Cursed! Blood of the Donnellys

by Keith Ross Leckie

  Once the riders were off the track and galloping across the public pasture toward the pole, the race opened up and Michael broke up through the pack and put Tiger to work. He passed his leading competitors one by one until only Jim Carroll and a few others were ahead. It was easy to make Michael out with that yellow scarf on his shoulder. Four horses bunched into a vicious knot rounding the pole. A rider fell and one horse went down, but Jim Carroll broke away and galloped into the home stretch, closely pursued by Michael. Behind him came Nora Kennedy—riding well, and remarkably still with her Stetson hat on her head. It was really just the three of them out in front in the final circuits of the track.

  It now came down to the fastest horse and Michael, slowly gaining, came up behind Carroll by the end of the second circuit of the track. He kept edging forward until they were neck and neck a hundred yards from the finish line directly in front of them. The big bay, Lightning, and the Arabian, Tipperary Tiger, were well matched.

  John, Robert and Johannah were yelling, “COME ON, MICHAEL!”

  Winnifred finally joined in. “Come on, Michael! FOR GODSAKES, RUN!”

  They all glanced at Winnifred—those were the first words any of them had heard her say above a whisper.

  Nora was riding no more than a length behind the two leaders, now on a perfect dead heat in the home stretch, with either man the victor. Carroll could no longer ignore Fanny’s yellow scarf on Michael’s shoulder. He veered his bay toward Michael and reached out to grab the scarf. Michael somehow anticipated this fatal move and leaned forward, out of range. Carroll missed the scarf and the bay lurched back, stumbled and dropped a half-length behind. In that moment, Nora Kennedy made her move past Carroll into second place and Michael galloped across the finish line, the winner. The Donnellys were cheering wildly as the crowded gaggle of also-ran horses crossed the finish line. Winnifred surprised John by giving him an enthusiastic hug.

  At the officials’ booth, one of three judges made the announcement to the crowd: “And the winner is…MICHAEL DONNELLY on TIPPERARY TIGER!”

  A few minutes later, Michael led his mount into the crowded winner’s circle beside the judge’s booth. The judge congratulated Michael on a hard-fought race and handed him the silver cup. Michael smiled and raised the cup to receive the crowd’s adulation. Fanny Carroll embraced him and gave him a heated kiss and then held onto his arm possessively. Jim Carroll had left the track but the Flanagans were there in the crowd, looking daggers at Mike. Johannah was clapping and cheering for her son like a kid. Her enthusiasm was contagious and Jim joined in. Michael saw her, extricated himself from Fanny and came straight through the crowd with his cup to kiss Johannah.

  “I’m so proud of you!” she told him.

  Nora Kennedy was being congratulated on her second-place finish by her family and friends and reached over to shake hands with Michael. She turned and looked at Will and tipped him that Stetson as if she knew he would be watching her.

  Rising Stakes

  There was a good band playing at the Victoria Day dinner in the packed-to-spilling-over main dining hall of Fitzhenry’s Hotel. Jim Donnelly was revelling in the festivities, a happy drunk this night, talking loudly with the Whalens and Keefes, proud of his family and feeling no pain. Will was very pleased for his father, and for his mother, who was truly enjoying herself, confident that public honours were replacing Father Connolly’s stigma on the Donnelly name.

  Will noticed Jim Currie near the dance floor. Will walked over and complimented Currie on the quality and workmanship of the diligence and the speedy replacement of the sabotaged wheels, and Currie thanked him.

  Jenny was standing nearby with her back to Currie. The coachmaker smiled at Will and spoke to her.

  “Miss Donnelly. I hope you’re well tonight.”

  Jenny turned toward him, showing surprise and interest, but then seemed to give him the cold shoulder. “Fine.”

  “If I couldn’t interest you in an elephant ride today, could I interest you in a dance? Hopefully not a similar experience.”

  “I’m rather busy.”

  “You’re busy?”

  Her girlfriends had their eyes on them and were talking among themselves. She took him aside.

  “You never told me you were a Protestant.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.” Currie touched his index finger between his eyebrows. “I was sure you’d noticed the mark of Satan.”

  Jenny smiled a little despite herself. The band had just begun to play a very danceable tune and couples were coming onto the dance floor.

  “I can’t help being a Protestant. I was born this way. But I dance as well as a Catholic.”

  Jenny was amused but hesitant.

  “And…I promise I don’t burn to touch. Not at first.”

  Currie held out his hand as Will watched. Will himself couldn’t have cared less but he knew a romantic liaison with a Protestant might not sit well with his mother or father, despite their Protestant friends. Business was business but romance between people from two different churches was something else. Tossing a defiant look at her girlfriends, and then Will, who raised his eyebrows in wide innocence, Jenny took Currie’s hand and they went out on the dance floor.

  “What does she think she’s doing?” Will was surprised to hear his brother Patrick say as he came up beside him. Will was happy to see the spirit of music at work, even if he then noticed Winnifred Ryder shake her head to an invitation from John.

  “Well, Donnelly,” Will heard a voice say in his ear and turned to find Nora Kennedy, but it was a Nora Kennedy he had never seen before. Gone were the chaps and Stetson and boots, replaced by a light cotton flower print dress that showed off the curves of her slender figure. Her long black hair piled in braids above her delicately powdered neck, rouge lightly applied to her cheeks and lips, and a darkening on the lids of her green eyes all belied the horsewoman who had that day come in second by half a length, and for that matter the girl he had known since childhood, or thought he had. This night the former tomboy was transformed and he was impressed.

  Nora put her hands on her hips. “Are you going to ask me to dance or will I have to do the job?”

  Will was still in shock at her transformation. He held out his hand and she took it as he led her onto the dance floor. Will and Nora fit together nicely. Why have we not done this before? Will asked himself.

  Jenny and Jim Currie were moving to the music beside them.

  “I’ve never danced with a ‘dirty Protestant’ before,” Jenny told Jim, looking up into his eyes.

  “How is it so far?”

  “Not totally disagreeable.”

  “You sweet talker.”

  Jenny’s face was lit up. Will noticed his mother had spotted them and her face revealed some alarm. He hoped she’d give it a rest and let them alone. People already called the Donnellys Blacklegs for having Protestant friends and doing business with them. So why not allow a little romance with one? He wanted to see his sister happy.

  * * *

  In the barn behind the hotel and tavern there were several men in police uniforms, checking their pistols and placing their night sticks in their belts. Jim Carroll and eight other armed constables were making ready to arrest the Donnellys. These were professionals, including the enormous mountain of a man they called Joe. Carroll was convinced this team would be able to arrest them all and do so in public. He would be redeemed in the town! Carroll gave them final instructions.

  “The big one with the cropped hair is Tom. Go for him first. And then Will, the tall redhead with long hair and a beard.”

  * * *

  Will danced Nora round and round the dance floor, wondering again why he hadn’t done this before. It was a pleasant surprise whenever he changed the placement of his hands on her thin waist, brushing her muscular behind, his own chest discovering the cushions of her breasts. He was quite taken with her co
nfident air in this new context, and she danced beautifully.

  “So, are you over Maggie Thompson, then?” she asked him.

  “Who?”

  “That’s the proper answer. I’ve been thinking some on what a man like you needs.”

  “Really? What’d you come up with?”

  “Me.”

  Her refreshing directness amused him. “I might give it some consideration.”

  Will looked around the room as they danced and noticed that Nora’s drunken brother, John, with whom Will had grown up as friends, was watching him dance with his sister. His expression said he didn’t like it. Will felt the heat of Kennedy’s glare and revelled in the spice it gave to their dance together. Will looked around to see if others were enjoying the night as much as he was. He could see his brother John off in a corner talking with Winnifred, who was actually giggling. John held out his hand. She found the courage, grabbed hold and they too went out on the dance floor. Will took stock of his other brothers. Michael, the man of the day with his win, danced very close with Fanny Carroll—how ironic—and Will could see neither had been forced into the situation. There were other girls there watching Michael, especially a very pretty redhead Will did not know. Enjoy it all, my brother, he thought. Glory is fleeting. But for now, enjoy.

  Nora was light in his arms and he felt like he could dance with her all night. The swirling rhythm of the music and the beer he had consumed had him slightly light-headed, in a pleasant way. Nora suddenly began to explain something as if she had been debating it within herself for a while and was now presenting it.

  “We’ve known each other all our lives, Will. We understand each other. And think what beautiful kids we’ll have.”

  Nora was amused at the shock and confusion on his face. “What?”

  “All in the fullness of time. There’s a fine little house with a few acres at Whalen’s Corners, just a few miles from your folks. Good stables. Reasonable price.”

  Will laughed out loud, without a grain of derision. “You have it all figured out.”

  She beamed and nodded. “I do.”

  The dance ended. Patrick’s sour face was still glaring at Jim Currie, whose hand was holding Jenny’s. He and Johannah approached them together, Patrick’s look remaining hostile. Johannah spoke to her daughter.

  “Jenny? What did I tell you.”

  “I’m not marrying the man,” Jenny’s eyes flashed. “I’m just dancing with him.”

  In the moments before the band started again, Will glanced at the antagonistic John Kennedy and, never shy at making public addresses, he took Nora’s hand and called out to the people around them.

  “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN. I HAVE AN ANNOUNCEMENT TO MAKE,” he declared. And the room went quiet. He had made a decision. You could say it had taken twenty years, or five minutes, but it was made.

  “In this romantic environment, where perhaps hearts trump heads, the beautiful Nora Kennedy has just proposed to me. And…more importantly…I accept!”

  There were looks of shock and surprise, several angry faces among the Kennedy clan, many stumbled expressions of congratulations and then, when the surprise eased, overwhelming applause. Will put his arm around Nora and gave her the kiss he should have given her years ago.

  “I propose a toast to my fiancée. Please charge your glasses.”

  Will saw John Kennedy pick up an empty bottle by the neck and he seemed intent on coming toward Will with it, just before a voice boomed across the dance floor.

  “BY THE AUTHORITY VESTED IN ME…” Jim Carroll called out. Obviously he had practised his theatrical tone. Eight constables rushed into the hotel and confronted the Donnellys with arrest warrants in one hand and their billy clubs in the other.

  “…I am arresting you, Will Donnelly and Tom Donnelly and Michael Donnelly, for assault and battery against the Flanagans, perpetrated in front of the Central Hotel!”

  Will stared at Carroll. “What are you talking about?”

  “Put the cuffs on them, men.”

  The huge Joe Berryman confronted Tom and grabbed an arm to cuff. Tom could not pull free. Tom glanced to Will for guidance. As their mother and father looked on in alarm, two constables each grabbed Will and Michael.

  “Carroll, you son of a bitch,” Will called out. “This can wait until tomorrow!”

  Johannah stepped out to confront her sons.

  “Will, listen to me. You have to go along with it. We can answer the charges in court.”

  “We can’t just give in to this stupidity, Ma. They’re making us criminals.”

  “Go along with them for me this time. We can afford a good lawyer. Please.”

  Will studied her for a moment and was about to comply and surrender to the constables, but just then Berryman tried to cuff Tom’s other hand and Tom pulled back. Berryman lurched after him and Tom punched him hard in the face with almost no effect.

  Michael and Will both pulled away from their captors. They would not be going quietly. Two officers took out pistols and aimed them dangerously at Will and Michael. Robert and Patrick grabbed the officers from behind. One pistol discharged into the floor and people started screaming and running from the hall. The band members abandoned their instruments and escaped out the back door. Jenny and Johannah ran into the foyer, from which they could safely watch. The Donnelly brothers and the Keefes stood back to back in the centre as the constables and the Kennedys and Flanagans came at them.

  Tom, the cuff dangling from his left wrist, faced Berryman and fought with a vicious obsession, breaking a chair over the man’s huge head, hitting him again and again with his fists, a chair leg, a bottle, anything he could find, but Berryman kept coming after him.

  Jim Carroll choked Michael on a table. Robert hit Carroll over the back of the head with a chair leg, momentarily stunning him and freeing Michael. John was exchanging blows and wrestling with a Kennedy, and knocked over the abandoned drum kit, with cymbals crashing.

  Jim Currie was alarmed to find himself in the thick of it with them. Patrick was fighting with one of the constables. Another had cocked his pistol and raised it, about to fire it point-blank at Patrick, but Currie knocked it out of his hand. The constable turned on Currie, raising his nightstick, and the Protestant had to apply a right hook in self-defence. Currie knocked his man to the ground as Jenny watched him, thrilled. Another officer grabbed Currie and he was forced into a wrestling match.

  As the donnybrook continued, the constables were beginning to lose. Robert, James and Patrick confronted two bloody and battered policemen near the door. The officers turned and ran outside and kept running. The brothers followed them into the street. Will fought Carroll for his pistol. He won it and pointed it at Carroll.

  “Stay back!” Will warned, but Carroll could see the police were losing ground and he couldn’t abide another failure.

  With a wild look in his eye, Carroll ran straight at Will. Will aimed low and fired twice. The second shot hit Carroll in the leg and he collapsed to the floor in pain.

  “You’ve shot me!”

  “You’ll live,” Will told him.

  Will looked at the pistol in disdain and threw it away. Tom had finally got Joe Berryman unconscious on the ground and was kicking his head.

  “Tom. That’s enough,” Will told him. Tom kicked him one last time, then reluctantly stopped. Tom picked up two pistols from among the debris on the floor, stuck them in his belt and left.

  Will looked around at the scene of wreckage. A large portrait of a frowning Queen Victoria draped in bunting was left looking down on the sorry aftermath. Broken chairs and bottles were scattered across the floor. The place was deserted except for three remaining constables; one of them lay moaning against the wall and Big Joe Berryman had been left a bloody, unconscious mess. Jim Carroll sat on the ground binding up his shot leg. The bartender came out from behind the shelter
of the bar. He looked at Will and poured two four-fingered whiskeys for each of them and they downed them in silence.

  Just then Johannah came in and stared around at the carnage.

  “Will? Are you all right?”

  Two constables came in with a stretcher to take Carroll for medical aid. “Yes, I’m fine, Ma. I saw Robert, James and Patrick head out front. And Tom. I think they’re all good. Not sure where Michael has gone, though. Where’s Da?”

  “He’s across the street at the Queen’s.”

  “I want you and Da to find Jenny and John—I think John’ll be clear of any charges—and take the wagon and go home right now, all right?”

  “What are you going to do?”

  The constables had Carroll on the stretcher and were carrying him out in obvious distress. “Reinforcements are coming, Donnelly. They’ll deal with you.”

  “I think we better turn ourselves in,” Will said. “Tom, Robert, Pat if he’s willing…Michael if I can find him. James, probably. You were right, Ma. It’s time to clear this all up in the courts. It’s getting ridiculous. Will you go home?”

  Johannah nodded and kissed him on the cheek with affection. “I’ll bring the bail money.” Then she turned and left Fitzhenry’s.

  * * *

  Jenny Donnelly was on a side street kissing Jim Currie farewell. His horse was saddled and he was about to ride out of Lucan. It was still a couple hours from dawn.

  “I’m so proud of you. You were fighting side by side with my brothers.”

  But Currie was troubled. “Look, Jenny…”

  “What’s wrong?” she asked with sudden alarm.

  “Your family…”

  “What about them?”

  “They’re just a little…crazy.”

  “Well, maybe they’re a little wild. The Donnellys are never boring.”