“What makes you think Kevin’s to be trusted?”
“Ah Mum, the day comes I can’t trust Kevin, that’s the day I’ll never be able to stop lookin’ over me shoulder.”
“It’s just the papers, they’re full a stories of two or three groups all claimin’ to be the true heirs to the Uprisin’, the real IRA, the True Fenians and such. Seems they’re fightin’ each other as much as takin’ on Brits.”
“It’s the Brits puttin’ those sorts of stories out for you to read, yeah. They’re masters at it, plantin’ falsehoods to confuse you. They’ve even a name for it. Disinformation is what they call it.”
“If so, then so, but you know yourself since the days of the Big Fellow an’ Dev it has always been so. When men struggle for power sooner or later, et tu Brute; an’ some are sayin’ it’s worse than ever it was before. So I do worry for your safety.”
“If I could tell you the spot he chose to meet you’d feel better Mum, I’m sure you would; it’s the safest of our old rendezvous. I’ll be back for your birthday.”
This Man was bundled in his thick buffalo robe, and his legs were wrapped in hides and furs. His snowshoes sunk in the new snow but carried him over the packed base. He walked along the shore of the River, at the sacred place where the fires burned for days, long before the white man called it Innish Cove.
Joe Loon and Simon left Grassy Narrows to find the big beaver. Along with their supplies for three days and their beaver traps, they carried foothold traps sized for marten, for the heavy forested ridges leading to the River’s new lake were prime marten habitat.
In Chicago, the diner just off the hotel lobby was crowded with hunting and fishing camp owners and outfitters, from all over Ontario, from Minnesota and Wisconsin and the UP, and from a few western states as well. The fishing and hunting show filled the hotel’s grand ballroom and two largest halls, and the men were enjoying their breakfasts; at one table they found further enjoyment when they slipped a shot of the good stuff in their coffee, then passed the bottle to their neighbors.
They wore buckskin vests or buckskin jackets, or moccasins or cowboy boots, or fishing vests or hunting shirts, or fishing caps or cowboy hats. The room was filled with hearty laughter, boastful stories, and enthusiastic greetings.
Brian and Dutch were planning the day; Mary was attending to the kids eating their hotcakes; they called them moon breads, for Simon told all the village children the story of the first time he and Mathew Loon, the River’s true warrior, had eaten them. Brian would man the booth, and Dutch would take the others to spend the day at the Lincoln Park Zoo. They would meet back at the hotel coffee shop at six, get the children fed and settled in a room for the night with a babysitter the hotel was arranging, and then Brian would take Dutch and Mary to see Willie Smith and Big Boy Spires at the Halsted Street blues club he and Maureen had enjoyed so thoroughly the year before.
Chapter 7
Worlds Between
Maureen was driving through a soft rain, heading southeast on a lonely road that led through the wild moors of County Tyrone. A car had been following her since she had been on the road, well back, then out of sight before it re-appeared. She approached a crossroads and considered turning to see if the car followed, then decided to go straight through. She relaxed and even laughed at herself when the car behind her turned north at the crossroads.
She continued on the moor road on a course towards Toome, a village on the north shore of Lough Neagh. When another car appeared in her rear view mirror a few minutes later she did not know it had been following the first car, the one that turned off at the crossroads. The second car had followed the first at a measured distance, by plan, and she couldn’t have suspected that the driver of the first car was headed to the nearest phone box to confirm he had seen Maureen with his own eyes and that the second car was still tailing her.
In the winter there were very few people at the zoo; Chicagoans knew most of the animals would be inside, either lying in a concrete box behind bars or pacing nervously behind thick glass or out of view entirely in back rooms, and when Dutch and Mary and the children realized this they found they were making their way quickly past anxiously pacing big cats and swaying and chained elephants but more and more empty cages, and the animals’ captive appearance in the cold damp concrete behind heavy bars made them all feel empty.
Then they entered the Primate House, led by Grace O’Malley and Little Stevie, Dutch and Mary right behind them. There was more movement here, more life and sound. When the children saw the gorillas they ran to the cage, but as they drew close they slowed their pace and almost tiptoed the last distance. Mary picked up Grace O’Malley and Dutch picked up Little Stevie so they could stand on the rail and to get the closest view of the huge silver back male in the middle of the enclosure.
The gorilla sat on his haunches, the front of his massive torso open towards his admirers, but his head turned away, in profile, as he ate from the bushel of green stalks the attendant had tossed in his cage moments before. The children watched as the silver back held a stalk with his feet and one hand, and ripped strips with his teeth to chew them. Both children worked their lips in mimic of the gorilla.
Then the gorilla stopped chewing and turned his head to look full face to the children, and Grace O’Malley stared into his eyes, and Little Stevie stared into his eyes, and Dutch and Mary felt the children immediately and completely captivated.
They stood very still, very quiet, for as long as the gorilla looked their way, though Grace was slowly leaning forward as Mary held her back. Dutch was hardly needed for Little Stevie to maintain his easy balance on the rail. Even when the gorilla looked away the children remained still. When finally released from the spell, Grace O’Malley whispered to Little Stevie, “He is asking us why he is in there. He wants to know why we don’t let him out.”
It was barely a mist of rain. Kevin stood on the east end of the bridge that crossed the River at Toome when Maureen drove across from the west. She saw him, pulled the car to the side of the road, and walked his way. Kevin smiled at the sight of her.
“You remembered.”
“Do I remember the first thing you taught, the last thing you taught, an’ everythin’ between, yes I do. The very first thing you taught was a meetin’ in Dungannon designates a meetin’ at Toome Bridge.”
“We met here when you started training for London operations.”
The hug they shared when they met at the foot of the bridge was quick but genuine. Maureen pulled away first.
“You found the fellow that murdered me da?”
“That’s why you came?”
She found she couldn’t answer that at first. She looked past Kevin at the River rushing by. “I told Brian I’ve come to bring me Mum back to Kenora.” She turned her back and paused. “I’ve wondered if I’ve come to help you.” She faced Kevin again. “But I need to know right now, Kevin, have you found the bastard?”
“We have identified him.”
“An’ you’re certain he’s the murderer?”
“We know it was him.”
“Show him to me an’ I’ll tell you for dead certain. I’ll never forget the bastard’s face.”
“We found him. But we haven’t been watching him so close that we know for sure where he is at this moment.”
Maureen reached in her coat pocket.
“So you were lurin’ me with a false promise?”
“You sent neither word nor sign of any sort that you wanted us to keep him in our sights for you. We do have other matters that need attending, as you well know.”
She pulled out the newspaper clipping.
“But you said you found him.”
She unfolded the newspaper and showed the clear message to Kevin.
“This was in your second envelope.”
“When I sent it, we knew where he was. When I got the word you were here, I asked about and I have good information that will help us locate him again. Now that you’re back.”
Maureen looked away.
“Who knows we’re meetin’?”
“No one.”
Maureen walked to the other side of the bridge and Kevin spoke to her back as he followed her.
“I’m meeting tonight with the lad who has been tracking him down. He’s been on it a day but the trail was fresh. He’ll know where he is.”
Maureen leaned on the rail, watching the River’s eddies and currents, and Kevin stood with her. She turned to take in the bridge.
“Da’s song—one he loved to sing—it’s set right here, yeah.”
“It was set at the old bridge.” Kevin recited with a sing-song rhythm. “Oh Ireland, Mother Ireland, you love them still the best, the fearless brave who fighting fall upon your hapless breast, but ne’er a one of all your dead more bravely fell in fray, as Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome today.”
“He left the fight, twice.”
“That’s right. He stayed away from it for nearly a year, hiding out up in the mountains, before he came back. When he went to Derry, intending to migrate to America, he knew he couldn’t go, that he was needed here.”
“I was thinkin’ of Da. He left twice as well… but since he never got out of Derry either time, well, maybe he never left at all.”
“The both of them, Donovan O’Toole and McCorley, they kept coming back because they knew how crucial a role they played for a cause that grows more noble with each sacrifice.”
“You wrote something like that in your second letter.”
“Each year that the Brits keep what they stole, they make a greater tear in the fabric of justice. Each time another martyr is slain, they stain that fabric with their blood. It becomes a higher calling, each year, to repair it, to cleanse it. To restore justice.”
“An’ here’s where we all nod an’ agree physical force is all the Brits understand.”
“Nothing else has ever worked. I don’t need to tell Maureen O’Toole that.”
Maureen turned toward town.
“You told me the gallows where they hung McCorley were there.” She pointed to a spot above the River bank next to a maple tree. “But I’ve had others insist it was the other side of town, behind the police barracks.” She turned back to Kevin. “You know what else McCorley and Da had in common?”
“Of course I do.”
“Both of them betrayed to the Brits by native sons—both of them.”
“After McCorley was hanged, the Brits disemboweled him. They were no more civilized with your da, forcing his family to watch as they put a bullet in his head.”
Kevin stood at Maureen’s side, put his arm around her shoulders, and held her gently.
“When first we met here, Da’s Fenian songs, they sounded like battle cries to my ear, yeah. They were glorious.”
“And now?”
“Now? Now I can hear the threat of the gallows more plainly.”
They were quiet. The River rolled along. The rain stopped. A vehicle approached the bridge and drove past. It was the second tail car. When it crossed the bridge the driver turned right and stopped just out of sight.
Kevin turned to look Maureen full in the face. “I’ll make it plain and simple for you. We drive them out of the North right now. Or it’s never.”
Maureen pulled a step away.
“You said now or never in the letter you sent a year ago.”
“When we had our best chance but too many of our finest sat out as the campaign began. Now we’re a year into it, and the job is more difficult today but no less…”
“Noble?”
“If we miss this last chance… Maureen, we’ll be accepting the Brits get to keep what they took from us, now and forever, and that all those who gave their lives trying to re-unite it died without purpose.”
“You said all that in your second letter.”
“What, it sounds so grotesquely Irish from across the ocean that you allow yourself to mock these truths? It doesn’t make them less true. And if you agree with that observation, then you have to follow any course of action to find justice, or you betray justice.”
“So say you.”
“Donovan O’Toole’s daughter knows the truth in all I’m saying.”
Maureen turned to the rail and studied the town along the bank. She was quiet. Kevin stood next to her, waiting for her to speak.
“Maureen O’Toole Burke.”
“What.”
“You called me Maureen O’Toole. I am Maureen O’Toole Burke.”
“But the O’Toole is still there, right in the middle of you.”
Again she was quiet, watching a small piece of wood caught in a back flow current, spinning about. A voice echoed down the street.
“You say you have other matters that demand your attention. You’re planning a new operation.”
“We have targets under consideration and I’ve got us a team.”
“But no plan.”
“Targets and the team.”
Maureen looked up at Kevin.
“I have a daughter now.”
“Living peacefully in an Eden paid for by IRA money.”
“No. A trusted friend can’t be sayin’ that. I paid it back, in arms. We all agreed... If I find I am here to help the Cause, it must accept my loyalty to it… Now an’ forever, yeah.”
“Sorry… I’m sorry. But tell me how you expect you’ll discover why you’re here and what you’re going to do?”
“I’ll listen.”
“You could meet them now, our team, if you wanted to, to find out about your da’s murderer and see we’d have a good—”
She turned on him as he sparked her guilt to flash to anger.
“Don’t call it our team.”
“They’ll all be gathering this evening. You could meet them.”
“You told them about me being here?”
“I’ve not made mention of you to anyone. Not even the fellow who called you back knows who he called.”
“I called the old number in Portadown first.”
“They’re still with us.” Kevin was surprised to find he didn’t feel as confident about that as he tried to sound. He’d have to check into that. “So come spend the evening and we’ll discover something in Donovan O’Toole’s memory so inspired, it tips the balance.”
“Where?”
“You know I love you Lady Girl, but I couldn’t tell you. You’d have to come with me.”
“You know the fellow will be there, who can lead us to Da’s murderer?”
“I know he will be there.”
“Let me get a message to Mum first.”
“There’s a phone box around the corner.”
Joe Loon and Simon walked and worked all day, following the patterns and paths and traces of their prey, setting traps with enticements of bait in places the marten wanted to go. They spoke very little as they made their way through the hard, cold, and deep snow.
This Man made his way from the shore up the slight slope to the grove of young birch trees. He stood in front of the trees and looked back over the frozen cove and River, and he called to the spirits of the men and women and children who had died from the white man pox and who were burned in the fires. The remnants of the funeral pyres that had blazed day after day years ago could still be seen, tips of the last charred logs sticking out above the snow.
His call was captured in a song cycle that he repeated, over and over, announcing to the spirits that they were needed.
Kevin led Maureen to his car and they drove out to the main street, heading southeast on the Belfast road.
The man who had followed Maureen to Toome watched from his vantage point, dashed down the sidewalk to round the corner to see which road they chose, then ran back to his car and headed out in the same direction.
Kevin and Maureen drove along the north shore of Lough Neagh. The road hugged the shore, dipping south then heading north as they approached Antrim Bay.
“So you’ve read both letters. Did you read t
he articles and policy papers?”
“I did.”
“The Americans handled their end getting the packages delivered to you?”
“The fellow you sent from Boston was a proper lad. I didn’t like your Chicago boyos.”
“We heard what you did to them. Turning fishes into revolvers.”
“I wasn’t sure who I was sending a message to, actually. A big part of it was me tellin’ you to let me be.”
“And still, you came.”
“I’ve always wondered what I’d do if you found the man who shot Da.”
They drove in quiet.
“Tell me it’s Antrim town we’re headed for an’ not Belfast.”
“It’s Antrim.”
“Ten minutes.”
“Fifteen.”
“Then here’s how I see my smartest move for now—”
She told him her terms for attending the meeting, he accepted. Kevin shared details of recent operations, mostly failed, as they drove the rest of the way. The car approached then entered Antrim and turned off the main road on a quiet street of townhouses; Maureen nodded when Kevin identified the townhouse where they would meet as he drove past it to park around a corner. Kevin got out of the car, but Maureen waited five minutes before she took a round and about route to the townhouse.
The tailing car passed the side street just as Kevin entered the townhouse and the driver got a quick glimpse of him. He doubled back, parked, and found a good vantage point by the time Maureen knocked on the door and Kevin let her in.
Maureen joined Kevin in the parlor; they planned to get there before the others arrived. Maureen looked around the room.
“Have you met here before?”
“Not recently.”
There were stairs to the second floor.
“Any reason for anyone to go upstairs?”
“No, but you might prefer this, is what I’m thinking.”
Kevin pushed aside the high back chair that blocked a view of a half size door leading to a small closet under the stairs.
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