Curse of Our Father

By John Michael Gallagher

Rory is born in poverty on a Caribbean island. To give him a chance at a good life, his parents send him to an aunt and uncle in Brooklyn. Rory's dream is to return and rescue his parents from the "hellish island". For sixteen years his dream drives him to excel in everything he does. He returns to the island, but he's too late.

Heartbroken, Rory researches Irish history and discovers 50,000 Irish, including his ancestors, were sold into slavery in the seventeenth century and now only 400 are left on the island. They are the Red Legs of Barbados.

Seven years later, prominent British citizens in London, New York, and Dublin, are being murdered in daring and horrific fashion. Elite police teams in each city suspect Rory, but their evidence is thin.

Will they catch him? Is he seeking more than revenge? Is there any set of circumstances where it's possible to feel empathy for a criminal?

Curse of Our Father is not your grandfather's revenge story. It's intriguing, romantic, thought provoking and hauntingly unforgettable.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Mar 12, 2021
• ISBN: 9781098342937

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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by use of any information storage or retrieval system, without written permission from the author, except for including brief quotations in a review.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2020 by John Michael Gallagher

First Edition, 2020

ISBN: eBook 978-1-09834-293-7

ISBN: Soft Cover 978-0-99653-566-3

ISBN: Hard Cover 978-0-99653-567-0

Published in the United States of America

Letters to the Editor for Aug. 3 | Hood River News

Quill of Dreams Publishing

Acknowledgements

The inspiration for this book came from my wife, Mary. While researching her ancestry she discovered an ancestor whose land was confiscated in Ireland in the seventeenth century. I must also recognize her contribution as my primary sounding board and research companion as I wrote the book.

Thanks to Micheál Ó Siochrú History Department Head at Trinity College and author of God’s Executioner for taking the time to answer my questions about Irish history.

Special thanks to all my beta readers and critique group members for their careful and thoughtful analysis and feedback.

________________________________________________________

For additional information about the author, his books and discounts, please visit: johnmichaelgallagher.com

This book is dedicated to my parents, Margaret and John.

It is but a small payback for all they did for me.

I wish I could have taken them all the way up the hill.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter One

Barbados

N o, no, Seany! B ridget screamed as she ran to the corner of the room where her son was playing with the one toy car he owned. She landed on her knees, stuck her fingers in his mouth, and extracted a cockroach. She threw it across the room at the wall where it fell to the wooden patchwork floor of the shack and then scrambled away.

How many times have I told you not to eat bugs? She slapped him hard.

Seany was six years old. He turned his head back toward his mother with his mouth closed hard and eyes squinting. I don’t like eating bugs, but it’s better than starving. All the other kids eat bugs.

She slapped him harder. You aren’t like the other kids. You get the same amount to eat, sometimes more than your father or me.

Another six-year-old would cry, if not because he was hungry then because he got slapped twice, and hard. He scrunched his face again in defiance and then relaxed his jaw, released his bright blue eyes and white teeth. Bridget smiled back at him like she was the mother of a newborn. He looked like an angel. His skin was fair, his hair dark and wavy, features sharp and handsome, and at the moment, rosy-red cheeks.

May I play outside, Mother? he asked, as though nothing had happened.

Yes, Seany, take your ball, stay in our neighborhood and out of trouble. I’m sorry I hit you. I only want the best for you. It’s important that you not be like the other kids ‘below the Hill.’ You are different from the banished people in this Scots-Irish hellhole and those who live above New Castle Hill. Your father and I are going to get you off this Godforsaken island. You are going to go far and do well. I promise to do my part and you must do yours.

Seany went to his corner of the room and from under his bed selected one of only two balls he owned. One was the size of a soccer ball and the other a solid rainbow-colored rubber ball. He decided on the rubber ball and ran outside to play.

Bridget Jordan sat down at the small table in the middle of the shack and cried. Despite her frailty, weary eyes, and pre-mature wrinkles caused by light skin overexposed to the sun, she was a beautiful lady. Bridget was a natural blonde with blue eyes, tall for her people on the island, and sharp features highlighted by being underweight. Her clothes were nice compared to the other women below the Hill because she made them. Bridget was an excellent seamstress. Her customers above the Hill were more than satisfied with the quality of her work and her prices.

She spent half her earnings to make their home better than their neighbors’ and the other half was saved for Seany. Since Seany’s birth, she’d saved money to send him to Brooklyn to live with her sister’s family and on books to educate him. Bridget tutored Seany every day teaching him to read, write, and do math. She also had him read novels to inspire him, like Dickens’ Great Expectations, and Pyle’s The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood. She taught him to say morning and evening prayers. On Sundays she took him to church. She would always tell Seany to focus on education, religion, and self-reliance with discipline. Seany was only six, but Bridget and her husband had taught him to think and fend for himself.

It was important to Bridget that her son get the same break her older sister, Kathleen, had when their parents sent her to Brooklyn. They planned on sending Bridget, but her father died at an early age and she never got the chance. She did, however, marry a kind, strong, hard-working man. Although it was an arranged marriage, she never regretted it. She now understood how important it was to marry outside the immediate family. Their child, Seany, had clean genes. Their work and plans to send Seany to America were about to pay off. She wiped the last tear from her face, looked up as if she saw heaven and smiled to herself.

Sean Jordan, Bridget’s husband, was also unique among men below the Hill. He was tall and more solid than the other men. Sean would take on any available work and make good money as a heavy machine operator. He couldn’t get steady work, nor work with the larger companies, but some smaller contractors would overlook the fact that he was white and hire him for less than they would otherwise have to pay. It became well-known that he knew what he was doing.

Sean was only thirty, but like all the Red Legs, as the Scots and Irish were called, he looked much older. You could see he was good-looking and stronger than most, but poor diet and lack of decent healthcare had taken a toll on him. He was missing several teeth and walked with a limp caused by a broken leg that wasn’t properly set. Unlike Bridget and Seany, he spoke with a mixed accent of Bayan, English, and Irish, which is how most of the Red Legs spoke. Her parents had educated Bridget to a level comparable to eighth grade. Her education included speaking English well, and she made sure that Seany spoke proper English without an accent.

Both Sean and Bridget came from families who did not mix with the black population of the island, and they did their best over the centuries to not marry within their families. Most of the Scottish and Irish who had been transported to the island and sold into slavery had little choice other than inbreeding. Sean and Bridget’s ancestors worked hard to avoid it as much as possible. For this reason, their parents had arranged their marriage, and this was also the reason they were both much healthier than their neighbors.

* * *

Seany hustled to an abandoned shack about two hundred yards from his house. He went there to throw the ball against the shack and then catch it on the rebound. He did this almost daily. It was usually the only way to stay out of trouble. He was at the shack only a few minutes when he saw, out of the corner of his eye, three other Red Leg boys walking toward him. They had a bounce in their step and were smiling. He caught the ball, turned to face them, and braced himself for what he knew was about to happen.

Can we play with you, Seany? asked eight-year-old Brian.

All Red Legs have an edge to them. Despite their deplorable living conditions, they were a proud people. They knew they were good people placed in an environment where they could never win. The result, which seemed to be inherent in their DNA, was a level of arrogance and discontent reconciled by taking it out on others or drowning it in alcohol. Eight-year-old boys could not act on the latter, so they took it out on others, especially Seany, because he was different. Seany, because of his education, clothes, and good looks was an obvious target on the Island, but for the same reasons he was six going on twenty-six.

Seany’s father taught him to fight, and he taught him to do whatever was necessary to get the upper hand and win. His father couldn’t stand to see his son bullied, and he drilled Seany on fighting with discipline the way his mother drilled him on education and religion.

Seany walked toward Brian, who stopped and stood with his legs spread wide and hands on his hips. In full walking stride, Seany kicked Brian between the legs and then threw a left hook into the face of the boy to Brian’s left. They both crumpled to the ground in pain. He moved toward the third boy, whom he knew as Andy. The shock of the attack, and Seany’s move toward him, were enough cause for Andy to turn and run.

Seany didn’t want to go home, so he took a trip up the Hill.

Although young and knowing little of the world outside the Red Leg neighborhood, he knew life had to be better than what he saw here. The Red Leg homes were shacks, and most of them one-room shacks. The Red Legs pieced their shacks together with odds and ends of building materials that they had found discarded at building sites above the Hill. Some roofs were made of a quilt of corrugated tin, shingle pieces, and painting tarps.

The walls, inside and out, were mostly wooden planks composed of uneven boards and the interior floors and walls much of the same. Everything was beat-up. The Red Legs had worked the land for centuries, and growing fruits and vegetables in their gardens. Likewise, they raised chickens and pigs, and keep them in pens outside their shacks.

It wasn’t just the shacks that looked run-down. The people below the Hill looked ragged. Their clothes were old and scraggly. Despite their health problems, many of them smoked. They were thin, weak, and their faces sunken from lost teeth. Most of the men squandered their earnings on cigarettes and alcohol. They wanted more and would tell you they were capable of more. With little hope for improvement after living in a depression for centuries, motivation, work ethic, laughter, and hope were beyond reach for most of them.

Seany walked for nearly a mile. The further he traveled from under the Hill, the better things looked. Houses were larger, neater, and cleaner. The people, all black, looked healthy and happy. The children were all in school, but there were bikes outside the homes, and some had basketball hoops. Seany knew little about the world, but he realized most people were better off than those below the Hill.

Seany came upon a school with a large adjoining playground. There was a basketball court, a tennis court, and a large field. By the tennis court he found a wall with a painted line on it simulating the top of the tennis net. It thrilled him to play his usual game of one-man catch by throwing the ball against the wall and catching it on the rebound. Nothing good lasted long on the island for him, though.

He heard a loud bell ring that sounded like an alarm. Seconds later, the doors opened and what seemed like a hundred kids, all older and bigger than him, came out of the building and onto the playground. It was recess. He continued playing, looking around cautiously. The children who came out of the schools were all black. They separated into groups and were playing different games. After a few minutes, one group of about five boys spotted Seany and after a brief conference, they started walking toward him.

What yuh doin’ here, boy? Yu a Red Leg boy ain’t yuh? asked the tallest, stronger-looking boy in the group who was the leader.

I’m just having a game of catch, answered Seany, avoiding the subject of being a Red Leg.

How can yuh play catch . . . dere just yuh? Yuh need two people play catch. We play catch with yuh, said the boy as he looked over each shoulder to his friends with a big smile. Then they all smiled.

I’d rather play by myself, answered Seany with his head down. Seany’s father taught him to always stand strong and proud, but these boys were twice his size and there were at least five, maybe six of them in the group.

Ah, come on, boy, we won’t hurt yuh or take yur ball, said the leader again with a devilish smile that betrayed his words.

They boxed in Seany, and his back was against the wall. Okay, I’ll play catch with you guys. He handed the ball to the leader. The black boys then threw the ball to each other, excluding him. After a few minutes, he grew impatient and angry. He ran toward a boy about to catch the ball, and it caused the boy to drop it. Seany quickly picked it up and started running toward the street, away from the playground. He had to go forty yards.

They overtook him when he was only ten yards from the street. They knocked him to the ground. Gimme da ball, boy, or we take it from yuh! Seany rolled up into a fetal position. The boy kicked him hard in the head. The other boys took the signal, and they started kicking him. Seany thought they would kill him, but he held on tightly to the ball.

He heard a man yell, Hey, yuh boys, leave him be. Get away from him!

Seany opened his eyes and saw a black man pushing the boys away from him. Yuh boys cowards. He half yuh size.

The boys scattered in different directions.

The black man leaned over Seany. Yuh hurt, boy?

No, I’m okay.

Why they knock yuh down and kick yuh? asked the black man.

Because I’m a Red Leg and because I took my ball back from them.

Yuh should let dem have de ball. It not worth gettin’ hurt over. It just a ball.

I have two balls and if I lose one, I won’t get another.

The man laughed at his answer. He took Seany’s words literally in another context. Yeah, two balls is all we get. He laughed again. They not beat yuh cause you Red Leg. They beat yuh ’cause yuh different. Yuh not look like Red Leg. Yuh clean, yuh filled out, dressed nice, yuh look like a little rich white boy...yuh different. It be Red Legs looks down on black people.

I don’t look down on anyone, responded Seany.

Seany looked at the black man. He appreciated his rescue, but he didn’t understand what the black man meant.

Thank you for stopping them. I’m different. I’m a Red Leg, white, and that’s why they beat me.

Yuh older...yuh learn dese tings. Yuh best go back down de Hill.

Seany watched the man walk away and then looked at the school to confirm the boys left. He took the man’s advice and started toward home. Seany’s right eye swelled; his lip and nose caked with blood, and he had a bruise on his left cheek that was turning blue. His clothes were dirty and grass-stained. No wonder his mother hated the island. It made no sense to him, either.

As soon as he entered the house, his mother exploded. I told you to stay out of trouble. Look at you! You’re dirty—your face is bruised. Tell me what happened.

He told her the whole story. When he finished, she shook her head. You’re right, Seany, there’s no place on this island where you will not be different. You cannot succeed here. None of us can. You will excel in the right environment.

She couldn’t hold it in anymore. She had been planning this since Seany was a baby and her plan was about to unfold. In a few weeks you will go to Brooklyn, in America, to live with your Aunt Kathleen and Uncle James. They will see that you get a good education and give you a chance to succeed. You have no chance...none of us do, in this hellhole of an island.

It shocked Seany. He hated it on the island, but like anyone his age he feared the unknown. What was Brooklyn? Live with Aunt Kathleen? He had never met his aunt or uncle. Seany had read about America. Though it sounded good, he remembered pictures of big buildings, and streets crowded with people and cars. He felt small and feared school.

The island life, though terrible, was home. It scared Seany. He had a strange feeling in his stomach he’d never experienced. It was emptiness, but not the emptiness he often had from lack of food. It felt like someone had punched him in the stomach. He felt hollow.

Seany’s mother smiled. I will get your lunch and then we will work on your studies. We have to get you ready for first grade at Holy Angels Academy in Brooklyn.

Bridget was almost in tears and her hands were shaking. Having told Seany what would happen made it real for her. She also feared Sean’s reaction. They had agreed to talk to Seany about the matter that evening during dinner. Her departure from the plan would not sit well with him.

Seany’s father returned from work at five-thirty. He pushed through the front door with his eyes revealing nothing, but a blank stare. His face, neck, and hands wrinkled from years of hard work in the sun and the dirt from the day’s work settled into the wrinkles highlighting his grimy appearance. He left in the morning standing upright, and now he couldn’t straighten his back. Bridget walked to him and smiled, but there was no response from Sean.

Dinner will be ready by six. There are two things I need to tell you before then. I know we planned to speak with Seany together this evening, but I told him today. I am sorry and hope you are not mad at me. I was talking to him about being different and having a better life. It seemed the right time to break the news. We can still talk about it more over dinner and you can share with him how you feel.

Sean looked angry, but he said nothing. Bridget gulped as she gathered her courage. Seany left the neighborhood again today and ran into trouble with the black boys up the Hill. He left because three of the neighborhood boys tried to take his ball. He knocked two of them to the ground and the third one ran away. I want to ask that you don’t beat him. It was harsh enough that the black boys knocked him down and kicked him. He is also in shock about going to live in Brooklyn.

Sean still looked angry but said, Okay.

Bridget fixed a stew that was a special occasion meal served only once or twice a year on a holiday. The recipe was passed down over the ages for Irish stew with lamb, potatoes, carrots, onions, and celery smothered in savory gravy. It was a very special departure from the Bahamian food they ate every day. She had asked Sean to buy the ingredients at the store the day before and despite his objections and complaints about the cost, he did. She smiled proudly as she placed the serving bowl on the table, along with the bread and butter. They consumed the entire meal in less than five minutes.

Seany, three weeks from now you will travel to Brooklyn in an airplane, said his mother. Seany’s eyes opened wide. "Aunt Kathleen and Uncle James have agreed to raise you as their own. We want you to know that we love you and will miss you very much. We love you so much—we want to give you a chance at a good life. It is a chance you will never get here on this island. We have saved every cent since you were born to give you this chance.

Aunt Kathleen and Uncle James will adopt you and treat you as their son. They will make sure you receive the best education. Bridget’s eyes were filling up and her voice beginning to crack. She waited for her son to say something. He looked dumbfounded. She looked to Sean and nodded her head, signaling that it was his turn.

You won’t be different there, Seany. Most people in Brooklyn be white and a lot of dem are Irish. Your mother has given you de education you need to start. She also earned most de money for you. You be good for dem and for her. You understand?

Seany nodded his head yes.

Uncle James is policeman. He’ll teach you to defend yourself better than I could. He’ll also make sure you stay disciplined, said his father.

Seany, do you have questions? asked his mother.

Can I take my toys? whispered Seany.

Of course, they’re all you own.

Good, said Seany, smiling.

Bridget knew she would soon break down, so she wasted no time. One more thing, Seany; when you arrive in Brooklyn, your name will be Rory McCormick. She started clearing the table so they couldn’t see her crying.

Three Weeks Later

It took Bridget less than three minutes to pack Seany’s bag for the trip. He owned three pairs of pants, three shirts, and an equal number of undershirts and underpants. His soccer ball was too big for the duffel bag. She decided not to mention it as she placed his one toy car and rainbow-colored ball on top and then zipped up the bag. She handed the bag to Seany and told him to keep an eye on it until he unpacked in Brooklyn. Seany looked scared and befuddled.

Sean entered the house; pushing the door hard and it rattled as it hit the wall. He stared, setting his unblinking eyes on a point in space. He was on a mission. De truck is ready. It’s time to go.

The truck had one bench seat. They sat three across in the seat, shoulder to shoulder. Sean drove, Bridget sat on the other side and Seany in the middle, with the duffel bag on his lap. Tension filled the air. Bridget sat stiffly, forehead wrinkled with grief. She felt guilty, as though she was abandoning her only child. Sean had similar emotions, but for different reasons. He was sad because his son was leaving. He felt guilty for wanting to move up the Hill more than he wanted to send Seany to America.

Seany, you remember what I teach you about fighting, discipline, and bein’ careful’ round people. Dere’s lots of people who will take from you if you let dem. Continue learning how to take care of yourself, said Seany’s father.

Seany, the most important thing is that you get a good education. If you get a good education, you can do whatever you want. Doors will open up for you as you walk through life. Do as your aunt and uncle tell you and you will be fine, added Bridget.

Bridget pulled an envelope from her dress pocket and removed three items. "Aunt Kathleen and Uncle James have adopted you. This paper says you are their adopted son and that your name is Rory McCormick. Your passport is this little book with your picture. It will allow you to enter America. Aunt Kathleen said you show your passport to the people at the customs section at the airport in New York. She arranged for the airline people to make sure you have a window seat on the plane.

They will take you to the customs department. Aunt Kathleen and Uncle James will wait for you when you leave the customs section of the airport. This piece of paper is your plane ticket. Aunt Kathleen said you give this to the people when you check in for the flight. We will do that with you.

Seany said nothing. He grew more frightened and nervous with each passing minute. There were so many new things coming at him and coming fast. On top of that, he had a new name and parents, and he didn’t know what they looked like.