Cursed! Blood of the Donnellys

by Keith Ross Leckie

  Johannah turned her full attention back to the wedding reception.

  “Jean Thompson looks like she’s about to turn to stone,” Jenny remarked. Jean made no attempt to hide the chilling glare she offered Johannah. No surprise. Johannah, in return, responded with a generous smile and nod.

  “She’s already halfway there,” Johannah replied lightly.

  Mother and daughter laughed together and they looked around to warmer companions, waving across the dance floor to Dorothy Keefe and Loretta Hogan.

  Johannah noticed James Jr. was already feeling no pain as he took a swig from his flask and grinned at the girls with his father’s face and his grandfather’s weakness for drink. He refused to talk to Johannah anymore about his drinking. She had Will trying to work on him about it. James now had his eye on a girl, a McLaughlin daughter who looked back at him boldly. He winked and it brought a smile from the little tart. James was always drawn to the bold ones.

  Short, fiery-tempered Patrick was talking loudly to the Ryder brothers, James and Thomas.

  “A ‘property tax’ now, they’re saying! Paying tax on something you already own! We should take the government out and shoot the whole lot for even suggesting it!”

  “And hang them while we’re at it.”

  “Absolutely. For even suggesting it.”

  Her son Robert, slow and sweet, was dancing with a homely little girl, one of the Feehley sisters. Two young men watched them from the side. One, John Kennedy, called out to Robert as they danced by.

  “Hey, Bobby. What day of the week is it?”

  Robert slowed his dancing as he thought about this for a moment and Kennedy and his friend laughed at their joke. Robert realized they were only teasing him and grinned back at them in a good-natured way.

  “All right. Have your fun, boys,” and he danced away.

  Jenny had moved some distance from her mother and placed herself alone with a pleasant, expectant smile on the edge of the dance floor, gazing around in anticipation at a few young men who seemed available. She caught the glance of two or three of them and batted her eyes in subtle invitation. All of them gave her the positive once-over, for she was a very pretty girl, but then one by one they would glance fearfully at her brothers, shuffle their feet and turn away. Jenny finally walked up to one of the younger, harmless Toohey brothers, who she had gone to school with.

  “Good evening, Dennis. Would you care to shake a leg?”

  The Toohey lad looked at her and, as others had done before, gave an involuntary glance toward her brothers.

  “I’m sorry, Jenn. The damn ox stepped on my foot today. Sorry.”

  She glared at the shirker as he moved away from her, only just remembering to limp on the third step.

  Johannah came up to Will and John, who were talking to the Whalen brothers.

  “Rental houses. On our four lots just off Main Street,” Will was telling the Whalens with enthusiasm. “We plan to expand the lumber mill. Board our own trees. Build the homes with Donnelly lumber. And a new grocery store where our renters can shop.”

  “But we’re in need of some c-c-c-capital, gentlemen,” John explained. “For a reasonable investment, you can be in on the g-g-g-ground floor with the housing.”

  “And did you tell them about the stagecoach line?” Will asked. “We’ll be expanding our routes. We’ll have a second coach to take our renters to London every morning to work. So we house them, sell them provisions and take them into town every day.”

  “You got this all figured out,” Michael Whalen said, impressed. “Except Flanagans have the London route.”

  Johannah joined the conversation. “For now,” she replied with a smile. “The Flanagan coaches are hacks and their fares overpriced.” She waved her hand as if seeing a sign before her. “Donnelly Brothers Coachline…prompt, courteous service. The Donnelly name will stand for quality transportation.”

  “Full services, year r-r-r-round,” John finished. “Da’ll be popping a few buttons when he g-g-g-gets home.”

  “Yeah, your da gets out soon, eh?” asked Patrick Whalen.

  “Four weeks!”

  “You all must be excited.”

  “Yeah. It’s been a long wait for us. Longer for him I’m guessing. But he’ll be home soon. We plan to have the London run established by then.”

  “All right, but the Flanagans aren’t going to like it.”

  “We don’t want any trouble. It’s just healthy competition in a growing market,” Johannah said innocently.

  “How much investment would youse be looking for?” Michael Whalen asked.

  “Well, that all d-d-d-depends…”

  As Johannah spotted Tom, she let Will and John take over the Whalen conversation and watched him. Her sixth-born was standing alone, his heavy-lidded eyes surveying the people in the room. Tom was her worry. But for him, all her boys could display compassion and affection. It was as if he was unconnected to the outside and bore some dark rage deep within. When he was seven years old, Johannah had witnessed him capturing a squirrel in his hands, which almost immediately bit him and in a second he had broken its neck. No tears, just the swift twisting action and he tossed the flaccid body away without a backward glance. She had hoped Tom’s detachment would become less with time but that and his tendency to sudden violence had not. Will and the other brothers kept a careful eye on him.

  If Tom had any affection it was for his simple brother, Johannah thought, as she saw him watch Robert and the Feehley girl go dancing by. As they did so, John Kennedy stuck out his foot and while the Feehley girl stumbled free, Robert tripped and fell heavily to his hands and knees on the dance floor. John Kennedy and his friend laughed out loud. Robert’s face reflected his embarrassment as he got slowly to his feet. A second later Tom Donnelly had John Kennedy by the throat with one big hand, choking him against the wall.

  “Why did you do that to my brother?” Tom inquired in a quiet voice.

  When Kennedy’s friend came to his defence, Tom easily fended him off with a backhand that knocked him down, stunned him and gave him a bloody nose. Tom pushed John, whose face was turning red, down onto his knees, his big hand like a hose clamp around his jugular.

  “Why’d you do that?”

  Will went quickly to Tom, standing over John Kennedy, and put his arm around his brother’s massive shoulders. “Tom. That’s enough. Let him go.”

  The crowd stood back, the dancers slowing to a stop, and watched as Tom applied more pressure. Robert Donnelly joined Will.

  “Hey, Tommy? Let him go. He was just having his little joke.”

  “Tell my brother you’re very sorry,” Tom whispered.

  John Kennedy spoke, choking through clenched teeth.

  “…sorry.”

  “What did you say?”

  Kennedy’s voice was a strained, desperate whisper, “Sorry, Robert!”

  But instead, Tom squeezed harder. John’s nails raked at Tom’s hands, his face bright red from lack of oxygen.

  “He’s killing him!” Kennedy’s friend shouted, spraying blood on the onlookers from his bloody nose and trying to get through. Johannah came up beside Tom. The band’s music came to a sliding stop, as all eyes turned to John Kennedy, who was kneeling on the floor with Tom standing over him, his hand clutched around Kennedy’s throat.

  “Tommy. Let him go.”

  Tom looked at his mother. “He was not nice to Bobby.”

  “I know. But let him go now.”

  Tom finally opened his hand to release Kennedy. Kennedy fell back on the floor. He convulsed, gasping for air and holding his throat, coughing. After an awkward pause, Anthony Fitzhenry gestured to the band. The music started up again with a new song, as wilted and uninspired as the last, but it eased the tension.

  “Don’t do that again, Tom,” Johannah instructed him, looking into his eyes
to make the point. Tom’s expression became contrite and he nodded to his mother.

  Leaving them, Will ordered a double whiskey at the bar and found he had to pay for it, those cheap Thompson bastards. His little brother Tom worried him. His other brothers would not always be there to stop him. Will took a long drink of the rye whiskey and listened to the band for a moment, a fiddle, piano, banjo and a trap drum. They were sawing along with some brutal standard that left the floor empty of all but the most intrepid dancers. He watched the newlyweds at their little table opening the last of their gifts. One was his. As he watched, Maggie held up the delicate lace shawl he had bought for her and she seemed delighted as she tried it on. She looked around and their eyes met and her appreciative smile took on the most subtle element of regret, or so it seemed to Will, and sadness came over him again. When she looked away, Will finished his whiskey. Then he heard a fresh voice in his ear.

  “She’s a practical girl.”

  He turned to find the green eyes of Nora Kennedy close beside him. She had forsaken her pants and shirt for a light summer dress that stopped him for a moment.

  “I mean Maggie. Marrying Pat Carroll. She’s far too practical for a romantic like you, Will. Did she even invite you here?”

  “You must be joking.”

  “I say, consider yourself lucky, man. It was a close call.”

  The bartender had refreshed his glass without request. Will turned back to it, his elbows on the bar.

  “I am forlorn, Nora. The dream is gone.”

  Nora glanced at Maggie, who was opening another gift with an eagerness that did not become her.

  “Nightmare, I say. You’ll get through this in the fullness of time, Will. Right now you need to get yourself out of this mood.”

  He turned to her.

  “How do you propose I do that?”

  “You can start by saving us from this tedious music. I know you can.”

  The band had finished their selection. Nora left the bar and Will watched as she went to speak to the fiddle player. She was persuasive, gave him a heavy coin to seal the deal and he gave up his fiddle to her. She returned and put it in Will’s hands with a challenging smile. He inspected the workable instrument, quickly checked each string for tuning, making a few adjustments. He looked up at Nora’s expectant expression, then went over to the band, which was making ready for the next set.

  “Gentlemen?”

  Will began to play a light and lively reel, in strong contrast to the previous dirge. The wedding guests immediately felt the mood change in the room. The other band members joined in and people made their way to the small dance floor. Within a few bars, there was a crowd. Will looked up from his fiddling to find Nora smiling at him. He was a good player and not shy either about showing off, adding a few trills and fancy notes for her.

  At the back door of the hotel, James Jr. was speaking to Abbie McLaughlin. He patted his jacket where he had a bottle of rum. Abbie was the daughter of Martin McLaughlin, who still owned the largest farm of any Catholic in the region and was no friend of the Donnellys. The short man was standing with the Kennedys, his full head of silver hair proudly brushed back from his clean-shaven face, frowning a little at the new free nature of the music, and who was playing it. James whispered in Abbie’s ear and she giggled, then glanced over toward her father, finding him preoccupied. She put an arm around James’s and left with him out the back door toward the barn and stables to “inspect the cows.”

  John Donnelly, small and agile, standing at the far end of the dance floor, was more comfortable in his suit, waistcoat and tie than the rest of his brothers. He had even worked at the bank in Exeter for six months wearing such an outfit every day until they discovered his father was a convicted murderer and he was let go. He summoned up his courage and approached Winnifred Ryder at a table near the back. They had known each other at a distance almost all their lives. She was a delicate girl and not unpretty when she raised her face.

  “Wi…Wi…Winnifred? Would you care to d-d-d-dance?”

  She looked up at him in alarm, then looked down again and shook her head.

  “Then… could I maybe s-s-s-sit here?”

  This time she hesitated, then nodded and he sat down beside her.

  Johannah had seen John approach Winnifred and was pleased to see them talking together, John was so shy. But then she also noticed Michael and Fanny Carroll whispering in each other’s ear. She didn’t trust that girl with her Michael, and watched with concern as they went off together out of the ballroom, past the bar and toward the stairs to the second floor rooms. It was increasingly necessary to keep an eye on him.

  The music of the band covered the sound of her footsteps as she followed them and indeed she found the couple upstairs in the darkened hallway of the quiet north wing. They were up against a closed door kissing each other without shame. Johannah stopped and remained at a distance in the shadows. At this moment the band stopped playing and Johannah heard Michael whisper, “Ah girl, don’t deny me heaven.”

  Fanny laughed and bit his lip until he gave a yelp. “Heaven is for good boys.”

  “Oh, I’ll be good. I’ll be oh, so good. I’ll have one foot in the goddamn priesthood.”

  “Not that good.”

  They laughed and Michael allowed his hand to casually slide down and cup her left buttock through the light cotton dress. With his other hand he rotated the skeleton key he had inserted in the hotel room door and turned the knob. They fell through into the small room and onto the noisy bed, the door closing behind them as the distant band began another tune. Johannah didn’t exactly knock as she entered and confronted them.

  “All right, you two. Fanny! What would your mother think?”

  The girl was too scared to speak. She gathered herself as she jumped off the bed, ran past Johannah in the doorway and disappeared down the hall.

  “Ah Ma, she was lovely and willing,” Michael said as he buttoned up his shirt. “Why would you do that?”

  “Saving you from yourself. Surely you can do better than a Carroll,” Johannah told him.

  “Any port in a storm, Ma.”

  “All I need is a Donnelly baby in an unmarried Carroll belly to make my life more complicated. How did you get the room?”

  “Four bits an hour from Fitzhenry.”

  “That’s about what she’s worth. But Fitzhenry should be ashamed. I should tell his brother. Now do yourself up and come back to the party. I like to have my boys near me.”

  Michael stood up and gave her his dazzling smile.

  “You’ll always be my one true love, Ma.”

  * * *

  At the end of a song, Will put down his fiddle, grabbed a glass of wine from a passing tray and addressed all those present.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I have a toast!” He had the attention of every guest once they charged their glasses. He was pleased to see Michael and his mother enter. He exchanged one last look with Maggie and put a smile on his face.

  “To the happy couple. May they be blessed with many children and may we all live to be present at their golden wedding anniversary.”

  The guests endorsed Will’s tasteful and generous toast and emptied their glasses and Johannah was proud of him. Maggie offered him a simple, public thank you. Then Will gave the fiddle back to its owner and left the party. As he passed his mother to leave, she recognized a certain distress in his hardened features.

  “Will?”

  He held up a warning hand as he strode past her. She was about to go after him when John called her over to a conversation he was having with Joe and James Flanagan, owners of the biggest stagecoach company in the township. The Flanagan family also owned the Central Hotel. She watched Will leave Fitzhenry’s, then turned to join them.

  “You should hear this, Ma. Mr. Flanagan is interested in our s-s-s-stagecoach business.”

&nbs
p; “Is that so?

  “Well, yes, Mrs. Donnelly,” said James Flanagan. “We heard you were thinking of getting a second coach and a couple more teams and trying to service more routes. We really don’t think that’s a very good idea for anybody. We could save you a lot of trouble by giving you a fair price on your one diligence and your two teams.”

  “Afraid of a little healthy competition?”

  “No use fighting it. There just isn’t room for two coach companies in this county. And you’re late half the time or breaking down. You Donnellys just don’t have the experience to run a decent stagecoach line. And it’s no job for a woman. So have some sense. We were thinking one thousand dollars all in. That’s good money. Twice what those flea-bitten nags of yours are worth and that rattletrap you call a coach.”

  Johannah had been listening to the elder Flanagan brother, her tight smile growing slowly along with her temper as the man talked himself out of any hope of a deal.

  “It’s a funny coincidence you should be making this offer, James.” She glanced at John for emphasis. “We were about to come to you to buy out the Flanagan Line.”

  Joe and James Flanagan stared at her for a moment, then smiled as if getting the joke.

  “But we have four coaches, eight teams of four, more routes, better routes.”

  Johannah smiled. “Yes, your London route must make a little fortune.”

  “Boy, that’s for sure!” Joe revealed enthusiastically. “The London route’s half of our…”

  “Joe!” His brother James interrupted him loudly. “Never mind. We have lots of good routes, and we’re going to keep them. But my point again is there’s not really room for two stagecoach lines in Biddulph.”

  “Maybe not.”

  “Good. So we’ll give you… $1,500 but not a penny more for the coach, the team and leave the business.”