I told Catherine I would be gone for a little bit, and Deirdre and I got into Annie’s car for the drive to Dublin. When I tried to raise the subject, off and on, she told me I should wait until we get there.
Some two and half hours later we drove through a gated entry, down a tree-lined lane and into the parking lot of a large brick-and-stone building. The chiseled name above the oak doors read ST. ELIZABETH HOME.
“Is Bridget McGregor in this facility?” I said.
Annie nodded. “In a manner of speaking.”
We walked into the entry hall where Annie checked with the receptionist and beckoned me to follow her down a long corridor to the right. “Come this way. She’s in the sun room.” The sign on the entrance to the corridor read BRIDGET MCGREGOR WING.
We came to a community room where several patients were seated in wheelchairs and at tables. Annie looked around the room and led me to a group by a far window. A woman was seated with her back to us, staring out the window at the gardens below. She had curly red hair tied with a ribbon in the back. I knew in a minute who she was.
Annie walked up to her and tapped her on the shoulder. The woman slowly turned her head. “Molly, there’s someone here to see you.”
I had a hard time holding it together.
“Molly, it’s your brother, Liam. He’s come to see you today.” But she didn’t seem to understand.
Annie beckoned me forward with her index finger. “It’s all right, Liam. Come on.”
I swallowed hard. This was my sister, who for all these years I had been told was dead. I leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. She looked up at me and smiled. Then she turned her attention back to the window.
“Why wasn’t I told? Why didn’t my mother tell me that my sister was alive? Deirdre, you lied to me. You told me she was shot and killed by Archie Walker.”
“I’m sorry I deceived you, but that was a decision that was made by your uncle Fergus years ago. Molly was shot by Archie Walker. That’s true. But as you see, she survived. Unfortunately, the injury, the loss of blood and the delay in getting her to the hospital left her in this condition. You have to understand how it was back in those days. In the Lower Falls, there were no ambulances, no cars, no police or firemen to help you, no way to get emergency medical care. Your father ran through the streets, carrying her to the hospital.”
“That doesn’t answer the question. Why wasn’t I told?”
“You remember when you were sent to live with Uncle Fergus on the farm?”
“Of course. I was four.”
“You were sent because you didn’t have a parent to look after you. Your father had been killed by the Shankill Butchers. Your mother witnessed her daughter being shot and her husband slaughtered within a matter of hours. She suffered a total breakdown. She was incapable of caring for herself, let alone four-year-old Liam. She was confined in a sanitarium. She was suicidal. She blamed herself for leaving Molly alone on the stoop. Four years later, when she was released, she denied she had a daughter. She actually believed she’d never had a daughter. The doctors told us that confronting her with Molly, who was then in need of special care, would likely put your mother back into the sanitarium, maybe for good. So, Fergus had Molly placed in a facility where they would take very good care of her. She needed more care than any of us could give.
“Because of the feuds between the Walkers and the Taggarts, Fergus decided to take Molly out of Northern Ireland entirely, move her down here to Dublin and keep her existence a secret. Only five of us knew: Fergus, Eamon, Robert, Annie and I. Over the years, we’ve visited her quite often. We make sure she receives the best of care.”
Deirdre put her hand on my shoulder and said, “While your mother was still alive, Uncle Fergus didn’t risk telling her about Molly. We all feared your mother would suffer another breakdown. When you returned here in the nineties, we talked about it, but we decided to keep it secret. We still didn’t want it to get back to your mother. She was a delicate soul.”
“My mother died in 1995. Why wasn’t I told afterward?”
“Again, that was your uncle’s decision. You’re a Taggart, Liam,” Deirdre said. “Fergus decided that the tragedy of your father and your sister should be kept from you because he didn’t want you running off to settle the score. You were a young man and embarking upon your career. In retrospect, that was unfair. You had a right to know. I told Fergus that myself.”
Molly’s hands were folded on her lap. I reached down and took her hand. She tilted her head and smiled at me. “You’re so pretty, Molly,” I said with a lump in my throat, and it was true. She had a darling face and it brought back memories of when she and I were very young. I could see her dancing in the living room in her black patent leather shoes. The very same Molly. Did she see the young Liam when she looked at me? She was smiling. I chose to believe she did.
“Is she physically healthy?” I said.
“As a horse,” Annie said. “There just seems to be a little disconnect between what she experiences and what goes on around her.”
“She’s squeezing my hand,” I said with a little excitement. “I think she knows I’m here. I think she knows I’m her brother.”
“I’m sure she does, Liam.”
FORTY
MY BUSINESS IN NORTHERN Ireland was finished and Catherine and I were preparing to return home. I took time to visit Molly again and I promised her that I would stay in touch and come to see her again soon. Did she understand? I think so. She squeezed my hand and gave me a beautiful smile to remember.
Deirdre would not think of our leaving without one more grand dinner. And grand it was. Her guests included Conor, Robert, Janie, Annie, Megan and Farrell. The tragic set of circumstances that had brought us together had also forged a strong bond. We would all be family for the rest of our lives. We’d not let distance get in our way again.
Deirdre’s dinner was lavish, and though our family had been bruised and bandaged, we were constrained to make our conversation gay. None of us felt a need to revisit the details of the past several weeks. By tacit agreement, those memories were barred from entering the kitchen. Wine was flowing, Bushmills was pouring and there was a warm glow of camaraderie. There was talk of visits to America, of summer vacations in Northern Ireland, of legends and castles and kings. And when we had all eaten too much, someone—Janie, I believe—suggested we all go into Antrim town and enjoy a Guinness at Conway’s Pub.
Catherine was immediately all over that idea and bundled up the baby for the ride into town. Conway’s set a large table for us in the center of the room. The band was striking up traditional Irish songs and the beer and Jameson shots were there for the taking. The band was getting ready to start its second set when the fiddle player looked down at me and waved for me to come up to the stage.
“Oh no,” I said. “I played all my cards last time. You guys are much better without me. I’d rather listen than make another fool of myself.”
With that, the band struck a hard C chord, and the leader pointed at me with a stiff arm and loudly sang, “Oh then tell me Sean O’Farrell, tell me why you hurry so?” Then he tilted his head and waited for my response.
I shook my head, but Janie poked me in the side with a sharp elbow. “Get up there, cousin.”
“Go on,” Catherine said. “Don’t be a chicken, I want to hear this.”
I had to smile. Here I go again. I stood up and belted out, “Hush me Buchall, hush and listen, and his cheeks were all aglow.”
The bandleader turned and nodded to his players, who took up their instruments. The glorious music filled the room, and he sang, “I bear orders from the captain, get you ready quick and soon.”
I walked up to the stage. In for a dime, in for a dollar. “For the pikes must be together by the Rising of the Moon.”
McLaughlin stood and shouted, “You’ll not do this without me.” He strode forward and joined me on the stage. “Oh then tell me Sean O’Farrell, where the gatherin’ is to be.”
Deirdre stood and pointed at the band. “In the old spot by the river, right well known to you and me.”
“You’re not leaving me out,” Annie said. “One more word for signal token, whistle up the marching tune.”
Janie jumped up. “With your pike upon your shoulder by the Rising of the Moon.”
When I think back to that time in Antrim, I see my Uncle Robert in his sling, dancing up an Irish jig. I see Conor spinning Megan. I see the whole room standing and singing the chorus. And when that night comes back to me, I hear the echoes:
By the Rising of the Moon
By the Rising of the Moon
For the Pikes must be together
By the Rising of the Moon
…
ALSO BY RONALD H. BALSON
Karolina’s Twins
Saving Sophie
Once We Were Brothers
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
RONALD H. BALSON is a Chicago trial attorney, an educator, and a writer. His practice has taken him to several international venues. He is also the author of Karolina’s Twins, Saving Sophie, and the international bestseller Once We Were Brothers. You can sign up for email updates here.
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Preface
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Nine
Forty
Also by Ronald H. Balson
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THE TRUST. Copyright © 2017 by Ronald H. Balson. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.stmartins.com
Cover design by Michael Storrings
Cover photograph by Rebecca Dale Photography
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-1-250-12744-0 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-250-12746-4 (ebook)
eISBN 9781250127464
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First Edition: September 2017
The Trust Page 39