The Devil's Due: An Irish Historical Thriller

by L. D Beyer

  “You’ll be going to Abbeyfeale,” Mary announced. She went on to explain that she had arranged for Kathleen and I to stay on a small farm owned by the Maloneys, relatives of her dead husband John. The Maloneys’ farm was 40 miles from Limerick City and a world away. But even in New York, I remembered, thousands of miles from Limerick, the IRA had still managed to find me. If they found me there, they could find me in Abbeyfeale. It was a thought I kept to myself.

  “I know a priest who will wed you,” Mary continued, “but it can’t be here.” Kathleen and I had already discussed this, but I let Mary have her say. That we would be getting married was never a question, but Mary wanted to be certain that I knew my obligations.

  “I’ll need to get my money first,” I said when she was done. I had left so quickly the year before there had been no time to get my savings. I would have to visit the post office. I wondered again if the IRA still had men inside.

  “It’ll do you no good if you’re dead,” Mary snapped. She gave me another sharp look, making sure I understood. “For now, it’ll be safe where it is.”

  I nodded. Fierce when crossed, it wouldn’t do to question Mary, certainly not now. Besides, she was right; the money could wait until I understood just how much Ireland had changed since I’d left.

  I wondered about my things, but I didn’t ask. The IRA, I suspected, had taken everything. Coats and boots were in short supply, and the Volunteers commandeered whatever they could. Now that I was back, I realized I’d had left nothing of value when I’d fled. In my coat pocket, I wrapped my hand around my father’s watch, feeling the reassuring tick-tock of the gears. It was the only thing from my past that I still owned. The only thing that mattered.

  While Mary talked about Abbeyfeale and the wedding and her plans for us, one way or another, before we left Limerick, I had unsettled business to tend to. I had come back to Ireland for Kathleen and for the baby. But now that I was here, I knew it was more than that. Now that I was in Limerick, I couldn’t leave without facing my past. And the first thing I needed to do was to track down the man who had saved my life.

  Unfortunately, that would have to wait for two more weeks.

  ___

  Although she didn’t say it, I think Mary saw how happy Kathleen was to have me there. The last year had been difficult for both of them and I suspected that it had been a long time since either had laughed or even smiled.

  Like many in Ireland, Mary had her share of sorrow. Her husband John Reidy, a blacksmith who had quietly supported the IRA, had been killed by the British almost two years before. He hadn’t been shot or hanged, but his blood was on their hands the same as if he had been. Although he wasn’t a Volunteer, he had steadfastly refused when the RIC had asked him to forge steel shutters for their barracks. Then one night, in reprisal for an IRA raid, the Black and Tans set fire to several businesses, including John’s smithy. Told by the Tans that his apprentice was inside, John had rushed into the flames. While he frantically searched the smoked-filled shop, the inferno grew. John would never learn that his search was futile, that while he battled the flames, his apprentice was safe at home having supper.

  Mary never had time to grieve. With a dead husband and the smithy—and her home along with it—reduced to ashes, she had been forced to leave Rathkeale, the only village she had ever known. She found a farm for rent—almost twenty acres—some twenty miles away in Kilcully Cross, a small quiet crossroads nine miles south of Limerick City. Far larger than she and Tim could manage on their own, they only raised a small crop, and Mary had been forced to take in laundry, leaving her hands permanently raw from washing and mending clothes.

  Mary was the only family Kathleen knew, their other siblings long gone, one to Boston, another to Philadelphia, the rest to England and Australia. I didn’t know if Kathleen’s mother was still alive, but it didn’t matter. She was a tired and bitter old woman who had given birth to twelve children. By the time Kathleen came along—she had been number thirteen—her mother had been too worn out to worry about another child. She left the mothering to her then twelve-year-old daughter, Mary. Kathleen’s father, like many Irish men, had given up too and found the only solace he could in the drink. Too many years of poteen—what Americans called moonshine—had killed him before his time.

  That was why, I suspect, Mary was so protective of her sister. Sure I was a cousin, but Mary never saw it that way. To her, Kathleen and Tim were the only family she had left.

  ___

  Two days after I returned, I was repairing a section of wall where the stones had fallen. It was hard, heavy work, but a work I enjoyed. My hands in Irish soil once again, I smiled despite the pains in my back. I spent the days doing the odd chore around Mary’s house: mending the thatch on the roof, fixing a broken lantern, whitewashing the fowl-house and then the barn.

  Kathleen was busy at the stove, the rabbit I had caught in the morning now a stew in the pot. I laid a final stone on top of the wall and stepped back to admire my work when I heard the creaks and groans of the trap.

  I turned to see Mary and Tim coming up the lane. Tim, his hands loosely on the reins, let the horse lead the way. Head down, the old mare plodded along, the lane to the cottage as familiar to her as her own stall in the barn. I watched Tim, the awkwardness of a boy growing into a man’s body. Tall and thin, he looked nothing like his father. Except for the hair. Tim, like John, had curly black hair, the hint of a Mediterranean ancestor in his Irish blood. I saw the faint lines of the scar on his chin. Awkward, even as a child, Tim had tripped and fallen in his father’s smithy, catching his chin on the anvil. Some seven years later, the white line of the scar still ran along the side of his jaw.

  I left the stones, wiped my dirty hands on my trousers and hurried over. They would have news from Limerick

  “They did it,” Mary said as she climbed down. Mary was a member of the Irish Women’s League—an auxiliary of the IRA—her Republican sympathies coming on the heels of her husband’s death. She had been in Limerick City for a meeting.

  It wasn’t difficult to figure out what she meant. The Dáil—the Irish revolutionary parliament in Dublin—had been debating the Treaty with Britain, and we had been awaiting the vote.

  She handed me the paper. The picture said it all: General Michael Collins, proud and triumphant in his uniform, as the British turned over Dublin Castle to the new provisional government.

  “DeValera walked out,” she said.

  Eamon DeValera, the President of the Dáil had resigned in protest. The fracture within the IRA—the one everyone had feared—had occurred.

  “The Cumann supports it,” she added.

  The Cumann na mBan—the Irish Women’s League—supported the Treaty? That surprised me.

  Mary sighed. “Maybe it is the best for now,” she continued.

  I frowned. Now Mary supports the Treaty too? What had changed? I wondered. The last two weeks had been filled with talk of nothing but the Treaty, and Mary’s views had been clear. She was a Republican, not a Free-Stater.

  She was biting her lip, a habit of hers when she was nervous. “We don’t have the men or the guns to continue,” she said more to herself than to me.

  “A path to freedom?” I asked, not believing what I was hearing.

  She looked up, her eyes narrowed. “Aye,” she said with more than a touch of sarcasm in her voice. “A path to freedom.”

  I glanced at the paper again. It was what Michael Collins had said: the Treaty offered us a path to freedom, something so many, including Mary, were now repeating. I stared at his picture again then suddenly Mary’s finger was in my face. She shook it.

  “Don’t you go getting any ideas in that foolish head of yours, Frank Kelleher. You’ll be going to Abbeyfeale.” She wagged her finger to make sure I understood. “Tomorrow,” she said, leaving no room for protest. Then she turned and stomped into the house.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Despite what she had said, Mary’s insistence that we go to Abbeyfeale r
ight away softened. Sure, she worried about the tensions brewing in Limerick and wanted to keep me away from the IRA. But I think she enjoyed seeing her sister happy—for the first time, I suspected, since I had fled. Besides, as long as I stayed at the farm, away from Limerick City and the places where my old comrades were sure to be, there was no immediate danger. The Treaty had been signed, but the debate continued in Dublin as it did in Limerick and in cities and villages all across Ireland. For now, I thought, we were safe.

  Mary must have felt the same. The days that followed were peaceful and I found pleasure in the repairs that needed doing and in tilling the few acres Mary had, preparing them for planting. Despite how controlling she could be, Mary was happy to have Kathleen living under the same roof. That would change once Kathleen and I were wed, but for now, she wanted her sister close by.

  While the women were content, by the end of two weeks, I was restless. The sights, the sounds, the smells of Ireland brought with them memories of another life. With each day, the call of my past had grown, and I knew now that my return had been inevitable. News of Kathleen’s condition had been the push I needed.

  I kept thinking about Liam, our time together as lads and our time together fighting. The last time I had seen him, we had been trapped as the barn burned around us. With the animals screeching and British bullets flying, Liam had risked his own life to save mine. He could have saved himself, but he hadn’t, not until he had untied me and dragged me to the door, giving me a chance to escape. I owed my freedom and my life to Liam. I had to see him, to make sure he was alright. I had to thank him for saving me. And I had to tell him the truth about Argyll Manor.

  “Where can I find Liam?” I asked Mary one morning.

  She glared at me. Her frequent warnings over the last two weeks told me that she had been afraid this moment would eventually come.

  “Where is he?” I asked again.

  She shook her head. “It’ll do you no good to go stirring up the past. What’s done is done.”

  “He saved my life, Mary. I have to see him.”

  She squared her shoulders and raised her finger, prepared to give me a piece of her tongue. I glared back, stopping her before she could.

  “I’m not going to Abbeyfeale,” I said quietly. “Not until after I see him.”

  She wanted to argue, I could see, but she hesitated, and I caught something in her eyes. When she didn’t answer, I asked again.

  “He’s in Castleconnell,” she finally said, “at his brother’s house.” She paused, and her eyes narrowed. “They released him two months ago.”

  I was relieved to hear that he was still alive but was troubled by her tone. She explained that Liam had been captured by the British the very night he had set me free. As I was making my way to Limerick City, he had been caught by the Peelers. He had been found on the side of the road, confused and bloody, having crashed the bicycle he had stolen to aid his escape. After learning who he was, the British had tortured him for information.

  “What they did to him, Frank…” she said with a shake of her head. He had been held for almost a year. “I hear he’s not the same anymore.”

  Later that evening, I lay awake in bed. I couldn’t sleep. Mary’s words continued to haunt me. He’s not the same anymore.

  ___

  I took Kathleen’s hand as we followed the path below a sky that was dark from both the threat of rain and the late hour. Returning from a visit to Margaret’s grave, we discussed our future.

  “Maybe it’s not safe here anymore,” Kathleen said.

  “Why do you say that?” Mary wanted us to go to Abbeyfeale, but I had things I needed to do before I left.

  “Maybe we’re better off in America. After the wedding, maybe we should go.”

  I stopped and looked at her. “I just came back and now you want me to leave again?” I grinned. It was a poor attempt at humor, a mask to hide my shock. I was surprised to hear Kathleen mention America. Although the words were hers, I could hear Mary’s voice behind them. I gestured to the land around us. “Could you leave this?”

  “I don’t know,” Kathleen said. She bit her lip and looked away.

  I took both of her hands in mine, and she looked up again. “New York is not what you think it is,” I said, searching her eyes to see if she understood. She continued to bite her lip but said nothing.

  “Would you leave your sister here?”

  Kathleen shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said again. She held my eyes this time and I could see the fear.

  “Margaret won’t be the only one. Surely you know that. Once we’re married, we’ll have other children.”

  She bit her lip again. “I don’t know if I want my children to be born here, to live with the threat of another war. Maybe they’ll be safer in America.”

  I nodded, finally understanding.

  “Mary says it’s not safe,” she said.

  “I know what Mary says, Kathleen,” I snapped. “It’s all I hear from her, how there’ll be another war.” I took a deep breath. I hadn’t meant to sound cross. I was frustrated with Mary’s nagging, not with Kathleen. “I’m sorry,” I said, offering her a weak smile.

  She nodded.

  “We will go to Abbeyfeale, Kathleen. We will get married. And we will baptize Margaret and give her a proper burial.” I searched her eyes, finding only doubt. “We will, Kathleen. I promise.”

  She nodded, and we turned and began walking again. I glanced over the stone wall on the side of the road and saw the furrows in the earth, the lines made by the plough that the horse had dragged through the rich soil. Although they could have planted more, Mary and Tim only farmed one acre. Mary had insisted that Tim complete his schooling, a rare thing for a child his age. The school was in Patrick’s Well, some nine miles away, and with walking there and back and with the schoolwork, Tim hadn’t the time for more. Over the last few days, I had begun ploughing additional acres. I planned to plant the crop for them, then, if I was still here, bring it in in the fall.

  We stopped at the stone wall that surrounded Mary’s cottage. In the faint light, I could see the smoke curling up from the chimney. A flicker of light peeked out from around the shutters. I leaned on the wall and took a deep breath, filling my lungs with the smell of the newly tilled soil, the manure Tim and I had begun spreading, and the peat from the fire inside. It was a rich aroma, one I had missed during my year in New York. It smelled of home.

  “Are you still wanting to see Liam?” Kathleen asked, interrupting my thoughts.

  “Aye, Kathleen. I have to.”

  Even in the dim light, there was no mistaking the worry on her face.

  “Can’t it wait?”

  I sighed but said nothing. I could hear my father’s words: When a thing is wrong, you have to make it right.

  Kathleen bit her lip, and I reached for her hands again.

  “I have to see him, Kathleen. You know that. He saved my life. And I have to tell him what happened at Argyle Manor.”

  “Ahh, it’s a stubborn one you are, Frank Kelleher,” she said softly. “You’ll be sending me to an early grave with the worry you cause me.”

  I pulled her close; she laid her head on my shoulder.

  “I only need a few days, Kathleen. But when I return, we’ll go to Abbeyfeale. We’ll wed. Then we’ll find some land and build a cottage. Somewhere in Limerick.” The picture was so clear in my mind, this dream I had carried with me to New York and back. “We’ll have sheep and cows and chickens. And pigs,” I said with a grin. “Aye, we’ll have pigs. I’ll teach the children all the things my own father taught me. We’ll buy a spinning wheel and a loom.” I paused as I felt Kathleen’s body pressed against mine as the dream danced in my head. I hadn’t held her like this in over a year. Without warning, there was a stirring in my loins and I realized then how much I longed to hold her, to be with her. I glanced back at Mary’s cottage. Before I could suggest that we take a walk, that we find a quiet spot away from everything else, Kathle
en stepped back and gently pushed me away.

  “We can’t, Frank. Not now.” She shook her head. “Not here.”

  I reached out, but she shook her head. “We can’t. Not anymore. Not until we’re properly wed.”

  “But, Kathleen,” I protested. “I came back for you. I came back for us.”

  “Aye, you did. But it’s a proper woman you’ll make me first.” She scolded me softly then turned and left me standing there. A minute later, I heard the door close. I stood alone, outside, in the silence.

  ___

  One soggy Monday morning, despite Mary’s protest, I set off to find my friend. The latest paper said that the British would begin withdrawing their forces from around the country. In Limerick, the City Council vowed to establish a new police force that would take over from the RIC, but until then, the Peelers would still function to keep order. With the truce and Treaty in place, I hoped that their focus would shift to the normal police functions of protecting the city instead of terrorizing it as they had done when the Black and Tans had infiltrated their ranks. And while British patrols were still a daily occurrence, as we had seen at the station, the soldiers appeared to have laid down their arms. The patrols seemed to be more out of boredom and curiosity than anything else.

  I was more worried about Billy and the IRA than the British soldiers and the Peelers when I set off to find Liam that morning. The dye in my hair on the boat over was now gone. Kathleen had washed it out with mixture of eggs, vinegar, and carbonated ammonia, a mixture that had tingled my scalp and left me smelling strange for days. Gone too were Desmond’s glasses. Now that I was back, I didn’t think I would need the disguise any longer.