The Troubles (The Jessica Trilogy Book 2)

by Connie Johnson Hambley

  “Is she alright?”

  Anna Marie’s eyes darted to the side and she bit her lower lip, slightly skewed because of her broken tooth. “Aye. She is.”

  “And she’s safe?”

  “She is that, too.”

  Gus couldn’t hide the wash of relief that spread over him. He took a long pull of stout, considering his next questions. Bridget had sent Anna Marie in her place for a reason.

  “I heard about the raid on the Ardoyne flats. Papers said the RUC caught a few women, but their names weren’t listed. They thought they had identified two of the leaders, Daniel Heinchon and another man named Harvey. They were looking for them both—plus Harvey’s wife.”

  A spilled pool of light caramel-colored foam puddled on the table. Anna Marie fidgeted her index finger through it and took a few nervous sips before she spoke, her voice low and quiet. “Aye. Someone inside doubled us to the Brits. They heard that one of the women was getting orders from her husband. They’ve put a net out for them both.”

  Gus wasn’t sure whether to smile or shout. “Figures the feckin’ tans wouldn’t conceive a woman was thinkin’ up these plans. So they’re looking for Mr. and Mrs. Harvey?”

  “They are at that, but we know better. The soldiers went door to door last week in the dead of night. They rounded up a few of the men, no women. Those were horrible nights, Gus. We had to bury three of our men because they barred their homes to stop the soldiers from entering, and were shot for it. It was all the leaders could do to keep the riots from breaking out then and there. But she’s gone under and sent me to tell you that she’s fine and will contact you when the pressure is off.”

  She twitched around in her seat, picking at an invisible pill on her sleeve. Then she looked at the faded watercolor paintings of bucolic fields that dotted the walls of the greasy pub and surveyed the overhead lights, still off in the afternoon light. She looked everywhere but at Gus.

  He nodded his head slowly as he understood the situation, if it were real, would warrant no less caution. The bundle of nerves in front of him did not put him at ease.

  “There’s more.” He didn’t bother to frame it as a question.

  The fidgeting stopped as she drew in a deep breath. Anna Marie drew back her shoulders, raised her chin, and finally looked him in the eye.

  “No. There’s nothing more. Be assured she’s safe and in hiding until it’s clear for her to come out. If everything’s settled, she expects to be back in touch after the first of the year. She knows how to reach you when she’s ready.” Dictate delivered, her head nodded once with feigned conviction.

  Gus couldn’t be sure if he heard hoarseness in her voice. She blinked her eyes rapidly and looked around the pub again, suddenly remembering more.

  “Do you have word on her sister? She’s desperate for news.”

  Margaret was equally desperate to get news to her sister and had begged Gus to accept her scheme and made him promise to at least tell Bridget her idea. But on the passage back he had time to think. It dawned on him that acting on Margaret’s idea would be the only way for Gus to have Bridget in his life. Bridget was all he wanted, and he could feel his heart overtaking his head. For a brief moment, in that stinking pub and in front of the only link he had to her, he allowed himself the indulgence of yearning for her.

  His shoulders dropped as he conveyed the plan. “Margaret convinced her new husband to purchase a horse farm north of Boston.” He saw Anna Marie’s eyes widen as he continued. “Jim is a top notch mate, and he’s hired me to help him raise thoroughbreds. Margaret is very, very happy,” he said, surprised his own voice thickened, “and she pleaded with me to convince Bridget to come live with her. I’ll be able to move money and make the occasional supply run from their farm to help our cause, but Margaret is adamant that all efforts be made to get Bridget out of Northern Ireland as soon as possible. Margaret says there is a growing network of support for reunification in the Boston community and Bridget can continue working from there. She’ll be safe there.”

  He looked at the young, fresh-faced rebel in front of him to make sure the message was delivered loudly and clearly that another life awaited Bridget if she would only allow it. To leave no doubt, he added, “And tell her I’ll be waiting.”

  Anna Marie could not stop her eyes from brimming over. She hastily wiped her cheek with the back of a shaking hand. “I’ll tell her, Gus. I will,” she said in barely more than a whisper.

  Gus finished his pint in one downing and put a few pound notes on the table. When he walked out the door, it was with the heavy knowledge that the walk back to his room would be far longer than the walk there.

  When she was sure he was gone, Anna Marie finally let the sobs escape.

  BALLYRONAN, NORTHERN IRELAND

  MICHAEL WAS EXCITED to spend the day sightseeing with Jessica. He decided to drive Lough Neagh’s entire circumference counterclockwise, taking in as many nooks and coves as possible. Even Murray was more animated as he packed a lunch and gave last minute instructions on best routes to take around the lake, quietly remarking to Michael that help would be out of sight but close-by if needed.

  Ballyronan sat on the northwest shore, and Michael decided to start by driving south, making the longest drive first to get to Aghalee. The town where Bridget spent her summers was roughly directly across from Ballyronan. From there, they would head north to Antrim and leave the shortest leg of the trip back to his home. Driving the entire shoreline of the lake with their planned stops would take all day.

  The most traffic, if one could call it such, was waiting for the churches to empty or for a farmer and his dog to herd cows from pastures to milking sheds. Judging by the copious amounts of flat cow pies stinking up the road, this was a frequent occurrence. At one crossing, a border collie with its shaggy black and white coat, didn’t move its ringed eyes from the herd and stayed focused while he worked. The farmer, on the other hand, stared at the gleaming car and its decidedly American occupants. He leaned on his staff a long while to get a good look in, tipping his cap slightly when they passed.

  The cluster of buildings that called itself Aghalee gave a feeling that time had stopped. If it weren’t for the modern cars dotting the streets, any picture could easily be mistaken for one taken years ago. A dilapidated mix of stone and wooden buildings lined two streets that intersected at a town green and a church. Jessica leafed through Bridget’s pictures and found two with the church featured in the background. In the foreground of the first picture were two men, arms around each other’s shoulders in the age-old stance of brotherly love and kinship. One face she clearly recognized as a young and robust Gus Adams. The other man, dressed in the long cassock of the church, was familiar to Jessica in a way she couldn’t pinpoint, and she wondered how many other pictures he was in. The second picture was clearly taken at an earlier time showing the same scene and the same two men. This time, the other man was dressed as Gus was dressed—a pair of trousers held up by thick suspenders over loose fitting shirts with the sleeves rolled up on. The happiness and camaraderie of the two men was obvious.

  Michael took a handful of odd photographs into the small store, hoping to learn more about the island Murray identified. Behind the counter sat an old woman wearing thick-rimmed eyeglass and a red cardigan sweater that had seen better days. He asked if she knew anyone who may have lived at the cottages. The woman began chattering away at him with such a thick brogue, he could only pick out bits and pieces. He caught enough to learn that a company bought out all of the cottages decades ago to make a resort. They went out of business a few years ago. No one was left who used to live there. The shopkeeper repeatedly jabbed her finger at the pictures and pointed at the church. The most he could make out was that the church’s name was something like Saint Artues or San Garthues.

  He emerged with a bag of crisps and written directions and told Jessica the bits he had learned.

  They passed a sign that proclaimed, “Solstice Beach Cabins! Where Families and
Memories Are Made,” and burst into laughter. The resort never caught on with young city-dwelling families for good reason. If the road weren’t problematic enough, the cottages themselves would have had a chilling effect on all but the most determined couples. Contrary to what a family resort would normally boast, the cluster of buildings did not have a central meeting place, playground, ball courts, or any of the other amenities expected and needed by vacationing families. The buildings were sprinkled throughout the grounds, evidence that they were initially built by families wanting privacy from one another, away from inquisitive eyes. The beach, although beautiful, was rocky and had only a small sandy area. Evidence of paths could be seen winding up into the surrounding fields and wooded areas. The property sat, boarded and empty.

  Jessica looked around with a mixture of melancholy and amusement. The gaiety and laughter she enjoyed earlier faded into an unreadable mood as she settled herself by the shore.

  “Not what you thought you’d see?” Michael asked, sensing she may need some prodding to talk.

  She smiled weakly. “I’m not sure what I was expecting. I keep thinking that I’m supposed to have some sort of epiphany about my family roots, where everything makes sense and I feel connected to the larger world. I keep waiting for that one moment, but it never comes. I’m sitting in the very spot my mother sat, looking at the same island she saw, and breathing the same air she breathed.” Jessica settled herself on a rock by the shore, and dangled her feet into the warm waters. “I’m empty.”

  “You’re being too hard on yourself,” he said, rolling up his pant legs and sitting beside her. He let his feet stroke hers, warm water inviting. “You have a kind of freedom that will let you move forward without feeling like you’re letting somebody down all the time.”

  “But you know how you’re connected, whether you’re happy with it or not.”

  “I’m happy with you. We fit.” He raised his eyebrow to telegraph exactly how he wanted them to fit, again. The sooner, the better.

  Jessica raised her eyebrows in a knowing glance. He couldn’t help but pull her closer. He loved the sound of her laugh, a light throaty chuckle that seemed to flow out of her, like the sound of water bubbling through a brook. Her cares vanished and she seemed open to the world, not tentative or hidden. The few glimpses he had of that Jessica—the Jessica without worries and simply happy—stabbed him with a potent longing. He wanted that. “You’ll be okay. You’ll get through this.”

  Jessica kissed him deeply, then settled her head on his shoulder. “You, too.” She hopped down from the rock into shin deep water and picked her way over the rocky bottom, keeping her eyes on the shore.

  Michael watched her. The light hitting Jessica made her stand out in sharp relief against the rich blue of the sky and the bronze of the rocks. The pale skin of her legs, untouched yet by the summer sun, shone almost white as she balanced and easily made her way through the water. The outline of her body shone through her cotton shirt, one hand stuffed in the pocket of her cutoff jeans, the other holding back her hair. He hopped down and waded after her, knowing he would follow her anywhere.

  “Looking for something?”

  She scanned the shoreline ahead of them and pointed to a large, flat rock surrounded by an outcropping of trees. She nodded her head in their direction. “There,” she said and scrambled up the bank.

  At the top, a natural path hidden between rocks led her to another clearing. Tree stumps formed a circle around an old firepit. She sat down on one stump and motioned to the other for Michael. “Bridget’s journals talked about this place a lot. She and Gean Cánach fell in love and she...” Jessica hesitated, “she lost her virginity here and had other lovers, too.”

  Michael registered surprise as the information sank in. When he felt she was ready, he brushed the hair from her face, kissed her forehead and the tip of her nose, and led her by the hand back to the car. He sensed how her confusion and yearning to learn collided. In one sense, she needed the information to become whole, but each new nugget of knowledge brought with it an awkward awareness of invading private spaces. He knew exactly who his father was and wished he didn’t. She had huge gaps in knowledge about her mother and no knowledge of her father. He wondered who was better off.

  As the day progressed, he noted she became tense each time the security detail came into view. Even maintaining a discrete distance was not enough to keep her from noticing. Michael kept up a steady stream of conversation on topics he knew would keep her mood light. He mixed memories of growing up in Massachusetts with the foreigner’s confusion of being a child summering in a foreign country—horrified by things called bangers and mash that the locals seemed to love and being perplexed by tuna fish sandwiches with flecks of canned yellow corn in them. As long as she was enjoying herself, he kept the stories flowing.

  By the time they reached the school, Jessica’s cheeks were pink with laughter. She hugged his arm as they walked along the brick paths that connected the buildings.

  “The board members who were opposed to my ideas have been asked to retire. Last month’s meeting was tense and the headmaster proved himself an ass.”

  “Why?”

  “The school was his fiefdom long before I started funneling money into it. Liam had the idea to invest in it. He knew I wanted to undo some of the damage my father did to children and families—like what happened to your family. Many Charity holdings work well with what I want, but the headmaster couldn’t adapt. He was fired.”

  “I never knew it was your uncle’s idea for you to buy the school.” She let go of his arm and took a step back. “Is he here? Can I meet him?”

  It’s what he wanted, too. He had asked Liam to be at the school, to meet Jessica and to see for himself why Michael was so taken with her. The typically warm and social Liam froze solid whenever he heard her name. Liam was adamant. Michael’s focus should be on business. No room existed for anything else. Even if Liam tried to bluff his way through formalities, he couldn’t hide his displeasure. “He’s not here. A prior commitment,” Michael said with his voice tapering. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be if he’s not. All of the talk of gun-running and smuggling, and making it sound like investments and business? I hate it.” She shook her head forcefully. “I hate hearing about a bombing and wondering if it’s connected with you. The vision you have for the school, to help and give back, I love that part of you.” He watched her as she looked up at the buildings and down the walks, as if planning her escape. “I’m trying to make sense of all of this... this,” she waved her hand as she spoke, unable to finish her sentence. “You’re close to Liam, but I don’t understand why he’s so involved with your affairs.”

  “He’s a vital link. Without him, the organization would not be stable.” He hoped his voice conveyed more confidence than he felt. “Magnus had plans in place before he died. Liam knows I need to get support before I make changes.”

  The endless meetings he had with the organizations operating under the MMC name were fruitless. Liam made sure to introduce him only to organizations like hospitals, relief organizations, or biomedical research firms. Each time he pressed for details on other holdings, the information was so vetted, he learned next to nothing.

  Liam’s strategy was to build Michael’s public image with humanitarian organizations and didn’t want to compete against Jessica’s fame. Michael felt Liam’s resistance to meet her was more that Liam didn’t want a constant reminder of what desperate men were capable of. “I need to quietly get control of who supports the unrest. It’s a balancing act. I need time.”

  “Time you don’t have. Good organizations don’t bomb or kill. The risk is not with MMC. It’s with the rest of the Charity... or your uncle.” A slow stream of breath escaped her as the recent warmth between them cooled.

  He was afraid of what was in her silence. Knowing she had no choice but to move forward was very different from supporting him or wanting to be a part of his life. A fluttering desperation gri
pped him as the need for her approval grew. “I know,” he said, desperate to explain himself. “My father was incredibly connected. It would take time I don’t have to forge my own relationships with his contacts. Doing an end-run around them by bulldozing my way into new relationships will only create enemies and solidify the impression that I’m an outsider. I need Liam.”

  He could see her standing beside him, three-dimensional and whole, but something had fallen away. In some cruel trick of the shimmering light, he felt that his outstretched arms would pass right through her, as if she had become an image reflected on mist. It was his fault she was in Ireland, and that evidenced his weakness. He wanted her to feel as connected as he did to this place. If she couldn’t feel it, then he wanted her to feel connected to him in the way he did to her, that his entire existence was cultivated and given purpose by her. But she remained more aloof than he could bear.

  When Jessica looked up at him, her expression had changed from confusion to concern, then to wariness. He watched as she pulled her lips over her teeth as if biting back words that wanted to be spoken. Finally she said, “We should get back. Murray will be worried.”

  How could he tell her that having her beside him made the mountain less steep and gave him the confidence that he could change the world? Seeing her on his school’s grounds seemed so right, so fitting. Eventually, she would grow to understand his world. He didn’t let the change in her demeanor stop him from scooping her up in his arms and burying his face in her hair. Sad the day was ending, he drove them back to Ballyronan, ignorant of what awaited.