Rebecca…The Ghost of the Cloudcroft Lodge: The Ireland Years

By E. G. Farris

Rebecca, a beautiful Irish lass with swirls of red curls framing her small face and large captivating blue eyes, the color of the sea, has been found out. She has committed treason...treason against her father, against her home Connemara...and maybe even against all of Ireland. Her crime is falling in love with Jonathan, a man from America who along with his friend Pierce are considered to be British spies and murderers.

With the help of her brother, Father Ryan McEagan, Rebecca must prove they are not British spies. In truth, they have been helping the IRB-Irish Republican Brothers-fight against the British Army. Rebecca and Jonathans lives are in constant danger, but once Jonathan makes plans to leave Ireland, Rebecca vows to remain by his side.

With or without her fathers blessings she plans to sail with Jonathan to America, to this newly created state of New Mexico, riding the train straight up to the Cloudcroft Lodge, his place above the clouds where he and Rebecca will marry. But will it end in happily ever after or in doomed death and eternity of haunting shadows?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Apr 17, 2017
• ISBN: 9781480833517

E. G. Farris

Esther G. Farris, a graduate from Alamogordo High School in Alamogordo, New Mexico, with a Bachelor of Science degree in Political Science from New Mexico State University in Las Cruces, New Mexico, and a Masters of Library Science from the University of Denver in Denver, Colorado. She lived in Al-Khobar, Saudi Arabia for twelve years and was a free lance journalist for three Arab newspapers, the Arab News, the Saudi Gazette, and the Riyadh Daily which enabled her to cover the Persian Gulf War in 1990. She was the first woman to receive a press card from an Arab newspaper. She also had her own weekly children’s column dedicated to expatriates informing them about their new home in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. She now lives on a small farm, La Sombra, in La Luz, New Mexico with her rescue animals.

Book preview

Copyright © 2017 E. G. Farris.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Archway Publishing

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.archwaypublishing.com

1 [phone]

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-4808-3350-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-3355-5 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-3351-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016910483

Archway Publishing rev. date: 4/17/2017

Contents

DEDICATION

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

PREFACE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to my father Sam Gutierrez who waited ever so eagerly for each chapter and to my mother Lala Gutierrez who now rests with the angels.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

With heartfelt and devoted thanks to my loving Aunt Susie Padilla whose unceasing prayers and her unfailing faith in me kept me striving to write and finish Rebecca’s story.

*The warmest of thank-you’s and gratitude to my cousins, Gloria Padilla, Jean Zagar, and Diane Gardner who never once gave up on me when I so desperately wanted to, all the time encouraging me to keep on writing.

*A never ending thank-you for my dearest of friends, Patricia Niemeijer, who has always embraced me as a daughter and never stopped encouraging me to finish the story of Rebecca…this very brave and beautiful soul as she described her.

*I will forever be in debt to my long time mentor and dear and feisty old friend and well known New Mexico author, Elsie Kreischer who called every week to make sure I was sitting on my bum writing.

*To Frank Carilli, who not only shared my interest in writing but who in the process became a very dear friend.

*To Erma Garcia, a dear and caring friend who stood by me during a turbulent period in my life and who never failed to ask about Rebecca and what she was up to as if she was the girl next door.

*To Polly Hickman, whose words of encouragement kept me above water, always reminding me how important it was for Rebecca’s story to be told.

*To Dr. Kay Banikarim, who always took the time to listen and never forgot to ask about Rebecca.

*To Patty Blankenship, a compassionate friend, who not only helped me during a trying time, but who instilled great confidence in me.

*To Jeri Geertsen a warm thank you for editing the first draft of my book.

*To Christie Alvord who in a short time became not only a dear trusted friend, but who took upon the task of editing the galley.

PREFACE

Rebecca McEagan is a young Irish lass who along with her family and friends have endured all the tragedies of war in Ireland fighting for its independence from British rule. A day has not passed without word from some family that a father, brother, uncle, or friend has been killed by British soldiers. Rebecca’s life is a life in constant turmoil surrounded by sadness and death, and then quite by accident she meets a dashing man from America and as fate would have it her whole life changes at first glance. But all does not fare well as there are secrets to be kept, until that one particular morning which should have been like any other morning preparing breakfast for her father Paddy. And just as he was preparing to sit down for his breakfast the phone suddenly rings. The phone call is for Paddy and he is somewhat upset in being called away from his favorite meal of the day, but since it was Aunt Ruth who was calling, he rushed to the telephone and began listening to what she had to say. As their father spoke to their Aunt Ruth, Rebecca remembered how nervous her mother had become when Paddy gripped the telephone tight, his knuckles turning white, his face turning blood red as Rebecca, her mother Katherine, and her younger sister Maggie saw how disturbing the call was. The three women looked at each other in horror as Paddy hardly uttered a word as he listened to his sister. And when he finally hung up the phone, he angrily placed a cigar in his mouth, and without a word to anyone, rushed out of the kitchen, slamming the door behind him leaving his breakfast untouched. At that moment Rebecca gasped as she knew then, at that very moment, that her life would never be the same. She had been found out. She had committed the worst crime in her father’s eyes…and maybe all of Connemara…maybe all of Ireland. She had committed treason. She had fallen in love with an American…a British spy as he was called by her father. But as far as she was concerned, her love for Jonathan would never waver…never would that love be robbed from her…not by her father, not by her evil Aunt Ruth…not by Ireland. The one thing she held true to her heart was that one day she would be sailing with her beloved Jonathan to America, reaching this newly created state of New Mexico and riding the train straight up to the Cloudcroft Lodge…his place above the clouds…where she would live forever with her beloved.

CONNEMARA 1916

CHAPTER ONE

Never an American! Paddy shouted at the top of his lungs. If I see that bastard and his friend…I will see that they be shot on sight as spies. Do ya understand me lassie…do ya lassie?

Rebecca couldn’t believe what she was hearing from her own father where she stood in his grip as ashes from his cigar dropped onto her beautiful new blouse. His words stung sharp into her heart, and she feared for her beloved Jonathan and his friend Pierce. At any moment they could be killed. Why couldn’t her father understand her love for this man and what her heart felt, and that neither he nor anyone, could take those feelings away. And the hatred her father harbored toward the Americans, Rebecca felt it should be directed in its entirety toward the British, but she knew that was not going to happen because he would continue, like a faithful dog, to listen to his sister’s idle gossip. Their Aunt Ruth would have her way as she always did and her explanations…her pleas would go onto deaf ears. Her father, a stubborn man and one that could be easily manipulated listened to nobody except to that of his sister and her villainous adopted son, Phil McHugh.

For years the family had suffered under Aunt Ruth’s interference in family matters and for years the family had tolerated her, but Paddy, even after his marriage to his wife, Katherine, still catered to her and no one could ever understand the reasons behind his actions. But now she and Phil McHugh had gone too far in their meddling, and Rebecca was adamant they would not destroy the love she had with the so-called American, the suspected British spy. The only thing to do now was to get in touch with her brother, Ryan, and he would take care of everything…even her father.

And as far as she was concerned this long ago war where the Americans took the lives of her great grandfather and great great uncle and so many others from Connemara should be no different from the war they were fighting here in Ireland. She was tired of listening to her father rambling on and on about this war and believed with the whole of her heart that her father should have been paying more attention to the horrible acts of butchery the British were committing in Ireland everyday.

She had grown up in a country surrounded by secrets…and by death…with family and friends dying everyday and now she wanted to be away from all of it, including the misery her own people in Ireland were suffering from this never ending brutal war against the British. It was men and women fighting for their own homeland…for their freedom from these warmongers who had sailed onto their land and claimed it as their own, and converted the people into their own personal slaves, that is, if they didn’t shoot or hang them first.

She didn’t want to hear anymore on whose father or brother or uncle or somebody’s friend had been shot or executed by the Brits. All she wanted to hear now were Jonathan’s sweet words, maybe someday, a proposal of marriage, and her dream of she and her beloved on a ship to America, traveling to his beautiful place above the clouds…to this place he called the Cloudcroft Lodge where it stood majestically above the clouds where the stench of death did not claim this beautiful place. It was her dream to be far away from the senseless and brutal killing of men…many times very young boys, who suffered the bullets and the hangings at the hands of British soldiers, where tears were shed and loved ones were never seen again and given the proper religious funeral rites in the church and a burial in the family cemetery they deserved. She could not endure it any longer and now she was lost in what course she was now to take with her father.

The argument had occurred only yesterday morning, but her father’s words still echoed in her mind and she wondered if her father really was going to kill Jonathan and Pierce. And now as she held her blouse and examined the burnt holes created by her father’s cigar in his anger, Rebecca cried as she placed the damaged blouse back on the bed. The argument played over and over in her mind as she remembered when her father had approached her about her Jonathan. She had been found out…her secret was no longer a hushed affair…and her father would have his way as he listened and followed the advice of his evil sister and the menacing Phil McHugh.

As she sat on the edge of the bed with the blouse on her lap she tried to remember how the argument had played out. That particular morning had begun like any other morning with her father sitting down for his breakfast when suddenly the phone rang. Her mother had answered the call and with a disgruntled look on her face she told her father the phone call was for him. Her father was somewhat upset at being called away from his favorite meal of the day, but when he was told it was Aunt Ruth who was calling, he rushed to the telephone and began listening to what she had to say. As their father spoke in hushed whispers to their Aunt Ruth, Rebecca remembered how nervous her mother had become as Paddy gripped the telephone tight, his knuckles turning white, his face turning blood red as Rebecca, her mother, Katherine, and her younger sister, Maggie, saw how disturbing the call must be as the three women looked at each other in horror when he finally hung up, and without a word to anyone, he took a cigar from his shirt pocket and angrily placed it into his mouth, and rushed out of the kitchen, slamming the door behind him, leaving his breakfast untouched.

Rebecca and Maggie looked to their mother who stood by the stove wringing her hands nervously. They knew whatever Aunt Ruth had said to Paddy, it had to have been something terribly disturbing for him to have rushed out of the house missing his breakfast. Paddy was a man of habit…he never changed his routine. If he didn’t have his fried eggs and tomatoes, sausage or a side of bacon rasher, fried black pudding bread, and soda farl every morning, it would be hell to pay. Paddy never missed his breakfast, just like he would never miss his Thursday night at the White Owl, joining his dearest and oldest friend, Roddy McCorley playing his fiddle and each out doing the other in telling their tales and drinking their pints of beer. It would have been unthinkable. And now, as Rebecca fumbled with the dishes in the wash basin, the unthinkable had occurred. Paddy McEagan had missed his first breakfast…the first since marrying his Katherine nearly thirty years ago.

Maggie and Rebecca saw how nervous their mother was becoming as she accidentally dropped a coffee cup to the floor. Maggie picked up the broken pieces, while Rebecca scraped Paddy’s breakfast into the pig bucket. It was then that Katherine unpinned her apron and turned to her daughters reminding them of the time.

Maggie, leave the dishes be, and Rebecca ya run upstairs and get Judy’s veil, Katherine said as she hurried about getting herself ready hoping to make it on time to Mrs. McCarthy’s house and complete the plans to her daughter’s wedding.

But what about da? Maggie asked as she looked to her mother.

We can’t worry about ye da now. We need to hurry or Judy will turn into a ball of nerves and have that baby before the wedding, Katherine shouted nervously.

Do you know where he is mum? piped Rebecca all the time eyeing Maggie.

Aye…mum…where is da? Rebecca repeated the question.

Ya know as much as I do. Your Aunt Ruth rang your da this mornin and told him something that deeply upset him and out the door he went. And that is all ya or I know. But I’m worried it is the devil’s work afoot when it comes to your Aunt Ruth. There is nothing to be but problems when Aunt Ruth’s tongue begins a waggin…nothing but problems will come in her a calling your da. Trust me girls, this devil of a woman will soon show her face, Katherine said as she tied the scarf around her head.

Maggie was reaching for her scarf and was ready to leave, when Rebecca turned to her mother saying, but mum, I still have a few more stitches to work into the veil before Judy tries it on. Can I come a little later? I promise you, it won’t take long, Rebecca assured her mother.

And how much more time will that veil take to be finished? You have been at that design for a month, her mother said nervously. We can’t afford for anything to go wrong with this weddin, not with a baby ready to be born any time now. And Rebecca, her mother reminded her, "please do not forget your umbrella. The weather be a turnin foul and the rain will be a startin soon. I don’t want you soaked to the bone and coming down with a cold before the weddin.

"Don’t worry mum, I will be there. Like I said, there be only a few more stitches left, and the veil will be finished and you can trust me mum, it will be beautiful and something Judy will cherish on her wedding day. Judy will be having her veil in time for the dress fitting…I just don’t understand all this fuss that is a going into this wedding when Judy is ready to have that baby any minute now.

Rebecca…it not for us to judge, answered Maggie in a very Christian like manner as she buttoned the last button to her sweater.

Aye…me dear Mary Margaret…you are indeed the saint of this family. Da would be ever so proud of thee and your St. Anne to whom you pray to every night. And how many rosaries did you say to her last night Maggie? Rebecca teased.

Now lassie’s…enough of this nonsense, we have work to do, and plenty of it. This wedding will be in three days time and we still have much to do. And now, we have this storm to contend with and more, we have Aunt Ruth to worry about, and between the two, it will be Aunt Ruth who blackens this weddin.

Aye mum, this cannot be so, not with Judy and Roddy so in love, Maggie said as she looked at her mum waiting for her to do something about Aunt Ruth.

Love has nothing to do with it lassie, remarked their mother as she ushered Maggie out the door.

As soon as the door closed, Rebecca climbed the stairs to her room. Gathering the veil she made herself comfortable in her grandmother’s old rocker, and with needle and thread in hand, Rebecca began to embroider onto the veil her delicate design, when suddenly she heard the door slam downstairs and her father screaming at the top of his lungs ordering her to come downstairs.

Rebecca remembered that horrible sounding command that came from her father that day and then she thought, maybe if her mum and Maggie had not gone to Mrs. McCarthy’s to help with the wedding plans for the marriage between her daughter, Judy Malone and Roddy McCorley, maybe the day would have turned out differently and her mum could have stopped her father and his declaration to shoot Jonathan and Pierce if he saw them anywhere near Clifden.

Over and over the incident played in her mind. It was something that could not easily be forgotten.

Rebecca! Paddy shouted loud and clear, there be a talkin to be had between the two of us. Now get yourself down here at once!

Rebecca jumped out of the rocker and hastily threw the veil onto the bed and ran to the door nervously turning the knob, when for some unknown reason, as if being controlled by some unearthly force, turned back and sat on her bed.

Mary, Mother of God, what be a happenin? Rebecca cried as her trembling hands slowly reached for the veil. Slowly gathering the delicate fabric to her chest, she felt a hard stabbing pain, as if someone had punched her in the stomach knocking the wind out of her as she dropped the veil to the floor. Suddenly, as she looked at the veil, she gasped when she saw the beautiful embroidered fabric, and how the folds fell onto the floor, the stitches forming the letter J. But before she could react, she heard her father shouting to her once again.

Quickly Rebecca sprang to her feet, and with shivers running through her body, she grabbed the shawl draped across the rocker and wrapped herself deep into it, before going downstairs and meeting her father’s wrath. She wondered why her father had called to her in such an angry manner. And then she thought of her mother’s prediction concerning her Aunt Ruth.

There was certainly something foreboding and uncomfortable about the whole morning, but more troubling was the way her father had summoned her. Wildly she searched her mind at what she had done or not done that could have brought him to call for her with such anger. Slowly, she took one stair at a time and when she reached the bottom of the stairs Paddy shouted, in here Rebecca!

Rebecca made her way to the gathering room where weddings and wakes often took place. There in front of the large pebbled fireplace, whose embers had grown dull, stood her father pacing, his head hung down with his cigar being puffed on heavily, and his hands clinched into his fists, hitting one into the other angrily.

Upon seeing Rebecca, he stopped in mid pace, and stomped toward her placing his hands hard on her young shoulders, his eyes red, glaring directly into hers as he chomped on his cigar, constantly spitting out tobacco and ashes falling onto her blouse.

I’ve done all me chores da. I’ve even apologized to Aunt Ruth for yesterday’s argument. I have da…I truly have, Rebecca explained. And da, I’ve not missed me prayers to St. Theresa, and I have even…

Suddenly, Rebecca stopped in mid-sentence and thought in horror, Oh Mary Mother of Jesus, he has found out.

Hastily, Rebecca freed herself from her father’s grip and ran toward the kitchen where she could maybe loose the goose bumps that begged for warmth. With her father following close behind, Rebecca pushed open the thick kitchen door and headed straight for the fireplace. There the embers still burned hot from the morning’s fire, and the heavy black pot hanging on its iron arm still steamed with the morning’s water that was used for washing the dishes. Clumsily, Rebecca reached for two cups, but her father refused his, I do not want any tea…I do not want any coffee…what I do want is an explanation! he shouted angrily.

Paddy pushed the cups aside and instead reached for the bottle of whiskey kept in its special place behind a cupboard given to him by their Aunt Ruth. Aunt Ruth was always generous with her ample supply of whiskey to her father.

Rebecca took her place at the table and waited for her father to speak. Paddy chose to stand with the bottle of whiskey placed in front of him, and as the storm roared and rattled its anger outside, Rebecca could feel her own private storm as she waited for her father to tell her why he was so angry.

Before her mother and Maggie had left for Mrs. McCarthy’s, she had opened the curtains to the kitchen window allowing the morning sun to warm the room. But now, as Rebecca looked out through the window, she could see the storm clouds rolling in covering the sun, darkening the room, and the thunder announcing the storms arrival as the rain began pelting hard against the window. It was more than she could bear as her father continued on with his shouting and ranting, but still not making any sense as to why his anger was directed toward her and her alone.

He had changed his mind about the cup of coffee, and though he was still extremely angry, he took the coffee cup, his hand clinched tight to it, taking nervous sips of the strong morning coffee with cream and plenty of sugar laced with more whiskey than coffee in the cup. But, more disturbing, was when he pulled another cigar from his breast pocket to his mouth, and roughly lit it taking a piece of straw from the broom and angrily piercing it through the embers still radiating warmth lighting the straw. He sat down and took another sip of his coffee and nervously took huge puffs sending a waft of smoke into the air. But it was the way in which his eyes glared at her that startled her.

Paddy placed his hands on the table and pushed himself up from the chair. He took one last gulp of the steaming brew and slammed the cup hard onto the table surprising Rebecca that the cup had not shattered into pieces. Slowly Paddy sauntered his way to the fireplace with his fingers deep into his red curly hair rubbing his head nervously while Rebecca stayed seated at the table.

Come here lassie, Paddy growled.

Da…please tell me what upsets you so much?

The cigar twirled in Paddy’s mouth as he puffed angrily on it. All of a sudden he stopped and turned as if contemplating what his next step should be.

Rebecca, he struggled with her name. Can it be true Rebecca? Have me ears be a hearin right?

What is it da? What have you been hearin?

"Marriage to a goddamn British loving American! Can this be true? Tell me lass is it true what ye Aunt Ruth be a tellin me about ya and this American.

The words hurled at her without feeling of heart…words she never expected to hear from her father directed at his own daughter.

Answer me Rebecca! he asked angrily pounding his fist to the mantle above the fireplace bringing her mother’s figurines down to the floor shattering them to pieces. Paddy ignored what had just happened and continued in his tirade, tell me lass, is it true? Because if it is lassie, let me tell ya, it will not go any further? Ya will not become involved with an American! Not in your life time…not in mine. Never! Ya understand lassie? I will not be havin a spy and murderer a courtin me daughter. I will never be havin an American in me home. No American…no Brit be a enterin me home…ya hear me lassie? Murderers…all of them! Every single one of them! Listen up lassie… how in God’s name did ya get mixed up with the son of a bastard. And before ya begin lassie, I be a tellin ya he be a usin ya. And he will get to us through you. Listen up lassie…this man has been a usin ya like he does one of those painted up doxies on Tralee Street. For the love of St. Theresa, I cannot believe what has come to me ears. One of me own mixed up with an American.

But da, he is not like how you think, Rebecca begged her father to listen to her. But before Rebecca could continue, Paddy jolted her with his next revelation.

If it had not been for the kindness of Phil McHugh, I never would have known about ya and that spyin American. But the good man thinkin of our reputation…our good family’s name… took it upon himself with your Aunt Ruth to tell me what had been going on right behind me back. And they did the right thing in tellin me about ya…cavortin with that monster. I owe much to McHugh and your Aunt Ruth…for if it had not been for them a tellin me…what would all of Clifden…all of Connemara…be a sayin about the McEagan family?

Da, it is Phil McHugh who is the monster here, not the American who you speak so ill of. Was it not Phil McHugh who cheated you in the horse races and the trophy was me…your own flesh and blood? If it had not been for me brother and Father Mahonney, I would have been betrothed to that murderous, horrid, disgusting, semblance of a man. Me own da…a marryin me to a criminal who Aunt Ruth has defended since he was a boy. This is the man who has killed, out of greed and vengeance, throughout Ireland. Da, this man has killed innocents and it is he you defend. And…da…if it had not been for me mum and me brother, and Father Mahonney, a interferin and setting me own da and Aunt Ruth right, I would have been married to this murderer…and with your blessin no less, Rebecca said angrily.

Shut ye mouth lassie before I place the back of me hand to it. The poor man was not found guilty in that doxie’s murder on Tralee Street, or that other painted up doxie found in the lake. Nothing was ever proved he had done the crimes.

Da, Aunt Ruth has got ya a believin he did not commit these horrible crimes. And da, these are not the only crimes he has committed. There are many crimes involvin money he stole from families’ right here in Clifden that you know about da, but you will not admit to. And even if you cannot believe he is a criminal, the whole of Connemara does. Da, even the Constable believed he had killed those women, but Aunt Ruth provided him with an alibi. And even as bad as you think these women on Tralee Street may be, they were still livin breathin human beings da, and they didn’t deserve the kind of torture and killing these women received from McHugh. It is you da who believes Aunt Ruth’s vicious gossip, and…

Is it gossip of ye involvement with the American? Paddy asked blowing smoke in her face.

Da, I am only guilty of fallin in love with this man. And though he is an American, he is a good and honest man. And I love him da. I love him with the whole of me heart, cried Rebecca.

Keep quiet or I will bring the back of me hand upon ya! Paddy repeated himself as he shouted looking at Rebecca.

You would strike your own daughter da? Has Aunt Ruth and Phil McHugh brainwashed you so much that you would strike me da?"

Answer me this lass…how the blazes did ya get involved with the likes of this devil? Paddy settled somewhat, yet, still glaring at Rebecca. And where Rebecca, did a good respectin Irish Catholic girl, from a good respectable family meet this heathen? Explain to me lassie, screamed her father into her face dropping ashes onto her beautiful linen blouse as he rolled his cigar from side to side in his mouth. Just tell me lass, how did this fiend charm ya? Was it his pretty little words, a telling ya how pretty ya are or was it his manroot?

Da…stop! cried Rebecca bringing her hands to her ears. I will not hear such lies. All lies da…Aunt Ruth’s lies…and not a word of truth to them. I will tell you again da…this man you speak of…this man you are so angry with for no reason is an honorable and honest man. He cannot help that he was born in America and has to suffer the scars of your grandda and your great uncle.

Honorable as the devil himself! No honorable man goes a meetin his daughter without her da’s permission and in secret places no less. No honorable man goes a hidin his intentions for a respectable lass unless she is a doxie. And it comes to me ears that there is a marriage to be a considering. A marriage between a heathen and a doxie. Did he do the deed Rebecca? Did the seed of that dirty scoundrel be planted inside ya? Is this why marriage is a bein talked about? Paddy said as he paced back and forth in front of the fireplace stomping on the broken figurines on the floor.

No da! I be a respectable girl. A good Irish Catholic girl and by the grace of our Blessed Mother I would do no such shameful act. A virgin I be da, and a virgin I shall be until me weddin night. There has not been any talk of marriage except the lies you hear from Aunt Ruth. I only hid the truth from you because I know how you feel about Americans. Mum and Maggie think he is a very considerate and a well mannered gentleman who has great respect for me and a great love for our Ireland…and this is what angers Aunt Ruth. You know how Aunt Ruth has always felt about mum and now…

Ya mum and Maggie know of ye relationship with this heathen? This is a betrayal of the worst kind! shouted Paddy at the top of his lungs. Your Aunt Ruth and McHugh were right in a tellin me the truth and all I get from me own family is lies.

Da…will you not listen…it is Aunt Ruth who be a tellin you nothing but lies. Me Jonathan is…

Aye…so the name comes out, Paddy screamed as he turned facing her, chomping on his cigar so hard that a piece fell to the floor as he kicked it into the fireplace and immediately ripped a stick of straw from the broom and placed it between the embers and waited until it caught fire and proceeded to light his cigar puffing on it blowing the smoke in her direction.

Aye da….his name is Jonathan Angus Buchanan and he comes from a place called Saint Louis in what he calls the state of Missouri. I love him da and one day, if he ever asks me, I plan to marry this man…if he wants me for his wife. He is a good and honest man, I tell you this da because that is the truth. I truly love him…and da…he is not a spy or a murderer as you say, Rebecca said sternly in Jonathan’s defense.

Lassie…has ye great grandda and ye great great uncle escaped ye memory? Paddy shouted in her face.

Rebecca sat fuming, but did not say a word as Paddy continued, there has not been a year that this family and all of Connemara, have not celebrated these men’s…these St. Patrick’s deaths who were hung by the Americans. And now ya are involved with the devil himself…the devil who hung ye great grandda, ye great great uncle, and many of our friends da’s, husbands, sons and brothers. Have ya no shame?

Was her father mad? Had he lost all his senses? Rebecca thought as she seriously contemplated what to say in Jonathan’s defense.

Da…Jonathan…it is true he is an American, but he is not the kind of man who would cause hurt or bring injury to another human being unless it was warranted. And yet, da, you have branded him a murderer without ever meeting the man. A murderer because of what his ancestors had done to your grandda and his brother, and others from Connemara, during the Mexican-American War. Da the war has been over for nearly a seventy years.

As Rebecca carried on she soon found out it was useless to continue as her father would never allow anyone to forget how heroic these men, these St. Patricks were, and ever since she could remember, it was a family pilgrimage, along with all of Connemara, to honor the memory of these men known in Ireland as the St. Patricks and in Mexico they were also honored as the San Patricios, and their deaths were both celebrated on the same date.

Padraig Eugene McEagan had been the great grandfather she had never known, except for a few old pictures, now yellow and brittle, and torn with age. There were photographs of Padraig and his younger brother, James, with arms around each others shoulders, as a young soldiers with the American Army just before entering the Mexican-American War, only to be captured at war’s end and executed as a traitors by their former comrades in the U.S. Army. But what Rebecca thought as bizarre was that her own father did not even know these men Connemara claimed as a heroes. Paddy was only two when his father was killed by a British sniper, and he wasn’t even born when his grandfather and great uncle left for America, and where they were executed in Mexico. It was the tragic story children heard every year on September twelfth…a story that was further entrenched by others in the minds of children, who had family members, who had participated in this Mexican-American war.

The McEagan family was one those families who never forgot. They weren’t allowed to forget, especially after every Sunday Mass where the children were taken by Paddy to the statue of the Blessed Virgin, hidden in a dark alcove, with tier upon tier of candles surrounding her. There each child would light a candle and pray for their great grandda and great great uncle’s soul as well as the others who had lost their lives in this tragic war in a far away land called America.

Rebecca never once prayed for the man in the picture her father carried around in his breast vest pocket. She didn’t like the man in the picture. His ears were too big for his head and his face too small for the red bushy eyebrows, moustache and curly red hair, and big round eyes that just stared into nothingness. And his nose lay flat to one side, probably from being hit so many times in the boxing ring, for as a young lad he had won several fights in his short career as a boxer.

Rebecca wondered if her father would ever see her Jonathan as a man and only as a man, and not as an American….but as a man who loved his daughter. Unfortunately, Paddy was a man who never allowed himself the luxury of change and would never allow the past to stay in the past and there was no way the memory of his grandfather and his great uncle would ever escape her, especially now that she was involved with an American. For now Paddy only saw him as a filthy American bastard and what his kind had done to his family.

Rebecca thought matters couldn’t have gotten any worse with her father as the celebration of the Saint Patricks was nearing. Clifden and Galway would soon be in their festive fare as the yearly celebration of Ireland’s heroic men was held with the Archbishop Peter McArdie from Killarney opening the ceremonies in each town. He began with a solemn prayer honoring Captain John O’Riley of County Galway, the leader of the battalion who led nearly two hundred and fifty Irish immigrant soldiers to desert the U.S. Army and join forces with Mexico. The same distinct flag these Irish soldiers carried with them, the flag emblazoned with the figure of St. Patrick and the harp of Erin, calling themselves, the St. Patrick’s Battalion, flew in Clifden and Galway celebrating these men’s heroism.

And though Rebecca did not honor her great grandfather or great great uncle willfully, it was only because she did not know the men and she couldn’t understand why she had to pay her respects to these strangers her father honored. The only man she paid respect to was that of a distant cousin who at the age of one hundred and two still celebrated his comrade’s heroic deeds. A gentle old soul who slowly climbed, with help from others, the few steps to the platform aided by his cane and delivered the closing speech after Archbishop McArdie.

Slowly removing his hat he pointed to the big D that had been branded onto his face by American soldiers. The letter was now not so visible, because the deep lines that came with age had hidden the letter well.

With tears in his eyes he began his soft moving speech, "I was called a deserter…but none of us were deserters or traitors as the American’s claimed. We were good and brave Irish men who followed our conscious. Because we were Irish with our own beliefs we were treated differently. We were Catholic in a Protestant U.S. Army. We were treated as the scum of the earth when all we wanted was to be treated as equals. We followed the rules and commands of the U.S. Army and entered a war very much like the war we were fightin in our own homeland against the British Army. We were promised a piece of land to claim as our own but that was never to happen. Instead every Irishman was punished either as a deserter or a traitor.’

‘Yes…we left the United States Army during this bloody and greedy Mexican-American War only to join our fellow comrades on the Mexican side who were being treated savagely, and who many, even though they tried to surrender, were killed on sight. Old men, children and women, some with babes in their arms, some with babes in their bellies were killed like animals by these bloodthirsty Americans who showed no mercy for human life. And to this day the Americans still call the San Patricios, our St. Patricks, traitors and misfits, but Ireland and Mexico know the truth. Both countries will always remember these men as heroes, and we will honor these men every year on the anniversary of their deaths for no one knows better than me what it was we endured with the American Army and what we saw them, so savagely, do to these men they hung. I was branded a deserter and my brother was hung as a traitor. It is the least we can do for both the Irish and Mexican soldier who fought hard against the land greedy American. Forty-eight Irishmen were hung on this day, most of them our brothers, fathers, grandfathers, uncles, great uncles and friends, and now let us celebrate in silence these men who became Ireland’s heroes," the old man ended his speech.

Rebecca, along with the crowd could only hear the weeping that came from family members and friends as the image of women, children, and babies, and innocents were slaughtered by the Americans. And now the same slaughtering was being done by the British to the people of Ireland. She could understand her father’s hatred of both the Americans and the British, but he also had to understand that not all Americans were the same…there were some that had a good heart and wanted justice and peace just as her father wanted.

Why da…why can you not forget the past? Rebecca cried. It has been over seventy some years since the war ended and much has changed since then, especially our relations with the Americans. This is what Ryan has tried so hard to tell you da. But you are so hard headed and will not listen to anyone, except yourself. You will not listen to anyone except your friends at the White Owl, your sister, and that horrible of a human being one cannot call a man, Phil McHugh, who…da…is the real murderer among us.

Shut ya mouth lassie. Listen here lassie and listen well. This man and his companion, the one with the glasses who smokes a pipe I hear, are not here a takin pictures like you think lassie. They are here with the bloody Brits. Spies for the bloody bastards they are…ya hear me lassie…British spies a spying on us, a sending the information back to the British government. Did ya hear me lassie, British spies! Paddy yelled. And now ya mum and ya sister have too been taken in with these men’s lies.

Grabbing Rebecca by the shoulders he looked deep into her blue eyes and said, I want ya to know I be damned before I would invite the devil to me table. Be aware Rebecca, if I see that heathen or his friend, I be a shootin them dead, because these men will never bless this family or this house. No man in Ireland will recognize them as a friend of Ireland. Ya understand me lassie? I be the last person on this earth a lettin me daughter marry an American…I not be a havin it…I not be approvin it!

Heaving hard with beads of perspiration rolling down his face, Paddy glared at his daughter. His face red and swollen and his eyes, big and penetrating, bore into hers as if ready to devour her.

Ye disgust me lassie, he screamed as he stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind him.

The fire that had earlier warmed the room was now no more than black embers leaving the room cold and dark. Rebecca stood motionless, scarcely breathing shocked by her father’s anger and threats. It was not her father who spoke to her just now, but her Aunt Ruth. It was she who caused her father to speak such angry words…words that hurled down on her like thorns from a rose piercing her heart…making her bleed as she sat at the table and wept.

Why couldn’t he just once listen to her instead of his sister who was just as wicked and evil as Phil McHugh. What was it about his sister that he was at her beck and call but couldn’t do the same for his own family? Rebecca thought as she stood in front of the fireplace shivering, not from the cold but from the anger that stirred within her.

He cannot mean what he said, Rebecca cried to her mum the next day when she explained what had taken place between she and her father. He just can’t. Mum…ever since he found out about me and Jonathan he has done nothing but talk about killin him and his friend. I don’t know what to do mum?

Katherine looked at her daughter as Rebecca wept and tried to make sense of all that was occurring in such a short time.

Rebecca…sometimes your da will say things out of anger, but he will not go after ya Jonathan or his friend. Ya Aunt Ruth has her hand in this I know, and I will be a talkin to ya da, but there is nothing I can do right now with the anger he carries with him. It has been quite a shock for him and it will take him time to settle down. In the meantime, I will get your brother to get a hold of your Aunt Ruth and Phil McHugh and give them a good talkin to as well. But lassie, I fear the talkin ya brother gives to McHugh will do little in stoppin him from a talkin about ya Jonathan and his friend. There is nothin we can do about McHugh. McHugh is behind this anger of ya da’s with the two Americans, fueled by ya Aunt Ruth, so we have to tread softly in this matter because we know how ya da feels about his sister, so for now we have to wait until your da calms down.

But mum, ever since he found out about me and me Jonathan, he has done nothing but rant and rave about a killin them as British spies. He said he would kill them if they ever neared our home or if he found him with me. I have never in me life seen him in such a violent manner. It was as if the devil himself had jumped into his body and ravaged his heart and soul. Mum…it was not da who spoke to me, Rebecca cried.

Aye…lassie…for the time being, ye and Maggie have to keep your minds on this weddin. Ya da will simmer down, but right now we have to put his anger aside. We have a weddin in two days time and there still be much to do before then. And Rebecca, I want ya to have a fittin with Judy’s dress and veil, and God willin it can be done by tomorrow because come Saturday Judy will be walkin down the aisle a wearin ye and Maggie’s beautiful dress, and Rebecca, she will be a wearin ye veil. We only have two days left lassies…that be all. Roddy and Judy’s weddin will come first, and I will make your da understand that as well, and Rebecca…ya meetins with Jonathan will have to be scarce for the time until we can get this weddin out of the way.

There’s no one so special to me heart as that of me beloved Jonathan, she spoke silently pacing in front of Maggie who was rocking in her rocker sympathizing with her sister. Maggie…if Ryan was home he would be able to straighten out da.

Rebecca…are ya daft? Ya know that Ryan and da don’t see eye to eye on anything. And da would never talk to Ryan because he be now a priest and ya know how da feels about him becomin a priest. Ya can forget the idea…get it out of your head now! And this business of Ryan a fixin everything between ye and da and Jonathan is the worst idea ya have thought of. Lassie…I be a tellin ya right here and now…it will never happen.

Aye…ya be right Maggie…but I am happy that Jonathan and Pierce are safe in the Aran Islands for now, working on a story, but where in the blazes is Ryan? No one knows, not even Father Mahonney would say. Maggie what am I to do?

First…you be a goin to finish Judy’s veil and then we are going to get her dress ready for her fittin…her mum is just about out of her mind tryin to keep Judy calm and hopefully from she havin her baby. Maggie said as she held the veil in her hands examining the intricate lace. Maggie handed the veil to Rebecca and said, the weddin is the day after tomorrow Rebecca…ya do not have much time, and if ya can lassie, please try and forget Jonathan until after the weddin.

Rebecca traded places with Maggie and obediently sat in the rocking chair looking out her bedroom window and then slowly began the intricate stitches that would finish Judy’s veil, but the fear of her father going after Jonathan and Pierce was never far from her mind.

61727.png

In the silence of her room, with the storm brewing its wickedness outside, her thoughts turned to Jonathan and the many reasons why she had fallen in love with him. And then her thoughts turned to Ryan, and how much Jonathan was like her brother. And the more she compared the two men the more she came to realize just how much alike they were.

If no one had known them, they could have easily passed as kin, although her brother was built like an elephant, their mannerisms, their gentle and caring ways were so identical it was unnatural. Jonathan’s raven blue black hair, eyes the color of emerald green, and sleek muscular features on a six foot plus frame of pure manliness was nothing short of Herculean in stature, while her brother was more of a robust gargantuan….a gentle giant to whom a man’s soul was his to pray over. Rebecca smiled as she thought of the similarities and the difference between the two. But most noticeably was the deep strong manly voice of Jonathans that spoke of bravery and courage, not fearing anything or anyone. But then she was describing Ryan as well, especially when he spoke at the dinner table about Ireland’s fight for their freedom from the British.

It was a beautiful sight, Rebecca remembered, to see friends and family gathered around after dinner toasting her brother, this warrior who preached Ireland’s freedom with such words not heard from a priest that could easily have placed him in front of a British firing squad, even if it came about after several pints of the brew under his belt. And yet, he was always forgiven for such brazen talk so unbecoming of a humble pious priest, especially Father Mahonney, who praised Ryan more than any of the others at the table with Rebecca’s mum admiring her son for his beliefs. He was forgiven by everyone he came in contact with when it came to Ireland’s freedom…everyone, except his father. Paddy never forgave his son.

Paddy would never bring himself to forgive Ryan for giving his life to the priesthood and hiding behind the dress of the church. Ryan was a disgrace in his eyes, an embarrassment, and it was the one toast Paddy never allowed his son to have at the dinner table when it came to toasting his son, but Father Mahonney and Katherine overruled him and this angered Paddy even more…despising his son…vanishing him out of his life.

And just as Ryan was so like Jonathan, except for Ryan’s physique, it was the opposite with Ryan and Paddy. Paddy was short and stocky, with flaming red hair and blue eyes and a temper to match. Ryan, on the other hand, had inherited his mother’s looks and gentle demeanor. And because of their black hair, angular features, and creamy white skin, he and his mother, like so many of his mother’s side of the family, Ryan had inherited the same distinctive features of the Black Irish.

There never was a day that a row did not occur between Ryan and Paddy with Paddy punishing Ryan unmercifully for giving up his life as a man, as a rebel, and a fighter, and instead, hiding under the skirts of the church. A eunuch is what ya have become, Paddy would shout to his son. If ye grandda and great granda had been alive, how ashamed they would be of their only grandson not a fightin for Ireland’s freedom but instead for the shameless and cowardly decision he had made for himself.

Rebecca could recite the speech Paddy gave Ryan after every meal or on other special family occasions…Me dear priestly son, he would begin, starting low and then building up to a crescendo as if wanting the whole of Ireland to hear, me priestly son, what a mouth of bravery ya spout in front of our family and friends, but sadly not the balls the dear Lord gave ya, to join the IRB…ye Irish Republican Brothers…our rebels in a fightin the filthy beasts the devil has brought to our shores. Ireland does not need saints, it needs fearless and courageous men…a man I was not able to give from me own loins. I was the unfortunate da who created a gutless, worthless, coward of a man. And one more thing before ya leave…I be a tellin ya…I claim ye as no son of mine. Ya have brought nothing but shame and embarrassment to the McEagan name. I cannot or will not ever forgive ya for this decision ya have made for ye lot in life.

Ryan, calm and patient, slow to anger, tried never to argue with his father, especially after several pints of the brew and maybe several shots of the whiskey that followed. Yet, Ryan would always leave with his