She pulled away and looked up into his face. A slight frown knitted her brow and she put her hand up to touch his face. His eyes gleamed very bright in the moonlight.
“You came after me,” she stated.
“Yes,” he replied.
For a moment it didn’t seem to matter that they were in the middle of a war zone, or that Danny was dead and Rosina lay somewhere nearby waiting patiently to be rescued. All that Bronwyn could think about was that she was here, with Connor, and all she had to do was lean forward and touch his sweet lips with her own and it would all be over; he would know then how she felt, and she wouldn’t have to lie to herself anymore…
“Bronwyn?” Rosina’s voice came out of the darkness and they pulled apart like the guilty lovers that they very nearly were.
“Connor, oh, thank God.” She was crawling through the grass behind them and, when she reached them, she sat down heavily in the snow.
“Rosie, are you all right?” whispered Bronwyn.
“Yeah, I got scared. You were both gone so long.”
Bronwyn saw Connor’s guilty expression and felt her face flush.
“Are you okay, Bron? I heard someone scream.” Rosina put her hand on Bronwyn’s arm.
“Danny’s dead,” she said, looking back towards the camp.
Connor took both girls by their arms and stood up, pulling them with him.
“And so will we be, if we don’t get out of here,” he said and they quietly made their way back to the lane.
Rosina held Bronwyn’s arm as they hurried into the woods. Connor was quite far behind them, as he struggled along with his injured leg, when he heard a shout behind him. He turned and his eyes widened as he saw the man dressed in black standing only yards away. The man had no mask on and realised too late he could now be identified. He didn’t hesitate as he raised his rifle and aimed it at Connor.
The first shot went wide and Connor didn’t stop to see if his luck would hold. He bolted over the hill that led down to the lane, trying to keep low, as he heard the sound of the man reloading his
rifle behind him. He could hear Rosina screaming his name and, as he reached the brow of the hill, saw her running out into the lane, Bronwyn holding on to her arm to try to pull her back to safety.
“Get back!” he yelled at them. As another bullet whizzed past his head, he lost his footing and went down, tumbling over and over, eventually landing in the bushes at the far side of the road. He screamed as he felt a searing pain in his leg, then pushed his face into the snow to stop himself yelling. After a moment he pulled himself together, knowing if he stayed there it would be the end of all three of them.
Bronwyn and Rosina crashed through the bushes as he was getting to his feet. Bronwyn reached him first and when she saw the fresh blood that stained the snow she thought he had been shot again. She pulled him up and slung his arm over her shoulder.
”Come on, Rosie, get his other arm,” she instructed.
Between the two of them, they managed to move further into the woods and away from the shots that were still being fired intermittently.
They went straight to Bronwyn’s. As she opened the door and they piled in, she realised that the house was in darkness; her mother must still be at the hospital.
“Let me see your leg,” she said to Connor, as they helped him into the lounge. He pulled up his trouser leg and the two girls knelt at his feet to examine it.
“Rosie, can you get me some water, something to stop it bleeding?” Bronwyn asked. Rosina ran off to the kitchen.
“It’s fine,” said Connor through gritted teeth, then yelped as Bronwyn touched the wound.
“I thought you’d been shot again,” she said. “But it’s just the stitches. You scraped it all up and made it bleed again.”
Rosina came back into the room with a jug of water and a strip of white cloth.
“I tore up a pillowcase, I hope it’s okay,” she said anxiously as she passed it over to Bronwyn.
“It’s fine.” Bronwyn stood up. “Can you do this, Rosie? I really need to phone the hospital and find out how Barry is.”
As Bronwyn stood in the hall and glanced back at Connor, she found it hard to believe what she had come close to doing on that hillside. Connor belonged with Rosina, and Rosina was her best friend. She had to put thoughts of him out of her mind, because she wouldn’t hurt Rosina for any man.
Connor looked up at Bronwyn while she was talking on the telephone. Something had sparked between them back at the army base, and it hadn’t been the first time. But he loved Rosina with all his heart, and she needed him more than ever now.
“Is this okay?” Rosina looked up at him and he smiled and touched her face.
“It’s fine, Rosie.” He glanced down at the makeshift bandage. “You did a real good job.”
* * * *
“What the fuck happened?”
Jason Brady, cell leader of Danny’s division of the I.R.A, stood and looked around at the three faces in front of him. They were bruised and bloodied, their clothing torn, and they said nothing, just stared back at him.
“Twelve men went into that camp. There were only three soldiers there and it should have been a piece of piss to take them out and unload their weapons. Now, here we are, with none of them dead, yet only three of you come back alive with no weapons!”
Mickey, the man who had seen Connor and had shot at him, spoke up.
“They weren’t alone. Someone else was there with them. He wasn’t one of ours but he wasn’t military either. I think he was a Protestant.”
Jason leaned in close to Mickey and tilted his head to one side.
“Now, what makes you think that?”
“I think I recognised him. I’m pretty sure it was the lad we jumped a couple of weeks ago. Connor something, the one who was seeing that Rosina James.”
Jason sat back and simmered in his anger. The job had been planned for weeks, and it should have been so easy. He had gone so far as to arrange the attack on the barracks at Carrickmacross, and an insider he had stationed there had called the majority of the Crossmaglen soldiers out of the town. Three left; three bullets was all it should have taken, and they would have had their arms supplied for a year or more. But by chance, or an unlucky coincidence, that damn Prod had got in the way, and now more than half of his cell was dead. Jason stood up and directed his next words to Mickey.
“Find him. Kill him.”
* * * *
Bronwyn came back into the room and slumped down on the settee next to Connor.
“Barry’s had a nervous breakdown. It’s been confirmed,” she said.
“Jesus, will he be okay?” asked Connor.
Bronwyn’s eyes filled with tears and she wiped them angrily away.
“They’re taking him to Banbridge.”
She didn’t have to say anymore for both Connor and Rosina knew what she meant. Banbridge was a small town about forty miles north of Crossmaglen and it held the largest mental institute in Northern Ireland. It had a fearsome reputation; only the most severe cases went to Banbridge. Normally, if you were sent there, you didn’t come back.
“Hold on, you don’t get sent to Banbridge for a nervous breakdown,” said Connor.
“There might be more,” she said quietly. “They’re doing other psychiatric tests as well.”
Rosina stood up and hugged Bronwyn. “He’ll be okay, you’ll see,” she said. “Do you want me to stay?”
“No, I’ll be fine,” Bronwyn said and looked at Connor. “Make sure you get that leg looked at properly tomorrow.”
“I will, don’t worry,” he said and led Rosina out of the door. “See ya.”
When she closed the door behind them, Bronwyn sat on the bottom stair in the hallway. God, it was all too much to take. Barry’s mental breakdown, Danny’s death, Stu saving her from getting shot, with Connor and her feelings for him thrown in as an extra measure, she felt completely exhausted. Not bothering to turn off the light in the lounge, Bronwyn
made her way upstairs and flopped down on the bed. There was so much to think about, but she felt utterly wretched. Before she could even begin to contemplate all that had happened, she fell fast asleep.
* * * *
When Alia came home a little after midnight she went into the lounge, expecting Bronwyn to be waiting for her. When she saw the jug of water and the blood soaked towel, she panicked and ran up the stairs to Bronwyn’s room.
She saw Bronwyn lying, fully clothed, on her bed and she leapt into the room and stared down at her daughter. Was she hurt? She didn’t look like it, or maybe she was unconscious?
The thought snapped her into action and she grabbed Bronwyn and shook her, calling her name at the same time.
“What? What? Ma?” Bronwyn sat up and gripped Alia’s arms. “Is it Barry?”
“Oh, God.” Alia sank down onto the bed and pulled Bronwyn close to her. “I thought you were hurt, my baby.” She stroked her daughter’s hair and Bronwyn took comfort in her mother’s arms.
“I’m fine,” she said.
“But there’s blood downstairs, lots of it,” Alia said.
“Oh, that was Connor. Listen, I should tell you what went down tonight, but I want to know about Barry as well. Shall we go downstairs?”
In the early hours of the morning of the 27th December, Alia and Bronwyn sat at the kitchen table where they had enjoyed many a mother/daughter chat, and Bronwyn told her mother the tale of the events of the night that had nearly got her killed. Alia listened in horror to the story and when Bronwyn told her that Danny had been shot dead, she began to look frightened.
“Did they know you were there? Because they’ll come after you,” she said. Bronwyn shook her head.
“Nobody knew, only Stu and Danny. Stu won’t say anything because I shouldn’t have been on the campgrounds and he’d get it in the neck. He’s not like that anyway, he’s kind of…special.” She shook her head and wondered why she had chosen those words to describe Stu, a man she barely knew. “And Danny won’t say anything, he can’t…”
An unexpected lump came to Bronwyn’s throat as she remembered Danny how he used to be, when they were kids, before the I.R.A had taken over his life.
“I’m so sorry about Dan. It could have been so different for him,” said Alia. “What a wasted life.”
“I know, and Connor nearly got killed as well. Just as we were leaving, one of Danny’s lot spotted him and opened fire. He was lucky,” Bronwyn said.
“Good Christ!” Alia widened her eyes. “Did they know him? Would the man be able to recognise him again? Because, if so, Connor’s as good as dead already.”
Bronwyn put her head in her hands and groaned. She knew it was true; in this sort of situation, Connor would be hunted down and shot before he had the chance to talk to anyone. Damn it!
“I should warn him,” she said and scraped back her chair.
“Bronwyn, please, please, don’t get any more involved than you are,” Alia begged as Bronwyn made for the telephone.
Bronwyn’s hand wavered for a second as she reached for the phone. Then she picked it up and turned toward her mother.
“Ma, it’s Connor. He’s been real good to me and to Rosina. I can’t not warn him.”
Alia waved her hand in submission; she knew that Bronwyn was too much of a good person not to get involved. It was a big part of why she loved her so. It could also be the reason that she might end up getting herself killed.
Once Bronwyn had finished the call to Connor, she came back into the kitchen.
“He had thought of it already. He’s going to try and get Rosie to go away with him for a bit,”
she told Alia.
“Good,” said Alia.
“What about Barry?” asked Bronwyn.
Alia sighed and told Bronwyn much of what she already knew; Barry had been diagnosed as having a nervous breakdown, but because of the things he was saying to the doctors, they wanted to more tests. Psychiatric tests.
“I don’t want him to go to Banbridge. They’ll put him away, and he’ll be finished. He’s not mad. He shouldn’t have to go there!” Bronwyn’s lip trembled at the thought of her twin locked away, and Alia nodded in agreement.
“I know, but he’s in no state to make that decision. If we refuse, they might section him anyway.”
“I want to see him. What time are they taking him there?” asked Bronwyn.
“First thing. I’m going down to Banbridge on the train. I think it would be good for Barry if you came, too.”
Bronwyn agreed and they were both shocked when they looked at the clock to see it was nearing four o’clock.
“No point in getting any sleep now. How about I cook us a good breakfast and we get the first train out?” suggested Alia.
Bronwyn found that she was suddenly starving and, for the time being, she vowed to put all thoughts of Danny and Connor out of her mind. Today she was here for Barry.
* * * *
Neither Connor nor Rosina got any sleep that night. After Bronwyn’s call, Connor had sat up thinking about the night’s events. He knew the workings of the I.R.A better than most, and he knew he was in danger of being tracked down. At about quarter to five, Mary came downstairs.
“What’s going on?” she asked, sitting down in the chair opposite him.
“Oh, Mam,” Connor sighed, shaking his head. “I think I’m in trouble.”
Mary’s face dropped and she reached over to take his hand.
“Tell me,” she demanded.
Connor took a deep breath and told her everything that had happened that night. When he came to the part where the man in black had shot at him, Mary pulled her hand away from his and buried her face in her hands. He realised that she was crying and he moved over to hug her.
“I’m sorry, Mam. I never meant for this to happen, but I’m scared and I don’t know what to do.” He slumped back on the couch. “I might have to take Rosina and move away.”
Mary looked up then and, through her tears, she smiled sadly at him.
“If I tell you a story, Connor, a true one, about your dad and me, it might make your decision to move away a little easier.”
Connor leaned forward with interest. Although he knew his father had been Catholic, he didn’t know the story of how he had died; it was something Mary had always refused to discuss with him over the years.
Mary repeated to Connor the story that she had told Rosina only a week before. When she was done, she turned to her son and saw that he was sobbing quietly, shedding tears for the father that he had been denied the chance to know.
“I don’t want that to happen to you, son,” she said and her voice broke. “Even if it means you’re not here with me, I’d rather you move away than be buried next to your da.”
They sat in silence for a long while, each lost in their own private thoughts about Billy Dean until the dawn light filtered through the curtains. Eventually Connor looked up at his mother and cracked a weak smile.
“New York, huh?” he said.
“Billy had been there. He had Irish relatives there, and it seemed like the best place to go,”
replied Mary.
“I like the idea,” said Connor. “I’m going to speak to Rosina. It might be good for her to get away, too.”
Chapter Thirteen
Connor’s Escape
Rosina had spent the night in bed, but not sleeping. A thousand thoughts whirled around her mind; poor Danny, although he could have killed Connor it was still Danny, her friend from childhood, and whatever he had become, it didn’t change the fact that he was now dead. But still in the front of her mind was the terrible truth about her own heritage. It wasn’t fair; she didn’t need or even particularly want a father. Bronwyn and Connor had managed quite nicely without theirs, but to find out that her own had been a monster, who had attacked her mother was something she was finding incredibly hard to fathom. And with each morning that she woke, the depression was pulling her further down to a place where she couldn�
�t find the strength or inclination to climb back out of to resume a somewhat normal life. She had a ton of questions that she wanted to know. Did she look like him? Did she have any of his traits or features? What was his name and, now that he was a grown man, was he paying penance for what he had done in his youth? But another visit to Kathleen was out of the question. Her mother, someone who had been a distant figure all of her life, was now, in Rosina’s eyes, just a victim—just a sad, old lady who had been eaten up by the bitterness of Rosina’s being.
Rosina sighed and pulled the quilt over her head as the sun rose. She couldn’t face another day, another day of trying to keep the tears at bay, trying to be normal. It was just too tiring.
The way out, when it came to her, was so simple that she wondered why she hadn’t thought of it before. Throwing the duvet aside, she sat on the side of the bed and pondered upon the solution that she had devised. Could she do it?
“Yes. Yes, I can,” she whispered to herself and decided that there was no time to waste.
Connor was making a mug of tea to take up to Rosina when she came hurtling down the stairs.
“Rosie!” he said as he heard her. “How are you feeling?”
She stopped in the doorway and observed him for a moment. This was how it would be for the rest of their lives. Every day he would look at her with his eyes full of sympathy and wonder to himself if she was coping. No longer would they be equals, she would become the victim, and although he meant well, it was something she knew that she would not be able to live with.
So she smiled at him brightly.
“I’m fine,” she said.
A look of surprise registered on his face and he walked over to her.
“Baby, you can’t go out today. I need to speak to you about last night.” He took her hands and looked her in the eye. “We might be in danger.”
Freedom First, Peace Later Page 14