Read Online The Devil's Due: An Irish Historical Thriller by L.D. Beyer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: L.D. Beyer
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another glance out the window and felt my stomach sink. Billy was now talking to Mary. But if she was nervous now she hid it well.
“What’s this all about?” the conductor asked again.
I turned, narrowed my eyes and coughed, my hand on my chest. “I’m…” I said and coughed again. “I’ve been sick,” I said in a weak voice. Then I turned, doubled over and coughed once more.
Eyes wide, the conductor backed away. Like many, he feared the consumption or whatever disease I might be carrying.
I wiped the non-existent sweat off my forehead, let out a loud breath, contorting my face.
“I only need a moment…..” My voice hoarse, I never finished the sentence, unable due to the bout of coughing that had overcome me.
The conductor took another step back.
“Just a moment,” I continued, trying my best to wheeze, “and then I’ll be gone.”
He glanced back up the now empty train car. He was confused and that was all I needed. Ignoring him, I put my face up to the glass again and let out a soft moan, hoping the conductor would go away. The whole while, I could feel his eyes on my back.
Mary was by herself now, staring down toward the front of the train. After a moment she turned, searching, then her eyes found mine. She glanced down the track once more then back at me. Finally she nodded. Billy was gone.
___
It was several minutes later when I stepped onto the platform that I let out the breath I’d been holding.
“Mary!” I said. “It’s grand to see you.”
“You shouldn’t have come,” she said, her voice sharp.
Without another word, she turned on her heel and led me away. I realized that she had probably been angry with me since the day I had fled. I held my own tongue, knowing that she had earned the right. As much as I wanted to ask about my son, I couldn’t. Not yet and not until she had a chance to say her piece.
Outside the station, Mary’s son, Tim, was waiting by the cart. But Kathleen and my son were nowhere to be seen. Let down, I smiled anyway.
“Tim!” I said. “How are you, lad?”
“Getting on,” he said softly.
As quiet as I remembered him and with barely a glance my way, Tim took my steamer and, without another word, hefted it up on the cart. Was he angry too? I wondered. Or had he become more sullen the year I was away? His own mood seemed to follow his mother’s.
I sighed. The reunion I had pictured in my head had only been a dream. I had hoped Kathleen would be here too, to meet me at the station. I had pictured holding my son as Kathleen told me all about him. I counted again, as I had done numerous times. My son would be eight months old now. I didn’t know much about caring for a child, but I knew it was difficult and maybe Kathleen had decided it was best to send Mary and Tim to meet me.
My steamer loaded, Tim stood waiting by the cart. I turned to Mary to help her up.
“You shouldn’t have come,” she said again. She stood before me, hands planted on her hips, daring me to disagree. I wasn’t sure what I could say to ease the tension. Mary stared at me, waiting for my answer.
I shrugged. “How could I not, Mary?”
She shook her head. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” she asked, her voice shrill.
I felt the fear rising in my chest again. Have I been wrong about Mary? I knew well the fate that waited for unmarried mothers. At the first signs that they were pregnant, young girls were sent away. Tainted for life, the baby and mother were left to languish in shame at the Magdalen Laundry or a home run by the Sisters of Mercy. Reform schools the Catholic Church called them. Somewhere out in the country; out of sight, out of mind. The Church was good at sweeping its problems under the rug. But I never thought Mary would do that, not to her own sister.
“She hasn’t been sent away? Has she?” I searched her eyes.
Mary said nothing for a moment, then dropped her hands. She shook her head.
Thank God, I said silently.
“Kathleen and
“What’s this all about?” the conductor asked again.
I turned, narrowed my eyes and coughed, my hand on my chest. “I’m…” I said and coughed again. “I’ve been sick,” I said in a weak voice. Then I turned, doubled over and coughed once more.
Eyes wide, the conductor backed away. Like many, he feared the consumption or whatever disease I might be carrying.
I wiped the non-existent sweat off my forehead, let out a loud breath, contorting my face.
“I only need a moment…..” My voice hoarse, I never finished the sentence, unable due to the bout of coughing that had overcome me.
The conductor took another step back.
“Just a moment,” I continued, trying my best to wheeze, “and then I’ll be gone.”
He glanced back up the now empty train car. He was confused and that was all I needed. Ignoring him, I put my face up to the glass again and let out a soft moan, hoping the conductor would go away. The whole while, I could feel his eyes on my back.
Mary was by herself now, staring down toward the front of the train. After a moment she turned, searching, then her eyes found mine. She glanced down the track once more then back at me. Finally she nodded. Billy was gone.
___
It was several minutes later when I stepped onto the platform that I let out the breath I’d been holding.
“Mary!” I said. “It’s grand to see you.”
“You shouldn’t have come,” she said, her voice sharp.
Without another word, she turned on her heel and led me away. I realized that she had probably been angry with me since the day I had fled. I held my own tongue, knowing that she had earned the right. As much as I wanted to ask about my son, I couldn’t. Not yet and not until she had a chance to say her piece.
Outside the station, Mary’s son, Tim, was waiting by the cart. But Kathleen and my son were nowhere to be seen. Let down, I smiled anyway.
“Tim!” I said. “How are you, lad?”
“Getting on,” he said softly.
As quiet as I remembered him and with barely a glance my way, Tim took my steamer and, without another word, hefted it up on the cart. Was he angry too? I wondered. Or had he become more sullen the year I was away? His own mood seemed to follow his mother’s.
I sighed. The reunion I had pictured in my head had only been a dream. I had hoped Kathleen would be here too, to meet me at the station. I had pictured holding my son as Kathleen told me all about him. I counted again, as I had done numerous times. My son would be eight months old now. I didn’t know much about caring for a child, but I knew it was difficult and maybe Kathleen had decided it was best to send Mary and Tim to meet me.
My steamer loaded, Tim stood waiting by the cart. I turned to Mary to help her up.
“You shouldn’t have come,” she said again. She stood before me, hands planted on her hips, daring me to disagree. I wasn’t sure what I could say to ease the tension. Mary stared at me, waiting for my answer.
I shrugged. “How could I not, Mary?”
She shook her head. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” she asked, her voice shrill.
I felt the fear rising in my chest again. Have I been wrong about Mary? I knew well the fate that waited for unmarried mothers. At the first signs that they were pregnant, young girls were sent away. Tainted for life, the baby and mother were left to languish in shame at the Magdalen Laundry or a home run by the Sisters of Mercy. Reform schools the Catholic Church called them. Somewhere out in the country; out of sight, out of mind. The Church was good at sweeping its problems under the rug. But I never thought Mary would do that, not to her own sister.
“She hasn’t been sent away? Has she?” I searched her eyes.
Mary said nothing for a moment, then dropped her hands. She shook her head.
Thank God, I said silently.
“Kathleen and
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