asked Kitty, startled.
“He’s being sent to America as Dev’s replacement there now he’s back in Ireland. He’ll be working alongside Harry – the old team back together!”
“What?” Kitty was appalled. “When was this decided?”
“Who knows? You can never tell what’s going on in Dev’s mind – not like Mick who is an open book. He’s not happy about it anyway, Mick. You know him – he wants to be here on the ground, one of the lads – not hosting a fundraiser at the Waldorf Astoria in Manhattan!”
Maud overheard. “Mick’s going to America! They can’t send him there – who will fight the war?”
“Well, if Dev has his way that’s what will be happening,” said Gearóid.
“Why don’t we have a game of charades?” said Lionel, suddenly rising to his feet. “I’ll go first!”
“For goodness’ sake, Lionel!” Kitty suddenly burst out, causing everyone to jump. “You have the most annoying habit of interrupting what everyone else is talking about with something that is completely inconsequential!”
There were a few moments of embarrassed silence before Lionel said, “Yes, of course, sorry.” He sat back down, looking glum.
“No, it’s me who’s sorry, Lionel,” said Kitty. “I’m sorry for speaking to you so rudely.”
The clock struck two and, although everyone else had gone to bed, Lionel seemed to still have the energy of a cocker spaniel as he sat on the couch talking incessantly about a holiday he had in France the previous year.
Kitty felt her eyes begin to close as she fought hard not to fall asleep. She suddenly shook her head and sat up straight to wake herself up.
“We then took a sailing boat and sailed down the Côte d’Azur …” Lionel droned on.
“Lionel!” Kitty said to halt him.
“Yes, my dear?”
“Lionel �
��” She reached forward and took his hand. “I am afraid I have something that I must tell you.”
“Oh?”
“I – I can’t marry you, Lionel,” she said. “I’m truly sorry.”
“Oh – I see. May I ask why?”
“It’s – because, we just aren’t compatible.”
“But we are!”
“No, no – there’s a lovely girl out there somewhere waiting for you – perhaps on a tennis court somewhere – but it’s just not me. It wouldn’t be fair to you to marry you. I’d only end up resenting it and not being nice to you. You don’t deserve that.”
She took off her engagement ring and placed it in the palm of his hand.
“Can you forgive me?” she said.
“Well, yes, what choice do I have?” he said, looking more confused than upset.
Later Kitty sat at her dressing table, staring at the mirror. She knew she had done the right thing breaking off her engagement to Lionel. A life together would make neither of them happy. He would see that himself soon enough, she was sure. She looked down at an unopened letter on her dressing table she had received from Harry before Christmas. She hadn’t written to him about her engagement. She just hadn’t known how to put it in writing. She wondered if Michael had written to tell him. Her thoughts drifted away from Harry and focused on Michael, remembering the fear she had felt all day that something had happened to him. The relief when Gearóid confirmed he was alright. And then to hear he might be leaving for America. It had never occurred to her that Mick would ever leave Ireland. It had occurred to her he could be shot or arrested or executed for treason by the British – but never that he would leave Ireland to go fundraising in America! The thought of both Harry and Michael being on the other side of the Atlantic was an irony too far. She shook her head in despair. And yet she now accepted that her fate would be tied to men like Harry and Michael. She had tried to go down the traditional route like Helen and find happiness with a nice normal man with a normal life. Unfortunately, it had bored her to tears. She just wasn’t cut out to have a life like that. She was drawn to men like Harry and Michael – that she could now at least admit to herself. But she knew, deep down, it couldn’t bring her happiness. She stared down at the unopened envelope on her dressing table. It had arrived the day before Christmas Eve with the usual American stamp on it. She hadn’t opened it because she couldn’t face reading his usual beautiful sentiments. She was too conscious of her duplicity. But now that the engagement was over, why was she still overcome with guilt as she began to open the letter? She realised it was down to her feelings for Michael.