Haggerty's Curse

By Marsha Lytle

Two brothers fleeing post-famine Ireland make a blood vow that neither of them will pass on the disease that has claimed so many of their Haggerty relatives. A chance meeting with the Brennan family, also on the way to catch a ship to America, tests that vow repeatedly as James Haggerty fights his growing attraction to the oldest daughter, Cat.

Through forty years of adventure and heartbreak, Cat refuses to let go of her childish dream of having a farm in Indiana, and of making James her husband. Following their lives in the Pennsylvania coal fields, through the Civil War and beyond, Cat Brennans undying love for James Haggerty never waivers, despite bad choices they both make with their lives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 8, 2004
• ISBN: 9781468510775

Marsha Lytle

Raised in an Air Force family, Marsha Lytle spent most of her early life moving around the country, finally settling down in Kansas. Her first published work was in sixth grade, back in Ft. Walton Beach, Florida. By tenth grade she knew she wanted to be a novelist. Upon graduating with a history degree from Wichita State University, she ended up in the library field. After a brief flirtation with law school at the University of South Carolina, where she received her Masters in Librarianship, she went on to become a medical librarian at Bowman Gray Medical School, in Winston Salem, North Carolina. After moving back to Kansas, she owned and directed a large childcare facility before getting back in librarianship. In addition to being a high school media specialist, she also works part-time at a bookstore, co-owns and edits a monthly Irish-American newspaper, Heart of America Irish Life, and writes novels in her free time.

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Haggerty’s Curse

by

Marsha Lytle

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1663 Liberty Drive, Suite 200

Bloomington, Indiana 47403

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© 2004 Marsha Lytle.

All Rights Reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 09/10/04

ISBN: 1-4184-2227-4 (sc)

ISBN: 1-4184-2229-0 (dj)

ISBN: 978-1-4685-1077-5 (ebk)

Printed in the United States of America

Bloomington, Indiana

Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Epilogue

To my father, Milton E. Lytle, the one person who always believed in me, and to Heather, George, Robbie, Kevin, Renee, Kelly, and Logan.

CHAPTER 1

They trudged through the dusty road, a small procession of females, the elder pushing a small wheelbarrow in which was perched a trunk. The trunk was ancient with rusty hinges, but beneath its battered lid laid their most treasured possessions including the Brennan family Bible where generations of marriages, births, and deaths were recorded by the local parish priests, some of the few literate men in the small Donegal village they’d so recently departed from.

A sudden shower soaked the lot of them and turned the road to mud. Catherine, the eldest, joined her mother in trying to free the wheelbarrow from where it had sunk up to its axles in the muck. It’s no use, her mother muttered in despair. We best carry what we can and leave the rest.

No, Mother, the youngster howled in protest. It was unthinkable to her that they should arrive in America with just the clothes on their backs. A haughty pride filled her voice, making her sound much older than her ten years. Surely someone will come along soon. Truly they will. She took hold of her wee sisters’ hands and refused to budge.

Cat, you’ll be the death of me, her weary mother said. She rocked harder against the wheelbarrow, managing to free one wheel temporarily. Just as quickly it sank back into the ooze.

Cat’s premonition soon came true as a carriage came into sight. It was a fine vehicle, pulled by matching bay mares. But instead of stopping to help, the carriage swept past splattering the four of them with mud from head to toe. Two children peaked from the carriage. The eldest, a boy, grinned mischievously, but the girl looked sad, perhaps touched by their predicament.

To hell with them! her mother cursed. Her anger seemed to fill her with a firm resolve as she attacked the wheelbarrow with a new vengeance, so much so, in fact, that one wheel lurched off, even as the rest of the cart tipped precariously before being wheeled to more firm ground.

Now what? Cat asked as she retrieved the lone wheel, balancing it against the cart.

We go on, her mother said, being careful not to tip it over.

Three-year-old Mary Rose started crying, perhaps realizing she’d be walking the rest of the way. I’ll carry you piggyback, Cat promised. Margy, help Ma steady the cart, she ordered the seven year old girl.

There had been boys once — Mike, Brendan, and wee Joseph. She silently wished even one of them had lived to make this trip. A strong male presence would have been welcomed just now, which would have ruled out wee Joseph, of course.

A stray tear made its way down her face even as she bent down to pick up Mary Rose. How cruel this land of Ireland was. If the famine hadn’t been bad enough, or the constant presence of the red coated English soldiers, now her father was gone as well, transported to Van Damien’s Land for stealing a milk goat, a pitiful and foolhardy attempt to keep his only remaining son alive. Joseph had died anyway, but now her da was thousands of miles away serving a twenty-year sentence.

Where’s the ship? Mary Rose whispered in her ear.

We’ve a long ways to go yet, she reassured her sister as she trudged along. The muddy skirt weighed her down, but she didn’t complain. The others were equally as miserable, but what good would it do to complain?

Just before sunset two young men leading a half starved horse came up behind them. Their lighthearted banter carried in the wind, causing her to stop and turn at the sound.

Keep your eyes to the front, Catherine! her mother scolded. Heaven knows what those rascals might be up to.

Might they just be on their way to Derry same as us? Cat asked.

Could be, her mother admitted, but I won’t rest easy until they’re on their way.

As the voices grew even closer, it was all she could do not to turn around and stare. A stranger, much less two, was such an unusual occurrence to her. Soon, she reminded herself, everyone would be a stranger until they arrived in Philadelphia to meet up with her mother’s Auntie Reed, and her husband, who’d sent money for their passage.

Mary Rose had been lulled asleep, but she woke with a start at the sound of the voices. I need to go! she howled. Before Cat could even swing her down, she felt the warm trickle of fluid run down her back. Cat swore under her breath as the little girl scampered down, lifted her dress, and squatted by the side of the road, unmindful of the strangers just a few yards behind.

Cat turned towards them, curious to have a closer look, but with the added motivation of wanting to hide her urine stained dress from sight. To her surprise the stray wheel from their cart was strapped to the horse’s back, along with several odd shaped parcels.

The two young men looked to be brothers, for they were similar in build, and both had lanky dark hair, shaggy and unkempt. The smaller one had sparkling blue eyes and, despite his young age, tiny laugh lines were already permanently etched in his face. The older one, the handsomer of the two, had a dark brooding intensity about him. She marveled at the difference, but her thoughts were interrupted by Mary Rose running back and clutching onto her hand.

The younger lad stopped the horse and began unfastening the wheel. This wouldn’t belong to youse folks would it? he called out.

Indeed it does, her mother said, as she lowered the cart to the ground. Her mother automatically reached up to smooth her unruly hair, patting it down where it spouted out from under her shawl.

Seamus, help these damsels out of their distress, the boy said.

The one called Seamus took the wheel and soon was kneeling by the cart, hammering it back on with a large rock he’d borrowed from a nearby fence. He turned and looked up at their mother. It might hold awhile longer, ma’am. He drew himself upright, towering over their mother. Have you far to travel?

To Derry is all, she said.

Same as us, Seamus said. It will be dark soon. You’re welcome to abide near us this night, being females on the road alone.

I’m not sure that would be proper, her mother said, though I’m thankful for your help.

If you’re bound for America same as us, soon we’ll be crammed in a ship’s hold with little hope of modesty or propriety, Seamus said. He shrugged his shoulders and rejoined his brother at the nag’s side. The younger one tipped his hat as they passed and gave Cat a smile. She looked past him at Seamus’s broad back retreating in the distance as he led the horse.

When they were out of sight, her mother let out a sigh. It’s for the best, truly it is, she said aloud to no one in particular.

What harm, Cat started to say, but fell silent. What harm indeed? She’d seen the look on her mother’s face as she feasted her eyes on Seamus. Cat bristled at the thought of the young man showing interest in her mother. To Cat, anyway, he seemed too noble and pure for such thoughts, a knight perhaps, despite his shabby clothes and pitifully thin horse. His unnamed brother became a page in her imagination, the two of them on a quest. She lapsed into memories of the fanciful tales her da had told them as he’d settled them on their pallet each night before he’d gone away two years past.

She was brought back to reality by Mary Rose tugging at her hand. Carry me, she pleaded.

I won’t, Cat said. I don’t fancy being peed on. Immediately she felt guilty and scooped the girl back up in her arms. I’m sorry, she whispered. Poor Mary Rose, she thought, she’ll never remember her wee twin brother who’d died.

Their pace quickened with the wheel back on, but it was soon dark. Her mother stubbornly pushed on, their way guided by the light of a full moon. Ahead Cat could make out the glow of a fire and the sound of a harmonica playing a lilting melody. Surely it was Seamus and his brother. She silently prayed that their mother would have a change of heart.

Hello again, the younger lad called out at their approach. A delicious aroma was coming from the fire and Cat’s stomach lurched in protest at her own empty belly. Mary Rose began whimpering, Shush now, Cat whispered.

We’ve enough, the boy called out. Seamus, who sat turning the spit over the fire, was silent.

Ma, please, the children, Cat pleaded. At ten, she no longer considered herself in the same league with her two sisters. Her da’s parting words had seen to that. I’m counting on you, Precious, he’d called to her as they led him away in chains. Those few words had weighed heavily on her mind ever since.

We’d be grateful, her ma said, causing Cat to breathe a sigh of relief. She lowered Mary Rose to the ground once again. The girls scampered over nearer to the fire, drooling at the sight of the fat rabbit cooking there.

Seamus looked past them and their eyes met. There’s a wee creek yonder, miss, he offered, if you’d like to wash up.

She was glad the darkness prevented him from seeing her blush. So he’d seen what happened to her back on the road. She made her way to the wheelbarrow and took out her second dress. I’m just away to the creek, she called out to her mother, who paid her no mind.

Cat scampered off to the creek and carefully removed her undergarments. She stepped into the cold water with her soiled dress still on, letting the water envelop her. She laughed with delight to be alone for a few minutes. Cat wondered if she’d ever have that luxury again.

She didn’t know how much time had passed before she heard a crashing in the underbrush. Miss Catherine, she heard a deep male voice call out. You’ll miss supper altogether.

Aye, she said, as she walked up on the bank with her dress clinging to her. I’ll be along.

Instead of taking the hint and leaving, Seamus squatted down and stared at her. You’re not afeared of water are you, lass?

She shook her head. Me da taught us to swim in the ocean. He was a fisherman himself. She regarded him thoughtfully. Still, I’m not keen to be out on the ocean down deep in the hold when a big storm comes up.

Seamus nodded. It’s a terrifying thought, I agree. Still, if they let people up on deck at times like that they’d be in danger of being swept away, would they not?

Aye, she agreed. She started shivering then. Seamus took off his shabby jacket and offered it to her. I’ve dry clothes to warm me, sir, she said.

I’ll just be up ahead waiting then, he said as he turned to go.

Cat slipped the fresh dress over her head and pulled on her undergarments. She decided that after dinner she’d rinse Mary Rose’s dress out and hang it by the fire to dry so she’d smell fresh as well. By the time she’d returned to the camp, only a small piece of meat was left, but she took it without complaint. As she sat and ate, her mother walked over and rebraided her long auburn hair, her fingers working swiftly and none too gently. Cat grimaced at the torture, Ah, to have been born a boy, she muttered under her breath.

That would have been a shame, young lady, Seamus’s brother said, for you’re sure to grow up into a rare beauty.

Enough of the blarney, Padriac, Seamus scolded him.

Her chores kept her up long after her sisters had fallen asleep. Padriac played them to sleep with tunes on his harmonica. Cat could hear the melodies all the way to the creek side. Seamus followed a discreet distance behind her, silent, as if lost in his own thoughts.

When Mary Rose’s dress was scrubbed to her satisfaction, she made her way towards the camp. She startled Seamus from where he’d fallen asleep sitting up waiting for her. He leapt to his feet and walked along beside her.

Are you afraid of Indians? she whispered.

Are you? he whispered back.

I don’t suppose there are any left in Philadelphia.

Sure didn’t they get driven west by the Americans?

If I were to be captured by an Indian do you think they’d scalp me or keep me as a squaw?

It was the first time she’d heard him laugh. He chuckled briefly as he reached over and touched her long braid. That would be quite a prized scalp, lassie, but I’d wager they’d wait a bit until you were old enough to be a squaw.

She reached over and put her hand in his larger one. I miss me da, she whispered. Will you miss yours?

Abruptly he let go and stomped off into the night, leaving her bewildered and befuddled. She went back to the camp to find her mother and Padriac talking in low tones. Cat sighed as she slipped under the blanket and lay on the hard ground beside her sisters. She was asleep before Seamus returned. In the morning she awoke to find both he and his brother gone.

************************************************************************

For as long as he could remember Seamus had grown up in the shadow of his younger brother, Padriac, the happy-go-lucky one with the silver tongue who could talk circles around him. For himself, he’d rather not talk unless he had something to say, but that had been so rare that strangers often thought him dim-witted and slow. Even his own mother was fond of saying that Padriac got the brains and Seamus the brawn.

Deep inside Seamus knew his brother’s quick wit was a mask, a diversion he’d learned during those dark times of their father’s last days. As a child he remembered his father being like Padriac, always whistling and singing as he worked in the fields. He’d thought back often, wondering if the change had been so gradual that no one had noticed it until it was too late. Seamus had been the one who’d found his body hanging from a tree. At first he’d mistakenly believed his father had been hanged as a ribbonman, labeled as one of the troublemakers who wreaked havoc in the countryside. But upon further investigation, he realized his da had done himself in, no longer able to cope with the physical and mental trials that plagued him so.

Seamus learned later that his father wasn’t the first Haggerty to be tormented by the twin terrors of debilitating physical and mental anguish. A grandfather, great-aunt, and uncle had preceded him in dying an agonizing death, and even now Seamus’s Uncle Jacob was starting to act a little odd as well.

Padriac joked that Ireland held little joy for anyone but the higher classes and it was a wonder the whole nation hadn’t gone crazy during the famine years they’d just endured. He was quick to point out that people were found dead on the roadsides with grass in their mouths, sinking to being little more than animals.

Yet the truth hung over them, unsaid and unimaginable, that the odds were that one, or both of them, would develop the same symptoms that had filtered down through generations of Haggertys in County Donegal.

Their ma was all for sending them to America, thinking perhaps a change in the climate would put an end to the Haggerty Curse. And if it wasn’t the climate, maybe it was the water, or maybe the inbreeding caused by too few choices of potential partners who weren’t second or third cousins.

He thought back to the day the letter from his Uncle Sean McLaughlin had arrived from America. He’d run home to his ma with it clutched in his hand, calling excitedly. She’d stepped out from the wee cottage and thumped him on the chest. You eejit! she’d scolded. Can any of us read it? Take it to Father Paul and be careful of how he opens it, for most likely Uncle Sean has sent fare for you and Padriac to come to America.

His excitement had evaporated after her scolding. He’d been quick to pass the chore off to Padriac when he came across him on the road. Padriac had broken into a grin and ran off, waving the paper in the air while Seamus had gone off to brood silently in the hills until darkness brought him home, more out of curiosity than anything.

Their mother was crying and laughing simultaneously. Padriac had smiled over at the sight of his brother. It’s come! Father Paul is making inquiries as to the next ship sailing from Derry.

That thought had sobered him. To sail away to America was both exciting and frightening. Stories and letters told of unlimited opportunities, open spaces, land for the taking, yet discrimination abounded against Irish Catholics at the same time. They were the lowliest of the low, given the most menial jobs, while being crowded into slums in the big cities. What kind of life would that be? Still, for a young man with a strong back, surely he’d get by well enough. The thought of having his own land was almost unfathomable.

He and Padriac had talked well into the night, his tongue loosened by the jar of poteen Padriac had produced after their ma had gone to bed. Seamus had sat by the sod fire, sobered by his thoughts of what the coming days would mean, and how fast the time would slip by, before they were saying goodbye to Ireland for the last time.

We mustn’t take the Haggerty curse with us, Seamus had whispered.

Padriac’s face had grown pale. And how are we to accomplish that? He’d grabbed up a knife and motioned towards his crotch. Shall I castrate meself so I don’t pass it on unwillingly?

Nothing as dramatic as that, my wee brother. But we must make a pact not to marry, at least not until late in life, and then only if both of us are still healthy in body and mind.

The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Not all the Haggertys were doomed to develop the disease. Sure, nearly half escaped it altogether. Their father had been one of the youngest though, and had gone downhill the fastest in recent memory.

Padriac had used the knife to cut his palm, and then handed it over to Seamus to do the same. They’d clasped their hands together firmly, blending their blood. I swear, Padriac had said, even as his eyes clouded over with tears. The lasses in America will never know what they are missing.

It’s not as if you can’t lay with the odd girl on occasion, Seamus had reminded him, as long as you’re careful.

To not get her with child?

That too, but you mustn’t fall in love, Seamus warned him.

Aye, to have to walk away and watch her marry another, Padriac had begun to say, but he didn’t finish, opting instead for another swig of poteen.

Seamus had finished off the jar before crawling into bed. His thoughts had drifted to a girl he’d once fancied, and even bedded, after they’d both had too much to drink at her uncle’s wake. He’d not sought her out after that, even after she’d made subtle inquires as to his intentions towards her after she’d been undone as she called it. He hadn’t been thinking of the curse when he’d lain with her. Instead, once sober, he realized she wasn’t for him. There was no spark, no anticipation at seeing her again. None of the village girls had inspired him that way. They were all too familiar.

A week later they had their mother safely installed at the local squire’s house as head cook, had sorted through their meager belongings, and packed up the old nag of a plow horse. After a grand sending off and a special Mass said in their honor, including an American Wake, the brothers had headed east on the road that would take them to Derry.

They’d been two days on the road when they’d met up with the woman and her three daughters. For Padriac it had been a pleasant diversion, as well as a harmless flirtation with a woman nearly twice his age. He’d protested half-heartedly when they rose at dawn to be on their way without so much as a goodbye. Yet he seemed to sense that it was useless to argue with his older brother, especially when Seamus was in one of his dark moods.

Padriac walked on ahead leading the horse. Seamus tarried a moment longer, gazing fondly on the spirited little girl who’d captivated him so. What would it be like to have a child like that of his own some day, he wondered briefly, then put the thought out of his mind, reminding himself of his promise sealed in blood.

Padriac began whistling when they were a mile or so away. He stopped abruptly and turned towards his brother. I left them some bread. I didn’t think you’d mind.

Seamus shrugged. I don’t.

You liked her, didn’t you, that wee spirited little girl Catherine?

There was no sense in denying it. Padriac knew him too well for that. Aye. She had a bit of spunk to her. His voice choked up. Sure, wouldn’t our little Lizzy have been same age if the famine hadn’t taken her?

Don’t, Padriac warned. You did your best tryin’ to save her from the sickness.

I could have given her me share of the food, Seamus lamented.

You did your best, lad, now don’t be getting all sad with me. A twinkle came to Padiac’s eye as he laughed. Cat’s mother must have been a beauty, though she’s not that much older than you, just beaten down by life, so she is. She’d her eye on you. Is that why you ran off like you did?

Why, Padriac, t’would be a mortal sin, would it not, lying with a married woman?

Padriac just smiled. I’d have been willing to risk it had she showed me any favor at all.

Seamus didn’t answer right away. His thoughts drifted to little Cat with the enormous blue eyes. "She wasn’t afraid of injuns or even the thought of storms at sea, not really. She was all for the adventure of it, going