Patricia Falvey

by The Yellow House (v5)

  Owen’s words came back to me all day. I would have been proud to be its father. Och, Owen, how could you mean that? Did he really love me as much as he had claimed? Or was he just lonely like myself? I recalled what he had told me about his hopes for his wife to come to the Yellow House, where they would raise a family. He had been sad when he told me, and my heart had ached for his sadness. Was he hoping that at last he would have a wee son or daughter? I tried to put the thoughts out of my head. I didn’t owe him his happiness. A whisper sounded in my head: What about your own happiness, Eileen? Is what you’re doing going to make you happy? I shook off the thoughts and kept working.

  MY CHANCE TO tell James came the next night. He showed up at the back door out of the blue. He was in his uniform and unshaven.

  “What happened to the dandy fellow was here the last time?” I said offhandedly.

  He pushed past me into the house. “Make some tea. I’m famished.”

  As we talked over tea, it came out that things were not going well for him. More of his battalion had deserted. A couple of them had been rounded up and were in prison.

  “And the money’s slow in coming,” he said. “If it wasn’t for your brother Frank…”

  I slammed down my cup. “Frank? What in the name of God has Frank to do with anything?”

  James looked puzzled. “I thought he had told you,” he said. “We have certain arrangements with him.”

  “What kind of arrangements?”

  “Transportation,” said James. “We are so close to the border here, we’re able to transport goods back and forth with little bother. Frank pays us a cut of what he earns.”

  “Smuggling? You mean Frank’s smuggling?”

  James laughed. “Och, get over it, Eileen. Sure there’s plenty of them at it. Frank just happens to have the brains to set up a big scheme. He’s buying up land with the profits like a drunken sailor.”

  “But… but he said he didn’t give a feck about the Cause. He turned Protestant!”

  “He doesn’t. He doesn’t care where the money goes. If the Volunteers could do a better job for him, he’d sign up with them in a minute. Frank’s a hard man. Business comes first with him.”

  So Frank had not changed. How I had hoped seeing Paddy and hearing the news about Lizzie had softened him. But how could you soften a man like Frank, who needed his hard edge to mask the pain he had suffered?

  “Jesus,” I mumbled. “Whatever drove him in that direction?”

  “Well, he got little enough guidance from your da, now, didn’t he? Frank had to learn to make his own way.”

  I realized that in the past I would have jumped to my father’s defense. But now I said nothing. James was right, after all.

  “Stand up,” James said suddenly. It was a command.

  I did as he said. “Well, I see the rumors are true,” he said. “I’d say it’s six months along if it’s a day.”

  “No,” I cried. “It’s three. The last time you were home. That’s when it happened. I was as shocked as anybody.”

  “Me ma says you were feeling sick long before that.”

  “Och, what does she know, the nosy oul’ bitch. Troublemaking, that’s all she’s doing.” I wondered suddenly how often he went to see his mother. It had not occurred to me he’d be going to her house as well as mine.

  I sank back down in the chair. “It’s yours, James. Who else’s would it be?”

  “That’s not hard to guess, Eileen. I’m not stupid. And I hear things.”

  I said nothing. Sweat poured down my neck and drizzled down between my breasts. My hands were clammy. I twisted them in my lap under the table. Please… please, God, I prayed silently, let him believe me.

  “I’d have thought you’d be happy,” I said at last. “Maybe it’s the son you’ve always wanted.”

  “Aye.”

  He ate the rest of his food in silence. Then he pushed the chair away from the table and stood up. His face was dark.

  “I’ve to be going,” he said. “We’ve an important meeting tonight.”

  I put my arms around him, and he pushed me away.

  “I’ve no time for any of that now,” he said. “Just pack up a few sandwiches and I’ll be away.”

  I packed the sandwiches as fast as I could. I felt his eyes boring into my back as I worked. I tried to hold in my stomach, but a sudden, sharp pain made me let go. The pains had been coming on me for the past week or so. Maybe it will abort itself, I thought, and this mess will be over. Then I blessed myself in shame at the thought.

  “What are you doing?” said James.

  “Och, sure I’m just saying a wee prayer for your safety,” I said. I turned toward him and put a smile on my face. “Can’t have any harm coming to a fellow about to be a new da.”

  There was no answering smile. He took the sandwiches.

  “I’ll be back when I can.”

  I watched him go, as I had done so many nights in the past. His shadow trudged across the grass and disappeared into the blackness. I stood at the door for a long time. A wind rose up and whipped at my skirt. I shivered slightly, but still I stood there, willing him to come back. I wanted to replay the entire scene. I wanted it to be different. Had I been foolish enough to think he would take me in his arms and swing me around the floor out of happiness? I went back inside, and instinctively I turned toward the wall, looking for the photograph of the Yellow House. But it gave me no comfort this night. The dream was almost destroyed, like so much else in my life. I sank into a chair by the fire and hugged myself, trying to get warm.

  TERRENCE CAME THE following Sunday evening.

  “Just to see how you are,” he said as he ducked his head in through the door.

  “I’m not an invalid,” I snapped. “I’m just pregnant! You’ve no need to include me in your sick rounds.”

  Terrence smiled. “Hasn’t sweetened your temper any, has it?”

  I shrugged.

  “Where’s Aoife?”

  “Theresa took her to mass, and then took her back home with her for her dinner. I wasn’t up to bringing her to mass in Newry today.”

  Terrence sat down and stretched out his long legs, his feet up on the fender. “At least someone’s looking after the child’s soul.”

  “Aye.”

  He took the cup of tea I gave him in his hand, blowing softly to cool the hot liquid. He looked tired, as if he had a weight on his shoulders. Well, no more than my own, I thought.

  “Have you seen James?” he said casually.

  I stiffened. Here came the questions again.

  “Yes! And yes, I’ve told him the child is his, if that’s what you’re asking,” I snapped. “And no, I’m not sure he believes me.”

  Terrence opened his mouth to reply but thought better of it. Instead he stared into the fire, sipping his tea. I stared into it with him. For a while, we were both lost in our own thoughts. Then he set the cup down on the floor and reached inside his jacket. He pulled out an envelope and held it out toward me. A smile lit up his face.

  “I have a surprise for you.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s a letter from your sister, Lizzie.” His smile was radiant.

  “What… ,” I breathed. “How? When? You found her!”

  “Aye. I was able to find her address in Boston.” He smiled. “I asked Father Dornan to write to the archdiocese to make inquiries about her and her husband. They wrote back that her husband had died, but they gave me her address. So I wrote to her.”

  My heart did a small lurch. “Och, the poor thing. So she’s widowed.”

  “Aye. Sad story. He was wounded in the war, and it left him weak in the chest. Apparently the hard work and the dampness over there caused him to take pneumonia. He was only in his twenties.”

  “Were there any children?” I breathed.

  “Apparently not. Lizzie stayed on to work as a nurse.”

  “You’d have thought she’d have come home.”

  “Aye. But
it seems Belfast does not hold a great draw for her anymore.”

  Terrence reached over and handed the letter to me. “It’s short, but I’ll leave you to read it by yourself. I must be going.”

  I took the letter with trembling hands and clutched it while I showed Terrence out. When I heard the sound of his car die away, I sat down by the fire and opened the letter. The handwriting was not flowery, as I would have expected from a well-to-do girl who would have had a fine education. Instead it was clear and neat, not a flourish in sight.

  Dear Mr. Finnegan,

  I was of course surprised to receive your letter. At first I thought it must be a prank of some kind, but Father Hebert here in Boston assured me of your legitimacy.

  Aye, she was well schooled. Look at the size of the words. Ma and Da would have been proud.

  The shock that I have another family has not yet settled in. I confess I have no memory of it and I am not sure what to think of it. I will need some time. I appreciate your forthrightness in setting out all the details, distressing as they are. I confess I am glad to know that I have a sister. I always wished for a sister when I was growing up. As to your inquiry as to whether or not I shall be visiting Ireland soon, if you had asked me last week the answer would have been no. I am not on good terms with my mother, and I have made a life for myself here in Boston. I am happy and satisfied to give my life to nursing. It is what I have always wanted to do. However, now that I have your news, I will give the matter some thought. In the meantime, I invite you to write to me whenever you wish. Having a second family is something I certainly never expected.

  Yours sincerely,

  Elizabeth Butler Donnelly

  I read and reread the letter until the words swam in front of my eyes.

  “Och, Lizzie,” I whispered, “I always wanted a sister, too.”

  23

  That night, after Terrence left, I fell immediately into a sweet, deep sleep—a sleep I had not known in months. I had brought Lizzie’s letter upstairs with me, read it once more, and slipped it under my pillow before drifting off into the hazy memories of childhood. Lizzie and I had joined hands, and we were swinging each other round and round, laughing with delight. Frankie watched us, smiling at first, and then he rushed toward us and tore us apart, shoving me to the ground and snatching up Lizzie in his arms. “Frankie,” I called after him. “Frankie, come back!” But he ran with her toward the barn, kicking buckets and milk pails as he went, sending them clanging to the ground. I woke up with a start, but the noise persisted. I looked around me and realized it was coming from the street below. Rough voices mixed with the clank of metal and the blasts of a horn. Then tires screeched and a car sped away. A cold hand gripped my heart.

  As I leaped out of bed and raced downstairs, I knew in that moment something awful had happened. As soon as I was outside, I knew I was right. A crush of neighbors stood staring down at something in the road, while others came streaming out of their houses, wiping their hands on their aprons and trousers.

  “Mother of God!” I heard someone say.

  Alarm rang through me. I pushed my way through the crowd, and then I saw him. My brother Frank lay in the road, his head and shirt covered in blood, his trousers torn off his legs. The crowd fell silent and parted to let me through. I sank down on my knees beside him.

  “Oh, Jesus,” I cried. “Oh, Jesus, Frankie?”

  He stared up at me with feverish eyes. He tried to speak, but only groans came out of his bloodied mouth. His arms and legs were black, and the skin was peeling in tatters. He had been burned. I smelled the singe of fire on his skin. I put my fist over my mouth to stem my vomit. Suddenly I was aware of Terrence kneeling beside me.

  “God of Mercy,” he breathed.

  “Look at the sign,” someone said.

  It was then I focused on a white placard tied around Frankie’s neck. The word traitor was scrawled in black block letters across it. I stared at it in horror, the letters dancing before my eyes. Traitor. It was a reprisal. Images flooded my head. Frankie’s smug smile as he proclaimed his new name and religion—Francis Fitzwilliam, Protestant gentleman, at your service; James’s sly smile when he told me my brother was a smuggler; Frank’s tears when he heard Lizzie was alive.

  I knew these incidents happened all the time. Hadn’t I seen enough of it when I had been out in the fight with James? But those men were faceless strangers lying beside a ditch as we passed. Now here it was on my own doorstep.

  “Och, Frankie,” I cried, putting my hand on his damp hair.

  “Let’s get him inside,” cried Terrence, standing up. “Make way, and give us a hand with him.”

  But the neighbors only backed away and stared at us. They would not touch Frankie. Whether it was out of fear or a belief he had brought it on himself, I did not know. All I knew was Terrence and I were on our own.

  Terrence took Frank under the arms and I took his feet and together we half carried, half dragged him into the house. We laid him on the parlor floor and I ran into the kitchen to fetch water and towels.

  “Mammy! Mammy!”

  I swung around. Jesus, I had forgotten all about the child. She stood at the kitchen door, staring up at me with huge eyes.

  “Stay here!” I shouted, and her wee face crumpled up. But thank God she did not cry.

  I bent over Frank. I rinsed towels in cold water, and when I laid them on his arms and legs, he screamed aloud with the pain. Then I mopped up the blood as best I could. There were gashes around his head and neck, but it didn’t look as if he had been shot. Silently, I thanked God.

  “We have to get him to hospital,” I said to Terrence, who knelt beside me.

  Terrence had a strange look on his face that I could not read. It was neither fear nor anger, but something else. He stood up.

  “There’s something I need to do first. Stay here.”

  He was gone. I mopped Frank’s forehead and whispered soothing words. “Ssh, love, it’ll be all right. You’ll be all right.”

  Terrence returned carrying a small wooden box he must have taken out of his car. He knelt down, the same strange look on his face. He opened the box and took out a purple stole, which he placed around his neck, a bottle of oil, and a missal. I stopped tending to Frank and stared.

  “What…?” I began, but Terrence put up his hand to silence me.

  He opened the bottle of oil and poured a drop on Frank’s forehead as if anointing him. Then he opened the missal and began to read aloud in Latin, making the sign of the cross over Frank. Jesus, he was giving him the last sacrament!

  Suddenly Frank came to and began to flail about. He raised his arms and pushed at Terrence. “No!” he cried. “No feckin’ priests. Get away from me!” It was obvious he did not recognize Terrence. Terrence paid him no attention but continued chanting the Latin words and making a sign of the cross with his thumb on Frank’s forehead.

  “No,” Frank cried again. It was weaker this time, more like a sigh.

  Terrence took off his stole, kissed it, and folded it away in the box along with the oil and the missal. He stood up.

  “We’ll take him out to my car now, and bring him to hospital,” he said softly. “Do you think you could find someone to help us? I’ll get some blankets.”

  Something in his quiet command jolted me into action. I ran out the front door. The crowd of onlookers had grown larger. I stared at them, blind with fury.

  “Will one of youse come and help us carry him to the car?” I shouted. “Or are youse all bloody cowards? Are you hoping my brother will die on my doorstep? Would that be the kind of sport you’re after?”

  At last a man I didn’t know came forward, and then a few more followed him. “We’ll take care of him, missus,” they mumbled. A woman I knew only by sight from down the street came up to me.

  “I’ll mind the child,” she said, “so you can go with your brother.”

  Tears stung at my eyes.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  LATER THAT
NIGHT, Frankie lay in the main ward of the Newry Hospital along with many of the young fellows I knew. Little did I ever think I would see my own flesh and blood lying there. Sister Rafferty put a red Catholic medallion above Frankie’s bed without asking me. I looked at it and said nothing.

  “We’ll look after him,” she whispered, putting her hand on my arm. “Go and get some rest, love. You look exhausted.”

  I went down to the waiting room with Terrence and sat down. I was not ready to leave Frankie alone just yet. As I sat, I became aware of the pains that tore at my stomach. How long had they been there? I wondered. I looked over at Terrence.

  “I suppose you want an explanation?” he said.

  I nodded.

  “I was on my way home from your house when I passed the car speeding the other way. Something told me it was bad. I don’t know how I knew, I just did. I turned around and followed them.”

  “That’s not what I was asking,” I said. It had not even occurred to me to ask why or how Terrence had arrived back at my house. “I want to know about the other thing.”

  Terrence straightened his back and looked at me intensely. “I’m a priest,” he said, “or at least I used to be one long ago.”

  I smiled faintly. “We always wondered,” I said.

  “Aye, I think we must give off some kind of a smell that’s hard to disguise,” he said lightly. “Must be all that incense.”

  “But were you not defrocked?” I asked, my curiosity building.

  “No. True, I was expelled from my parish long ago, but I was never officially drummed out.”

  “And why were you expelled?”