The Devil's Due: An Irish Historical Thriller

by L. D Beyer

  It was two days later that we first spied the mismatched uniforms of the Black and Tans, and we quickly learned that the British wouldn’t be satisfied with merely squashing the latest insurrection—they wanted revenge. The Tans went on a rampage, burning businesses and homes randomly. They arrested scores of people, including one publican who, although he had no connection to the IRA other than serving us a pint now and again, was deemed guilty of sedition. His hands and feet were tied, and he was forced to kneel before he was shot in the back of the head. Despite the rope marks on his hands and ankles and despite the angle of the wound, the court of inquiry determined that he was killed while trying to escape.

  An eye for an eye, Billy had told us, and one week after the inquest, we captured a Tan. Like the publican, we tied his hands and ankles and forced him to kneel. Then Billy shot him in the back of the head. We pinned a note to his tunic: Prisoner of the IRA, killed while trying to escape.

  And like that, the game had changed, the Tans exacting their revenge, and us, led by Billy, exacting ours. As brutal as the Tans were, Billy let them know that we too could play that game.

  ___

  As I ran across the Sheehys’ fields, the shouts and voices fading behind me, it was clear that the risks had just increased dramatically. Although there was always the chance that I would run into him, as I nearly had the day I arrived, surely now Billy would come looking for me. If I wanted to see Kathleen again, I had to avoid him.

  I found Tim’s bicycle where I had left it, a mile from the Sheehys’, hidden in the heather behind the stone wall, far enough from the road that it wouldn’t be seen. I squatted by it for a moment as I caught my breath. After a minute or two with no sign that anyone was behind me, I dragged the bicycle back to the road. On the bicycle, I was forced to follow the roads but since I was going to Mary’s and Billy would be coming from the other direction I thought it would be safe enough.

  An hour later, as I made my way over a small rise, there was a clank, and I stumbled on the pedal, barely catching myself before I tumbled over the handlebars. Cursing, I pulled to the side of the road. Glancing behind me, I saw the chain lying broken in the dirt.

  A few minutes later, the bicycle hidden again, I pushed my way through the heather past a large oak tree to an open field. It was another ten miles back to Mary’s, I figured, maybe less since I would be cutting across the fields. I glanced at the oak, memorizing the spot—I had to come back for the bicycle—then, with the broken chain in my pocket, I set out across the field.

  I managed to make it back to Mary’s house safely and without arousing any suspicion from the farmers and field hands I had seen along the way. I found them behind the house, Kathleen helping Mary with the laundry. It was a busy day; the bushels and bundles were piled high. Mary had a regular clientele, and it seemed there was no end to the amount of the clothes and linens that the rich could soil. Later in the evening, her son Tim would deliver the freshly washed and folded laundry back to their owners and, in return, collect a few shillings and a new set of dirty linens for Mary to wash.

  Kathleen, her sleeves rolled up and her arms plunged into the steaming water, looked up. Mary had just come from the house, another large bundle in her arms. She placed the laundry on the bench.

  “And a good day to you, ladies,” I said with a smile.

  Kathleen’s eyes narrowed. She ignored my smile as she pulled her arms from the water and wiped them dry on her apron. Her eyes traveled up and down, to the dirt on my trousers, the rip on my shirt—souvenirs from my scuffle with the Sheehys. She frowned.

  “What have you been into?”

  I glanced down, certain she wasn’t upset at the additional cleaning and mending she would have to do. It was then I noticed that my knuckles were scraped raw, bruises that could only have come from fisticuffs.

  Then I noticed the fear in her eyes. For the first time since I had returned—I hadn’t told her about my encounter with the British soldiers yet—she was frightened. Mary took two steps toward me and placed her hands on her hips, an angry stance.

  “Frank Kelleher, I told you not to go getting involved.” Her dark eyes bore into mine. “That’s it then,” she said, clearly having just made up her mind. “You’ll be leaving for Abbeyfeale in the morning.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  “You went to the Sheehys and look where that got you! If they’d handed you over to Billy, do you think you’d still be alive now?”

  The air was thick, the smoke from the stove and the tension between Kathleen and me filling the room. She was upset at my decision to stay while she went, alone, to Abbeyfeale. She couldn’t stay here, I had argued. Now that Billy knew I was back in County Limerick, he was sure to be looking for me. I wasn’t certain he would come to Mary’s but, if he did, it would be better for Kathleen if she weren’t there. I didn’t think Billy would be bold enough to do anything to Mary—she was a member of the Women’s League, and anything Billy did was sure to anger the Cumann. And I didn’t think he would harm Kathleen. But would he hold her as prisoner until I turned myself over? It wasn’t a chance I felt comfortable taking. I could risk my own life, but I couldn’t risk hers.

  “But they didn’t,” I protested.

  She shook her head. “You’ve met with Liam. You’ve seen the Sheehys. What more do you want?”

  “You know I have to see Sinéad. And Sean’s mother.”

  “And tell them what?” She shook her head as if I were daft. “You’re wanting to make me a widow and we’re not even married yet. At least Dan had the decency to marry Sinéad before he went off and got himself killed!” Then she stormed out of the house, slamming the door in her wake.

  Thankfully, Mary had remained silent throughout our argument, but that wouldn’t last now, not after seeing how upset Kathleen was. I didn’t give her a chance.

  “Don’t,” I said, pointing my finger. Mary glared at me. I left her and went out in search of Kathleen.

  I found her by the well. Her mood filled the air, and I stopped several feet away. I wanted to wrap my arms around her, to tell her that everything would be fine, that it was only for a short while. But it would only have angered her more. Instead, I stared back at her as I thought what I could say that would soothe her fears. Arms folded, she stared off into the darkness, seeing nothing but her own anger I was sure.

  “I already lost you once, Frank,” she said without turning. “That night you came to me, at the Cavanaghs’?” I saw the slight shake of her head. “I never thought I would see you again. I thought I would be forced to have the baby by myself and…and…” She buried her face in her hands; her body was wracked by sobs.

  I reached out and put my hand on her shoulder.

  “You yourself said it wasn’t safe. Now you want to send me away while you stay here. And to do what, Frank? To tell them that you’re innocent?” She shook her head. “Ahh, you’ll just go and get yourself killed and for what? Just to clear your name?”

  “It’s all I have Kathleen.”

  “You have me, Frank Kelleher!” She turned and put her arms around me, her head on my shoulder. “You have me.”

  “I love you, Kathleen. You know this.”

  “If you loved me you’d come with me.”

  “I can’t, Kathleen. I need to do this first.”

  “Then I’ll stay here,” she pleaded. “With you.”

  I told her again that I didn’t think it was safe. I told her I could protect myself but I wasn’t sure I could protect her.

  “It’ll only be for a few days. I’ll come as soon as I can, Kathleen.”

  “Sure, you say that now, but you won’t. After you see Mrs. Murphy and Sinéad, you’ll go and find some other ghost to chase.”

  The trouble was, she was right.

  We went to bed late, neither of us happy.

  ___

  The next morning I found Kathleen at the table, sipping a cup of tea. I had been outside, helping Tim with the horse and cart.

  I put my h
and on her shoulder and sat in the chair next to hers. I heard Mary behind me, coming from the room she shared with Kathleen.

  “It’s time,” I said softly.

  Kathleen nodded and stood. “I’ll get my things,” she said without looking at me.

  While I waited, I could feel the heat from Mary’s eyes on my back.

  Kathleen was only gone a moment. When she returned, I took her case. She put on her hat. I helped her button her coat, a small gesture, an intimacy I hoped would last us both until I saw her again.

  “I’ll follow you shortly,” I said then kissed her softly on the cheek.

  Her face somber, Kathleen nodded but said nothing. Her eyes refused to meet mine.

  We stepped outside. I handed Tim Kathleen’s case then I helped her up onto the cart. Mary held out a blanket of heavy wool to ward off the chill and the mist in the air. I draped this over Kathleen.

  “I’ll see you in several days, then,” I said again. Then I gave Kathleen another kiss on the cheek and hopped down.

  She nodded, her jaw set.

  “Mind yourself now,” she said, her eyes briefly on mine. Then she turned and faced forward, wanting, I was sure, to get the parting over.

  Without a word, Tim flicked the rains. I stood and watched them for a while, the soft clip-clop of the hooves fading in the dense winter air. Soon they disappeared into the mist. As much as I didn’t want her to go, it was for the best.

  I turned to find Mary. Her eyes bore into mine.

  “It’s a dangerous game you’re playing, Frank Kelleher,” she said, “and one you’ve no right to, not after what happened.”

  Ignoring Mary, I turned back and stared off into the mist where Kathleen had gone. She could have taken the train from Limerick, but I thought it would be better to stay away from Limerick. As it was, she would take the train from Patrick’s Well, some nine miles away, and would arrive in Abbeyfeale in the afternoon. Mary had arranged by telegraph for her friends the Maloneys to meet Kathleen at the station. Away from Limerick and the people who knew her, Kathleen would be safe for the time being.

  “You don’t know the half of it,” I heard softly behind me. I turned back to Mary.

  “What do you mean?”

  She took a step closer and shook her finger at me. “Do you know what it’s been like for the last year?”

  I shook my head.

  “She left the Cavanaghs soon after you fled. For six months she saw no one but Tim and me.”

  Mary’s eyes were steady on me, and I suddenly felt embarrassed that I had never asked.

  “Every time someone came, Kathleen had to hide. She couldn’t let anyone see her, not when she was with child. She was so afraid that Father Lonagan would learn of her condition.”

  I sighed. Father Lonagan—the priest at St. Patrick’s Church, the church I had attended every Sunday since I was a wee lad, sandwiched between my mother and father on the cart as we made the nine-mile trip. If he had learned of Kathleen’s condition, I had no doubt he would have insisted she be sent away. Everything we had learned about our faith, about our church, we had learned from Father Lonagan. He had baptized all three of us, Kathleen, Mary, and me, as he had most of the people I knew. He had heard our confessions and forced his penance on us. Each week he had given us the communion bread, his tireless efforts to save us from the sinful life we each led was nothing less than heroic. Father Lonagan was the Church. And the Church that we knew—the Church of Father Lonagan—did not believe in mercy.

  “She hasn’t been to a mass in over a year.” Mary continued. “How could she? Then after the baby died, she was convinced that it was her fault.” Mary shook her head. “I certainly couldn’t ask for Father Lonagan’s help, now could I?”

  I shook my head and she continued.

  “I’ve known Father Leahy since we were children. His family’s from Rathkeale, but when he became a priest, he was sent to Abbeyfeale. I sent him a telegram, and a week later he came. It took that long for Kathleen to stop crying.”

  “I’m sorry, Mary. I didn’t know.”

  “Ahh, you didn’t know,” Mary said, abruptly dismissing me with her hand. “You didn’t know and you didn’t care.”

  She turned on her heel and left me there, like the fool I was.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Although I couldn’t have known it at the time, for the next two months, tensions in Limerick would escalate and Ireland would teeter on the brink of civil war. Trouble would begin soon after the British withdrawal, as their forces one by one abandoned the various barracks and garrisons, first in Limerick City and then in the surrounding countryside. We would soon see them parading through our streets in uniforms newly laundered or newly purchased for the occasion. Their march would come with a clipped efficiency and the sounds of the drum, their heads held high and their banners fluttering in the breeze as if they were the true victors. In their wake, Free State and Anti-Treaty forces would rush to secure the abandoned barracks, the nation’s fate hinging on which way Limerick would fall.

  But as Kathleen disappeared into the mist, that precipice was still weeks away.

  Thinking the only thing I had to worry about was Billy, against Mary’s advice I set off for Limerick City. I had used the last of the hair dye that morning—it wouldn’t fool anyone up close, but from a distance I thought it might. The chemist in Limerick would have what I needed. But more than the dye, I wanted to see for myself if what Mary and Liam had told me was true. I had to find out how bad things were.

  It was a nine-mile walk to Limerick, the first few easy as I encountered no one on the road. Farm after farm, I saw men and young boys working the plough, getting the fields ready for the planting. In other fields, cows and goats grazed, and in the hills beyond, collies kept large herds of sheep from wandering. A few men waved and I waved back, knowing I was far enough away that I wouldn’t be recognized. The rich scent of the turned soil, the musky smell of animals, and the sweet smell of hay filled the air. It was a peaceful scene, but it was one that I feared wouldn’t last.

  Occasionally, the growl of a motorcar, the rattle of a cart, or the clop of a horse’s hooves would disturb the silence, and I would hide behind the stone walls until the sounds faded. But as I drew closer to Limerick, it became difficult to hide—the lorries and drays too thick to escape. There was nothing I could do but keep walking, hoping no one would pay me any mind.

  For the most part they didn’t, but still I was on edge. I stiffened at each sound, turning my head slightly away from the road, only breathing again once those that passed me disappeared ahead. When I saw the buildings in the distance, I let out a sigh. Another hour and then I would be able to lose myself in Limerick’s crowded streets.

  I heard the sound of another motorcar and prayed it would drive by like the others before it. But the sound changed, and I could tell the lorry was slowing. I kept walking, trying not to show I was worried, but still I felt myself stiffen as it pulled alongside.

  “A fine day it is!”

  I looked up and felt a chill run up my spine as I stared up into the face of a Free State Soldier. He was smiling. My instinct told me running would be foolish. Instead I nodded.

  “Aye. T’is a fine day.”

  He asked me if I was going to Limerick. I nodded again.

  “Sure and we’re on our way there ourselves anyhow,” he said, his friendly tone catching me by surprise. He offered me a lift.

  Seeing no alternative, I smiled and thanked him as I climbed on board.

  There were six of them, all with the new green uniforms of the Free State Army. Most were lads, younger than me, but the officer was my age. The lorry they were in was British. I tried to piece together what that meant as I fought to hide my nervousness.

  “From Limerick, are you?” the officer asked. It wasn’t a policeman’s question, I realized, just curiosity. Still, I was wary.

  “Nay,” I said. “My family’s from Offaly,” I told them, “but I’ve been to America these last
five years.” I smiled but offered little more.

  I wasn’t surprised when they began to ask questions, wanting to know if what they had heard about America was true. It was a welcome diversion. The more I talked about New York, the less likely they were to question what I was doing in Ireland. But still I couldn’t resist asking several questions of my own. The officer’s name was Mullins, I learned, and they were all from Clare, part of General Michael Brennan’s new Free State Forces. I knew Brennan, not by face but by name. After the British had declared martial law in January 1921—just as I was settling in New York—Brennan and his East Clare Flying Column ambushed a Black and Tan patrol at Glenwood, near Sixmilebridge. In the ensuing fight, Brennan’s troops killed six Tans and made off with their weapons. That night, in retaliation, the Tans went on the rampage in Clare, burning homes and terrorizing farmers and villagers, most of whom had no connection to the IRA. A fine soldier Brennan was, but now he had thrown his lot in with the Free State.

  I wanted to ask what soldiers from the Clare Brigade were doing in Limerick but that wouldn’t have been wise. Certainly, I told myself, Mullins and his men had been sent on one errand or another and would soon return to Clare. Besides, these lads hardly seemed hostile. Their eyes were bright and their faces held the hope of new recruits, ones who somehow had managed to avoid the fighting over the last three years.

  “Well you’re back now and it’s a good thing you are,” Mullins said as he clapped my shoulder. “We need every Irishman now. There’s a lot to do,” he said smiling, staring off for a moment, dreaming it seemed. “A lot to do.”

  I couldn’t help but ask. “Do you think there’ll be another war? It’s all I’ve heard since I returned.”

  “Why should we fight?” Mullins answered, “We’re all Irishmen; certainly we can put our differences aside now, for the sake of the country.”

  If it were only that easy, I thought.

  ___

  I left them at St. Lawrence Cemetery—paying my respects to a friend I told them—not wanting to be seen driving with Free State soldiers in Limerick. There were sure to be Anti-Treaty soldiers in the city—men I had known and fought with—and they would certainly take notice of a Free State Army patrol. Who’s the well-dressed man wearing glasses, the one riding along with the Free State soldiers in their lorry? It was a question I didn’t want them asking.