“No, Kate,” he answered between coughs but no longer laughing, “It’s not at you I laugh, old fool that I am. It’s at myself.”
Puzzled, she waited until his coughing has ceased and he was at rest.
“I too have a story to tell, one not too unlike yours. Sit, Kate.”
He made an effort to raise himself up, and Kate propped another pillow behind his head. Now in a more comfortable position he was ready to speak.
“You remind me of her. She was a winsome lass, but alas, it wasn’t to be.”
After pausing to gather his thoughts, he began. “I haven’t told this story to another living soul.”
The O’Tooles lived on the avenue. The rear garden walls of the back gardens of these houses formed the solid high wall that led to the lane where Aoife Molloy and Francis Egan, Francis’ father, lived. Aoife, the O’Toole brothers, Eoin and Dermot, Francis and other local children attended the nearby National School.
Eoin O’Toole was in love with Aoife from the moment he developed an interest in the opposite sex, and thought about marrying her long before boys of his age thought that far ahead. In their teens, they spent summers bicycling, swimming, and attending local dances, never as a twosome but in groups as was the custom.
Dermot, Eoin’s younger brother by five years, had done well in university, married well and became what his father referred to as ‘established.’ Eoin, alas, was a disappointment to their father, who believed a young man had no right to encourage a serious friendship with a girl until he was settled in a career.
Eoin’s friendship with Aoife was the most important happening in his young life. They walked together holding hands when not in the immediate neighborhood. Aoife was the fiber of his daydreams.
All the negative aspects of women as spoken of by the Christian Bothers, who wished to deter their students from sexual encounters, held no weight for him. Besides, he reasoned, if young women were the ‘putrid vessels’ the brothers spoke of, why were mothers honored? Were they not once young women, too? It was then that he realized the trip down the aisle was the dividing line. Once it was crossed all was well. And so his daydreams expanded as he walked down the aisle with Aoife, a vision in a pretty dress, carrying a bouquet of flowers.
His daydreams were reinforced by every smile and greeting from Aoife and by the feel of her hand in his. When in groups, they went alone to pick firewood for the campfire, and on the strand slowed their steps to distance themselves from the others. Eoin pursued Aoife until he entered university.
The year he was to graduate, he discovered Aoife and Francis Egan, a good-looking, honorable man, had been keeping company and became engaged to marry. Francis Egan was employed and ready to settle down.
In temporary insanity, Eoin found himself hating Francis and furious with his father who, in bestowing upon him an education, had separated him from Aoife. In anger he left the country, breaking his mother’s heart and displaying gross ingratitude to his father. During his first year or more of self-imposed exile, he wandered from country to country across the continent and then settled in England.
“I had a good paying government position.”
“Not being English, how did you get a position with the British government?” Kate intruded.
“Ireland had not yet become a free state. Ireland under English rule made me a British subject.”
Eoin O’Toole had several promotions over his years in England and was earning a vast amount of money that he could not have made in Ireland. With nobody to spend it on, he saved his money. About a dozen years later, he returned to Ireland where he invested his money in property and land. Poverty was rampant in Ireland at that time, but he believed Ireland would rise out of her slave mentality, once free, and would prosper. Alas, it was decades before that happened. The civil war followed independence as a result of England carving out the six northern counties for herself. Also, Ireland had been under domination of a superior force for so long, her people were as free as the beggars roaming the street. There were no jobs, no money in the treasury. Yes, Ireland was free, but dire poverty remained.
“I could have bought Aoife a beautiful house in an upper class neighborhood but Aoife had happily settled down in the lane. I purposely met her as she shopped for groceries. She was as lovely as ever except the joy that had been so much a part of her had left. Oh, she was still in love with Francis. The problem, I learned, was that they were already ten years married and without child. Both of them very much wanted children.
After speaking with her over time, I offered a suggestion, which at first she out and out rejected. Months later, desperate to have a child, she consented. Regardless of the outcome, success or failure, we agreed, we would attempt it to fulfill her wish, just once. As planned, we boarded a train to Killiney in mid-morning, rented a room, and we were back home by mid-afternoon. Aoife got pregnant and gave birth to a son. I had no claim on the child. As little Francis grew, he called another man ‘daddy.’ A few years later I moved into the lane in order to be able to see Francis.”
“That’s so sad. So that’s why you said, ‘what I couldn’t do for Francis I can now do for his son.’ Does Francis know?”
“No, Kate. How could I tell him that he was the result of the sexual encounter I had with his mother, unknown to his father?”
“You couldn’t share in their joy?”
“Yes, Kate, I did. I gave the woman I loved the gift she wanted most. Her happiness was my greatest joy.”
“Why didn’t you marry another after Aoife married another man?”
“That would have been unfair to another for I never stopped loving Aoife.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Why, Kate?”
“I have disappointed you. You thought my son was your grandson!”
“I still wish to set up a trust for little Eoin with you as the trustee.”
“Even though you don’t know who Eoin’s father is?”
“I know his mother.”
“You’re a remarkable man, Eoin O’Toole.”
“We’ve both paid dearly for no other crime than having loved passionately.”
Bending down, Kate kissed him on the cheek, and left.
CHAPTER 7
Not only did Harry Browne see himself as a self-made man, he also saw himself as the creator of his own good fortune. He, a poor boy from the tenements, had accomplished his dream—marrying into inherited wealth.
He and his young bride had a lavish wedding, written up in the society columns, and a honeymoon touring France in a BMW, a wedding gift to the young couple from the bride’s father, Brian Fitzgerald.
His wife Kit, an only child, was a bit spoiled, he believed, but that would not be a problem to him, a man whom all his friends agreed had a way with women. Kit, like most women, loved him.
Nineteen-year-old Kit was a petite girl with what Harry considered a nice figure, though a bit on the chubby side. His plan was to take care of her tendency towards extra poundage after they had a baby. In Harry’s opinion she was not too bright, but was someone he could convince to see things his way.
All Brian Fitzgerald, Kit, the trainer, and farm workers spoke of were horses. It was food and drink to them. Newborn foals brought great excitement. When one of their own horses or those they boarded and trained had won a race, they cheered and celebrated as though, as Harry had commented, “they had won the world soccer cup.”
Since Harry had no home to bring his bride, it was agreed they would live at the Fitzgerald’s. In these idyllic surroundings, Harry, who normally avoided work as much as possible, and now having absolutely nothing to do, was bored. Fitzgerald presided over a farm run by people who loved, understood, and cared for horses as Fitzgerald himself did. Harry, although skittish around horses, believed he, the son-in-law, should have been given a position of authority on the farm. But it was not forthcoming. He brooded.
Now two years into the marriage and with no heir, Brian Fitzgerald had a way of indirectly ask
ing why Harry had not yet sired a grandson. He irked the young husband and compounded his misery until Harry grew to hate the farm and wanted to leave it and live elsewhere. He had, however, no funding of his own. All his needs were taken care of through the generosity of his wife. Not only that, but he soon learned that as the husband of the much loved Kit, he had to stay put. This was the family home. Whether in paradise or hell, he was a prisoner.
One raining, thundering night when Harry was trying to have his wife conceive, a loud knocking was heard on their bedroom door, followed by Brian Fitzgerald’s voice, “I need you, Kit. Gracie’s foal is coming ahead of time, and the men won’t be back from Suffix Downs until the day after tomorrow.”
Kit immediately slid out from under Harry and into her robe, before opening the door.
“Come, honey, we’ll do it together. It’s just the two of us now.”
Kit left with her father without looking back into the room where Harry lay on the bed in frustration and anger. Those bloody horses! Harry thought. I too am just a stud. I’m a liability! They’d sell me off if they could. I can produce! I have produced! I’m so damn productive, kids who weren’t wanted came. It’s the Fitzgerald family line that’s defective.
Harry punched the pillow. He was too aggravated to sleep. As his anger weakened, he wondered what had happened to that girl who said she was a nurse. Some nurse! She didn’t know enough to protect herself. She was a classy looking girl but not too bright. There were four of them sharing a tiny flat in a dump of a neighborhood. No family money there.
She never did pick up the money I left with the bartender in the Mouse that Roared, which means she must have kept the baby. Was it a girl or a boy? What would Fitzgerald think if he knew? What was her name? She married Francis Egan, but I heard he left her and took off for England. So she was left to raise the kid in poverty. Maybe I could relieve her of that responsibility. How old would it be? He mentally calculated, somewhere between one and two years old.
Do Kit and Fitzgerald want a child enough to accept a child of mine rather than one from their bloodline? If Kit and I had a child together, it would be me who sired it. Well, this stallion has already procreated. I could persuade Kit without much difficulty to accept a child of mine, but getting her father to accept a bastard as his heir may be insurmountable. Well, maybe not. If Kit wants the child, I feel confident; her father will cave into his daughter’s desire.
Harry decided to locate the mother and offer her a lump sum of money for the child. She’s young, very attractive, and can have other children. Suddenly Harry’s mood was brighter, and his brain was a whirlwind of activity. He hoped the girl had a boy. A boy might more easily sway Fitzgerald than a girl.
Harry put on his trousers, a shirt, and boots, and walked toward the horse stalls. The mare was in trouble. It was going to be a difficult delivery.
“We need to get inside of her,” Fitzgerald said. Kit now standing behind the mare took off her robe and threw it over the stall gate. Kit put her hand into the horse. Tense moments followed.
“I can’t find one of her legs.”
“Keep trying, honey,” he encouraged her. “If anyone can do it, it is you.” Seeing a look of concern cloud Kit’s face, he asked, “What is it?”
“One leg seems bent in a partial kneeling position.”
Fitzgerald did not instruct her further. He had confidence in Kit’s abilities and remained silent to allow her to concentrate. The silence seemed to prolong the time, and time was of an essence as Kit delicately maneuvered the errant leg into position.
Moments later she pulled out her arm, and in her fist were skinny legs, soon followed by the rest of the animal, which slid out effortlessly. The foal struggled to stand, gained its balance walked a few step until it was side by side with its mother.
Harry, who had been standing in the shadows, unnoticed by father and daughter, was amazed by his wife’s abilities and calmness throughout this whole ordeal. He looked at Kit’s face lit up in joy and at her handkerchief thin white nightgown now covered in blood. Yet, regardless of this utter mess, she looked beautiful. For the first time since he had known her, he could truly say, ‘I love you, Kit Fitzgerald.’
“You’ve done a great job, honey. Gracie, our new mother, is most thankful as am I.” And in saying this, he hugged his daughter who wrapped her blood-stained hands around her father. When they released their hold on each other, Brian’s expensive robe was blood stained. Yet, to Harry’s amazement, none of this bothered either of them. Harry had never seen two people so comfortably happy. Horses were their livelihood, their area of expertise and their passion. It was bred in their bones.
“Wish I, too, could have a baby,” she told her father.
“You will, honey. Just give it time.”
“Mom died when my baby brother was born, and you lost both of them. More than anything I want to give you a grandson.”
“And you will. Don’t despair. It will happen in God’s own time.”
“I’ve heard of girls going to England to have abortions, and here am I desperately wanting a baby and not having one. It doesn’t seem fair.”
Harry had never heard his wife speak like this before. His reasons for wanting her to conceive was not for his wife, who never complained to him, but to appease her father and wipe the smug smirks from the trainers’ and farm workers’ faces. This was a breeding farm, and he failed to breed. He quickly left the stall to avoid being noticed and hid in the shadows outside as Kit and his father-in-law emerged. With his arm around his daughter, they walked to the main house, greatly satisfied with the night’s work.
“Yes,” Harry thought, “I’ll find my child for you.”
Kate, responding to the knock on the door, opened it. The last person on earth she expected to see was standing there, smiling. Why? she thought.
“You’re looking well, Kate, but then you were always a head turner.”
“What brings you here? How did you know where I lived?” she asked in surprise.
“Whoa, there girl. Don’t I get a hello? You’re staying in Egan’s cottage made finding you easy. Ah, then there’s the why I’m here,” he said as he pushed passed her into the cottage. Seeing a crib across the room, he headed in that direction. The manner in which the child was dressed did not indicate if it were a girl or boy. And Harry needed to know.
“So this is our child?”
“No, my child. You didn’t want it.”
“Whose name did you put down on the birth certificate as the father?”
“Francis Egan.”
“That’s a lie. He isn’t the father.”
“He’s my husband. This is my child.”
“He hasn’t been around lately, I heard. Actually he left before the child was born, and it’s now almost two years old. Correct me if I’m wrong?”
He waited.
She did not respond.
Harry, who had been silently inspecting the room in which he stood, continued.
“Yes, I know I did you a wrong. I left you when you were pregnant, but then, didn’t Francis do likewise. Oh, yes, our reasons were different, but our actions were the same. You’re a very attractive young woman, Kate. You can do better than wait around for Egan to return.”
Good grief, I think Harry may be proposing. Surely he does not believe we could pick up the pieces and go on from where the relationship ended? Yet, she was flattered, then annoyed with herself for being so, and reminded herself that Harry has no principles, no honor, but has an overabundance of selfishness.
“I could provide the child with every advantage.” Realizing he still does not know if it’s male or female, he asked, “What’s its name?”
“He has all the advantages in life he needs, Harry.”
A boy! Great! Harry thought.
I wish he’d say whatever he’s trying to say, she thought.
“Harry, what exactly is the reason for your visit?”
“You don’t understand, Kate. I married a girl,
an only child, whose father owns the biggest stud farm in Kildare. They’re filthy rich. As my son, and the owner’s grandson, he’ll not want for anything. Not only that, but I’m willing to give you a sizeable sum of money.”
“My son?” she asked in horror. “Your wife wants my son?”
“She doesn’t know about this child. She just wants a child, and I aim to get her one.”
“Your ideas and actions are insane.”
“Nobody likes living in poverty, Kate. If you don’t want the money, I can purchase you a house of your choosing in Booterstown, Blackrock, or any place you’d fancy.”
“My son isn’t for sale. Get out of my cottage!” she answered anger rising in her voice.
“You’ll regret this. The next person you’ll have to speak with will be my lawyer’s solicitor. We can do this nicely or it can be nasty. You’ll lose the child either way, so think it over.”
“You wanted him aborted!”
“That’s your word against mine. You surely don’t think my friend the bartender would side with you! And when it comes out that you married Egan so as to pass the child off as his, what do you think that will do to your reputation or credibility?”
Turning to the crib where the child stood looking at two adults barter, Harry said,
“I can take him out of this miserable place now,” and he stretched his arm around the child’s waist, about to pick him up.
The child, who had been entertained by this stranger, became frightened and began to cry.
Kate grabbed the hot iron from the fireplace. Her intent was to touch his back gently with the hot iron. As soon as he felt the heat of the iron, he would jump, releasing Eoin. Instead, Harry abruptly turned around while striking out his hand, hitting it against the flat of the iron. Immediately a scream burst forth from Harry. As his face contorted, he forced himself to inhale gathering the pain and dragging it down inside of him, but not before the frightened child gave out a loud sorrowful cry. Kate hastened towards her son, picked him up and soothed his fears.
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