Trinity

by Leon Uris

  "What's in store for me?" Conor asked.

  "Well, you're not going back, Conor," he said with finality.

  "I guess I know that now. But I'll not be driven out of this country, either."

  "I'm painfully aware."

  "Painfully, Mr. Ingram . . . just because I can't stomach the injustice?"

  "Painfully, because you're going to spend your life trying to do something about it. There's nothing wrong with fighting injustice. It's only that, well, I'm trying to tell you what your father had tried to tell you."

  "What . . ."

  “So long as the voices ring in your ears you may never find peace."

  Conor stood and waved his hands to say that was nonsense. "I don't know what book you thought you read on me, but you're mistaken."

  "Am I?"

  "But how can you know?"

  "Conor, there's a certain moment in each man when he becomes completely alive. Alive like at no other time, when he lights the very sky with his vivacity. Of course some people lack that capacity and others don't seem to have it outside of the sex act. This fragment, this instant of electricity that strikes, is really you, your soul, your being. I sometimes feel it in me when I hear a magnificent actor reading Shakespeare. I become transformed, unique, complete. We're friends, Conor, I know I've seen that moment in you many times."

  Conor paled. "Are you passing a sentence on me, Mr. Ingram?"

  "No, but if you realize and accept, it may make it easier

  "Tell me what you read in the book, Mr. Ingram . . . tell me!"

  "I read that Conor Larkin of Ballyutogue joined a small band of brothers because he had no real choice in the matter. They called any cot in any hidden peeling room their home. In the beginning he was fired up with slogans and an awesome sense of righteousness. Then, when blow after blow and disenchantment upon disenchantment rained down, the slogans became shadows without substance and, in the end, very little changed for all his efforts."

  "Aw, you're daft, man, no such thing's been written for me!"

  Andrew Ingram made no effort to reply for a time. His pipe soured and he set it down and his eyes moistened. "The day that Seamus left for Queen's, Enid and I talked the night through wondering whatever was to become of our two papist rebels. I marked a volume here that night and I said, "Perhaps Conor will visit one day and ask me why things are as they are with him." Would you like to see it, Conor?"

  "The book of truth?" he whispered.

  Ingram went to the shelves and withdrew one. A marker was in it. He opened the page and spoke now, with a voice rich from reading.

  "Innumerable force of Spirits armed,

  That durst dislike his reign, and, me preferring,

  His utmost power with adverse power opposed

  In dubious battle on the plains of Heaven,

  And shook his throne. What though the field be lost?

  And is not lost: the unconquerable will,

  And a study of revenge, immortal hate,

  And courage never to submit or yield,

  And what is else, not to be overcome?"

  He handed Conor the volume of Paradise Lost and Conor opened it to the first page where it had been inscribed, "For my beloved student, Conor Larkin, a soldier in dubious battle."

  CHAPTER TWO

  From the moment Liam and Conor left, Finola's mind was ablaze, for the passing of the land had to be seriously thought out. Tomas would not accept that Conor wasn't going to return, but Finola knew it as reality. In her eyes, both of her sons were gone and should be considered gone forever. Dary was along his way toward eventual priesthood, spending a great deal of his time serving mass and otherwise in the vicinity of St. Columba's.

  This left Brigid to be considered as sole heiress. Plain, religious, hard-working Brigid was toward her seventeenth year and the object of many quiet discussions and subtle plots by the circling hawks of mothers. There were a number of eligibles in Ballyutogue due to inherit land who could do worse than marry the name and get the dowry of a Larkin.

  Putting two and two together, the answer always came out to be Seamus’ older brother Colm, who, in his late twenties, was just the proper age among the younger bachelors in line for a farm. It was completely logical to Finola that the joining of Colm and Brigid and their two farms should culminate a lifetime of neighborliness together. Total combined acreage would number over sixty and set them among the most prosperous Catholics in the district.

  Yet it was a dicy subject, even between such close friends as Finola and Mairead. True to fashion, Mairead stood ready to claw out the eyes of any young thing who got too close to her Colm. If traditions were followed, Mairead would keep him a bachelor even if she became widowed in the event Fergus departed first. The idea of sharing her kitchen with another female was unthinkable. Nonetheless, Finola knew Mairead harbored deep and motherly feelings for her daughter and in the event of widowhood there would still be two cottages and things could be worked out so the women wouldn't get on top of each other. Finola inched into the matter gingerly. To her utmost joy she found her dear friend had been considering exactly the same matter on her own.

  Fergus and Tomas knew the workings of their wives' heads. Besides, it took no particular genius to figure out what they were arranging. Both men gave tacit blessings to the matter. Tomas simply left the possibility of Conor's return unsaid.

  Everything seemed to be proceeding in grand order except for a small detail. Brigid, a sweet and innocent lass, had no idea of the maneuverings and, never having been made a party to it, had germinated a few little seeds of her own.

  For near on two years, what with Liam in the fields, Conor at the forge, and Dary being kept from menial tasks, Brigid had done the daily milking and carted it to the crossroad for collection. At the crossroad and under the hanging tree she, met Myles McCracken, who was doing the same. The McCrackens had the smallest, poorest, stoniest, highest-in-the-heather farm in Ballyutogue. However, poverty did nothing to detract from Myles's good looks and in a way he reminded Brigid of her brother Conor.

  Their eyes started seeking each other at the daily gathering and after a time they began to arrive at the crossroad earlier and earlier for, without truly saying it, they did so in order to be alone together. Conversation came haltingly, with neither of them relating their growing feelings. They always made certain the other would be attending a fair or ceilidhe and when an event such as a wake or wedding took place it meant they could spend hours together, however never relating their true and growing emotions.

  Finola, ever on the alert, sniffed trouble over Brigid's anxiety to get to the crossroad each morning. One day she trailed her as far as St. Columba's where she slipped into the church and lit a few candles for her departed sons. From a vantage point alongside the confessional she was able to see the hanging tree and confirm her suspicions. They were mooning at one another like sick calves. Myles McCracken was the worst possible thing that could happen. The family was so poor they had to count the crumbs they threw to the birds. Myles was the middle of seven sons and wouldn't be inheriting so much as the skin off a potato.

  "We'd better be having a talk with Brigid," Finola announced the very same evening to Tomas. "It's time we be thinking of making a suitable arrangement for her."

  Tomas grunted a knowing breath. "I suppose you've given full consideration with whom such an arrangement should be made?"

  "If your eyes could see farther than your pint, you'd know Colm O'Neill himself is seeking her favor."

  "And I suppose you and Mairead have done all the preliminary groundwork?"

  "And I suppose there is a better match to be had in Ballyutogue," she snapped.

  "And I suppose you wouldn't be thinking of joining the farms, now would you?"

  Finola knew she had to tread her ground carefully, for joining the farms meant acceptance of the fact that Conor wasn't coming back, something Tomas would never concede.

  "No such thing," she said. "I'm considering the fact that they
make a good couple and have known each other their entire lives. Well, are you for the match or not?"

  Tomas flopped his arms. "Jaysus," he moaned, "I wish Colm weren't such a blister. He's a real bog swaddy. Does Brigid truly care for him?"

  "What's that got to do with marriage?" she asked.

  "It had something to do with us once," he answered.

  Perhaps a twinge of memory stirred when he said that, but if it did she covered any feelings, pouring tea emotionlessly and pressing her case. "If you want to know who she likes, I'll tell you who she likes. She likes Myles McCracken."

  "The tall streaker?"

  “That's who indeed. There's a bad scant to the entire McCracken image. The whole family together has about as much meat on them as a pair of tongs."

  Tomas didn't like that, either. He had been battling with devils of doubt since his sons left and wanted no more of another weighty decision. Myles McCracken did mean trouble.

  *

  Naive as Brigid was, she could not help but pick up the vibrations around her. Visits on three consecutive nights by Colm unnerved her. He was an old friend, indeed, the oldest she had, but Colm could never be anything but a friend. Now he was making bumbling approaches so even their friendship was in jeopardy.

  Brigid loved her brother Conor dearly but she knew in her heart he would never return and she began to harbor her own desires about the farm. Her initial caution became an unspoken determination. With the scent of conspiracy growing pungent, she vowed to take a stand on Colm O'Neill.

  The young people of Ballyutogue plotted to get away from their parents and Father Lynch's eyes by covering each other's chores and acting as lookouts at the rendezvous points. The ruins of the old Norman keep had a perfect vista to all approaches and a single watchman could warn a dozen pairs of lovers with a simple bird call.

  Myles waited at the footbridge just over the stream from the keep. She crossed to him and they held hands and kissed each other's cheeks, which was fairly minor among the sins, then disappeared into the ash grove.

  "I've missed you, Brigid."

  "And I've missed you."

  "When your ma showed up at the crossroad with the milk the last three days I knew she was getting suspicious."

  "Nothing of the sort," Brigid lied. "I'm just doing some of the heavier work because she's had a bad back."

  "Oh, that's good that she doesn't suspect," Myles said.

  "Myles," she said sharply, "I want you to kiss me."

  "Ah sure!" he answered, pecking her cheek.

  "No. Kiss me on the lips."

  "On the lips!"

  "Aye, and hold me in your arms while you're doing it."

  He held up his hands defensively and backed off. "My God, have you taken leave of your mind? It's very dangerous. We can get into all sorts of trouble."

  "I checked with Abbey O'Malley. Her sister Brendt used to do it all the time before she married, even with Conor and Seamus."

  "My God, suppose something happens?"

  "Well, what could happen?"

  "Well, you know."

  "You can't get pregnant from kissing," she said.

  "But it can lead to all sorts of things."

  "Will you or won't you?"

  "You're scaring the life out of me the way you're acting, Brigid Larkin."

  She flung her arms about him, pressed her bosom close and kissed him fiercely on the mouth.

  "Holy Mother!" He reeled back and sat openmouthed on a large boulder.

  "Didn't you like it, Myles?"

  "Surely it's the grandest thing that ever happened."

  "Then let's kiss some more."

  In a relatively short time they got the gist of it. Myles's mind bent with excitement and his hands were touching her hair and her cheeks and her shoulders and even once or twice dared brush against her breasts. They felt sensations in their throats and stomachs and began emitting wild sounds and perspiring. It was Brigid who became fearful and broke it off and they stood gasping from it, so wonderfully confused.

  "Are you furious with me, Brigid?"

  "Oh no, no, no. I never knew anything could feel like this, even praying to the Virgin."

  Myles waltzed around dizzily and stamped his feet "We must be crazy."

  "Do you think we went too far?" she asked.

  "No, not that. I mean getting serious. We can't do that There's just nothing I can do for you in this world."

  "Myles McCracken, you listen to me. Maybe we ought not to get this aroused in the future, but I do want to keep seeing you."

  "Whatever for? We're so bloody poor, I couldn't even give you the dirt off my neck, we'd need it for topsoil."

  "Do you want to see me or not?" she demanded.

  He hung his head. For an instant the life half drained from her. Then he lifted his eyes and sighed, "Aye."

  Brigid ran over the footbridge, past the keep and never stopped till she reached the cottage out of breath.

  "You're late," her mother greeted her. “The butter's not going to churn itself."

  Brigid turned aside to conceal her gasping and blushing. "I'm sorry, I'll do it straightaway," she said, bee lining for the byre.

  "Brigid!" Tomas called.

  She froze.

  "Colm's to be calling on you tonight. He's meaning to take you on a ride in a hired sidecar after mass on Sunday."

  There could be no mistaking what that meant! "I'm not feeling too well, Daddy. I'm coming down with the throat I think I'd better be getting some rest."

  "And I think you'd better be paying a little more mind to Mr. O'Neill," Finola said.

  Brigid spun about and cracked out without thinking with the first defiant words against them in her life. "If you like Colm so much, you pay the attention to him." And then she became paralyzed at the sound of her own voice.

  "You'll not talk to your mother that way," Tomas said.

  "You might as well know," Finola said, "an arrangement is in the making."

  "I'll have no part of it!" she cried, and fled into the byre.

  Finola was up with a switch in her hand but Tomas blocked her way quickly. "It's that Myles McCracken! He's never to set foot in this house! Tomas, you order her to break it off!"

  A sense of fright over another disastrous interference with his children gripped him. Tomas released his wife and slumped down at the table.

  "I'll not have that girl defying us! I'll put her in a convent first!" Finola shrilled.

  Tomas shook his head.

  "No," he said softly.

  "I'll see Father Lynch and I'll make them confess what they've been doing behind our backs!"

  "No, you won't," he said softly. "She's to have her fling with the lad, it will do no harm."

  "Are you mad!" His silence was becoming more confusing than words of anger.

  "Have you seen the number of girls who go to the altar every year with a baby in their belly?" she thumped. "Is that what you want!"

  He looked up with a face filled with yesterday. "I want her to know the feeling of being in love," Tomas said, "if only once and if only for a little while. It might help later on to know that for one little time there was a boy desperate for her. She's got to have that much, woman, she's got to have that."

  CHAPTER THREE

  When Kevin O'Garvey was first elected to Commons he took a room at Midge Murphy's boardinghouse off Jamaica Road in one of London's "Irishtowns" close to the penetrating aromas and singing steel teamster wheels of the Surrey Commercial Docks and a short underground ride beneath the Thames to Parliament.

  Little changed in his way of life during the first decade of Westminster. He graduated to the finest room in the Murphy house and was granted certain privileges that befitted his status. Midge was originally an Aran Island woman, slow in granting friendship, and ran a tight ship with life centering about the kitchen. Few were allowed to visit it except at mealtime, fewer still allowed to linger, and Kevin alone had "freedom of the kitchen." After supper he used an alcove by the la
rder as his office.

  Otherwise, things were much the same. Kevin held nightly court in a back booth at Dancy's Public House a few blocks away. The saloon was filled with the lust of Irish dockers where an endless line of countrymen sought his help. Since the death of Parnell, the Irish Party had become a watered-down affair bereft of its former sting, with O'Garvey one of the few remaining eminents in its ranks.

  A Select Committee was voted into existence by Commons as the sludge of the Industrial Revolution filled the cesspool of abuses to overflowing. With the need of reform legislation growing urgent, the committee was charged to investigate labor conditions in the industrial areas. From the outset O'Garvey established himself as the dominant figure and placed Ulster on the investigation venue.

  Their first hearings had been in the English Midlands in the Bradford-Leeds area. O'Garvey was chosen to write the draft report on their findings and rumor spread that it would be devastating. Apprehension in Ulster grew throughout the industrial community over their own pending investigation. Then came a shattering rumor that O'Garvey personally had chosen the Witherspoon & McNab Shirt Factory in Londonderry as his chief target.

  Working late at night to complete the draft report, Kevin canceled his usual evening session at Dancy's Public House. A few days before the report was completed, one of the lads from Dancy's showed up in Midge Murphy's kitchen.

  "There's a quare swell looking for you," he said, handing Kevin an envelope. It contained the calling card of Brigadier Maxwell Swan. He had fully anticipated a visit from the tensing Ulster industrialists and Swan was their likely agent. Swan would be particularly interested in keeping the committee away from Witherspoon & McNab because he was dividing his time these days between Belfast and Derry, setting up a labor spy system in the Hubble enterprises as he had done for Sir Frederick Weed.

  Kevin gathered up his work, put it away in his room, refreshed himself at the basin, then put on his tattered jacket and walked to Dancy's. The Brigadier's carriage was at curbside.

  As he entered, the tone was unusually subdued, with obvious curiosity over the bald man with the military bearing waiting in Kevin's personal booth. Everyone pressed forward at the bar in order to get a glimpse in the back-bar mirror.