The Lane

by Maura Rooney Hitzenbuhler

  Friends had come with cheerful words about the child they expected to soon be reunited with his mother and family. They had brought food and flowers. After the many visitors had left, Eoin O’Toole said “He was safe in the lane,” as he sat by the fire across from Kate late in the evening.

  “I was just thinking the same thing,” Kate answered.

  “This Browne, what kind of fellow is he?”

  “He’s a charming rogue. A gambler, womanizer, and not someone one could oppose without paying dearly.”

  “Might he harm the child?”

  “He a very unsavory person, yet I don’t believe he’d harm my son or any child.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  “No guarantees comes with that.”

  “Understood. You’ve got to get some sleep,” he told the exhausted Kate, but sleep ignored her and would not come. “There’ll be another stream of people here tomorrow.”

  “We’ve told the police everything, several times over,” the weary woman sighed, “yet they still come to ask questions. Thank you, Eoin, for being a buffer between me, the police, and reporters.”

  “I’ll fix us some cocoa, and then it’s to bed,” Eoin said on rising.

  Rory and Gwen insisted on taking Eoin O’Toole and Kate out to various locations for dinner during their visit in support for Kate. Both Eoin and Kate enjoyed their company, and found they could leave their deepest pain behind them at these times. Genevieve McCormack, tired of traveling back and forth to her daughter’s home, decided to take up residence in young Eoin’s room until her much prayed-for grandson would be returned. Genevieve joined the foursome for dinner one evening, and Kieran and his wife arrived at Dalkey to offer whatever help they could during the two days they spent there.

  It was not until a group of women from the lane showed up at the house that Kate cried, releasing the pain that weighed heavily on her as she was being warmly hugged by each one of them. That night Kate slept the night through. These women hadn’t been afraid to mention Eoin’s name. In fact they recalled his birth in the cottage, and how efficient and brave Kate had been. Eoin’s Hallows’ Eve outfits caused much laughter among them, and on and on they related events right up to and including the great outdoor meal and dancing around the tables in the rain.

  Genevieve thought this might upset Kate; it was too reminiscent of a wake, but Kate and Eoin O’Toole enjoyed reliving these times. The reserved Genevieve had a difficult time getting used to the familiarity of this group of women. Yet, when she saw the comfort they gave her daughter and the kind Mr. O’Toole, Genevieve appreciated their presence. Rory and Gwen enjoyed meeting and conversing with those they referred to as “Kate’s good friends from the lane,” and the lane friends were delighted with Rory and Gwen.

  “He’ll be back, Kate,” Monica said. “It’s just the waiting that’s harrowing.”

  “How can he not come home? The churches are all praying for his safe return as are all the children at school,” Tara said.

  “We’ve even got our husbands and their friends from work attending mass at noon,” Peg declared. “Now as soon as God recovers from the shock of seeing them all at the noontime mass, he’s bound to see that Eoin is safely returned.”

  Kidnapped! It sounded so horrible. Genevieve recalled the turmoil and stresses an aviator and his wife endured when their son was kidnapped. They paid the ransom, but whether by intent or accident, the child had died. That thought sent a chill through Genevieve’s slight frame. The Garda asked if there was a ransom note, but Kate had received none.

  CHAPTER 14

  On a Sunday morning, Eoin O’Toole answered the phone, which was his custom to keep unwanted calls from Kate.

  “Good morning.”

  “Good morning to you. Have I got the correct number for Kate Egan?”

  “Yes. Who is calling?”

  “Francis Egan.”

  Eoin could not speak for a few seconds.

  “Are you still there?” the caller asked.

  “Yes, Francis, this is Eoin O’Toole. How are you, son?” Eoin asked in a manner often used by an older man to a younger one, whether related or not.

  “I heard on the news about young Eoin being abducted. How dreadful. Kate must be beside herself with grief. The police were looking for Harry Browne and me, so I went to the police station and identified myself. They wanted to know if I knew where Browne was, but of course, I don’t. I hadn’t known he was in England. So I gather they haven’t found him yet. Three hours later, after a flood of questions and much waiting around, they released me, saying I’m to keep myself available for further questioning. So I must stay in the vicinity until this terrible thing is settled.”

  “It’s so good, Francis, to hear your voice again. But it is Kate you want to speak to, and she you, so I’ll give her a shout. God bless you.”

  At the sound of her name, Kate came in from the kitchen and softly asked, “Who is it?”

  Eoin handed her the phone without answering her question.

  “Good morning.”

  “Good morning, Kate.” Kate reached out and lowered herself into a nearby chair. “I heard about young Eoin, and I’m dreadfully sorry. How are you holding up under the strain?”

  “With difficulty.”

  “The police have questioned me, and inform me I can’t leave the country, actually not even the precinct as they might want to question me again. As soon as they clear me, I’ll return to Dublin.” After a brief pause he added, “That’s if it’s all right with you.”

  “Yes, of course. Ned and Mary will be delighted to see you.” After she had said that, she regretted it. She hadn’t known a residue of pain at his leaving still lay within her. She was about to amend her statement by adding that she, too, would be happy to see him, when he spoke.

  “I’d like very much to see you, Kate.”

  “Let me give you my address.”

  The operator was asking for more coins. Kate recalled her phone calls to Kieran and the constant need, while using the public phone booth, for more coins.

  “I’ve got a fist full of shillings, six-penny, and three-penny pieces,” Francis assured her, “and also a pencil here with me.”

  He took down her address and then asked, “Eoin O’Toole answered your phone. How did you get a recluse such as him to visit you?”

  Kate told him of the government’s edict, the destruction of the cottages, and that Eoin O’Toole was not visiting, but living with them.

  “Mr. O’Toole would be delighted to see you come home”

  “Apparently I have no home to come home to!”

  “Yes, you do.” She did not elaborate further.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I am permitted to leave England. It’s been great hearing your voice again.”

  “Hearing yours has been a lovely surprise and at a time when I needed something good to happen. God be with you.”

  “And with you, Kate.”

  Kate hung up the phone.

  If it’s been so great hearing my voice, why then didn’t he call sooner? It took the kidnapping of my son to trigger this call. It’s been over seven years since we married. After seven years of separation, are we still legally married? Will we be strangers to one another? How does one start over again? Will this anger of mine that has resurfaced destroy any chance we have as a couple, as a family?

  Eoin has no memory of Francis. How will he react? What if he feels this man, from a wedding photograph, is an intruder in our lives? What if Eoin is never found? Banish that thought, she demanded of herself.

  Kate was both happy and angry with Francis. When she shared with Eoin O’Toole how she felt, he said, “His call was a temporary relief from the strain of Eoin being missing. That is good. You needed a diversion from that, and this combination of happiness and anger is just the thing.”

  “Eoin, how can I go back to a man who has not forgiven an earlier transgression? I treated Francis very shabbily. I tried to pass off Harry’s child as hi
s. I have always believed, and have no reason to believe otherwise now, that Francis never forgave me, and that was why he left, not to return. That’s a long time to hold back forgiveness. ‘Twas a terrible start to a marriage, and that was my fault. Francis would not discuss the matter. His solution was to leave. I believe Harry was the force behind this kidnapping, and this action on Harry’s part was what prompted Francis to telephone me. Isn’t that a strange twist of fate?”

  “Yes, indeed. Don’t make any assumptions or decisions, Kate, until you’ve had an opportunity for a long talk with Francis.”

  Kate nodded in agreement.

  Everyone knew Harry Browne, the police discovered, but nobody knew where he was. Harry kept himself hidden until he received his winnings from the betting shop. All he had to do now was take the boy, give Maude the slip, and leave London. Everything was going his way, he thought, as he returned to the furnished flat. But when he got there, he was greeted by disarray. The boy was missing, and according to the words written on the bathroom mirror, he was being held as a hostage as part of an honor killing. Apparently, the beautiful Indian maiden Harry had had sex with was pregnant. The brothers and uncles of the woman planned to murder her and kill Harry. Since Harry wasn’t home, they took his son. His son would be spared if Harry came forward. Maude, who went into hiding after the intruders left, returned when she saw Harry. They had asked her if the boy was Harry’s son, and she had said, “Yes.”

  “Did you phone the police?”

  “No, they told me they would kill the boy if I did and then come back and kill me. They had long knives hidden in their clothes. Are you going to tell the police?”

  “Are you stupid, woman? What did they tell you would happen if you told the police?”

  Maude began to repeat what she had just told Harry, but he cut her short.

  “Shut up, woman,” Harry angrily told her.

  “I need a go-between,” Harry, said as if speaking to himself.

  “Not me,” the frightened woman said.

  “No, definitely not you. I need someone with a functioning brain. The bookie! I’ve got make some phone calls.”

  These people work fast. They won’t wait. I’ve got to make a deal with them. Harry phoned his bookie, and then phoned the number the intruders had taped unto the bathroom mirror. He then packed a bag.

  “I’ve got to pay someone a visit.”

  “Don’t leave me. They might come back.” Harry ignored her. “Is Eoin safe?”

  “I’m reasonably sure he is . . . for now.”

  “Harry, what should we do?”

  Addressing the woman he answered, “We? You stay here. In a little less than an hour, you can turn on the evening news and find out if I have escaped or my blood is congealing in a nasty stain in a men’s room at Victoria Station.” As he zippered up the leather jacket he had not taken off since he came into the flat, he continued, “After the news, leave here immediately. Go home or stay with friends,” he added, and closing the door behind him, he left.

  I don’t want to bloody well die. I don’t want anything to happen to the kid. I wish I had never claimed him as my son. This has got to be the worse predicament I’ve ever gotten into. I’m a pro at getting out of trouble, but this honor thing means death. If I don’t show up, they’ll kill the boy, which may not prevent them from eventually coming after me. Which is it to be?

  Maude, paralyzed by indecision, thought. Harry doesn’t have a prayer in hell of outwitting anyone when they want revenge. Harry said I should stay here, but if they kill Harry and the boy, they’ll surely come for me. They don’t know I can’t tell the differences between Indian and Pakistani, only that I am the person that may be able to tie the killings to them. I’ve got to leave right away.

  Maude was in the process of putting her few belongings in a bag when she heard a knock on the door. It’s them, she thought. They’ve come to cut my throat! Drowning in fear, her knees buckled, and she slid to the floor. As she was recovering, she heard a voice on the other side of the door.

  “This is the police. Open the door.” What the two policemen found was a hysterical woman bubbling about throats being cut and an innocent boy.

  “Where is Harry Browne?”

  “He’d kill me if I spoke to the police.”

  “Harry is in real trouble. There’s little we can do for him, but we might be able to save the boy. If you don’t want this child murdered, you will tell us where this meeting is to take place!”

  “Victoria Station.”

  “Where in the station?” the police officer asked. Maude was drawing a blank. Too much had happened in such a short time span. “Get out of here and find some safe place,” they told Maude as they rushed from the building into the waiting police car. Once inside the car, one of the men put on the siren while pressing his foot down on the petrol pedal. The other policeman phoned into the station.

  Harry had insisted on being able to see the boy. When he had asked for assurance that they would not harm the boy if he showed up in his stead, he was told he had their word on it, and added their word was their bond.

  “You can murder a female relative and another person in cold blood and speak of honor!? Harry had questioned.

  “A man without honor cannot understand the weight of honor,” they had gently assured him, as though they were sorry for this deficiency in him.

  Harry, disguised in a hat and coat he had gotten from a charity shop, was wearing glasses as he walked to the designated bathroom with the out-of-order sign hanging from the door. He had not prayed since he was a boy, and his mind fumbled for a familiar prayer from his youth. All he could come up with was a night prayer. “Here I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep, and if I die . . . ,” Harry gulped, and with courage he did not possess, opened the door and walked in.

  Eoin, wearing a white tunic, was standing just inside the entrance to the bathroom between two young men still in their teens. At the opposite end, smiling as though this was a dignified business affair, were four men waiting for Harry. Two stepped forward and proceeded to take Harry to the far end of the restroom.

  Eoin, on seeing Harry, called out to him.

  Harry addressed the boy.

  “You’ll be going home to your mom, now. I lied. I’m not your father, but I couldn’t want for a finer young man as a son than you. Safe home, Eoin.” Harry could not understand their strange code of conduct but felt they would keep their word and release his son.

  One of the young men standing next to Eoin immediately stood in front of him, blocking his view of Harry, while the other young man moved behind the boy and held his head firmly between his hands so that Eoin could not move his head.

  For a mere second Harry thought he felt a presence behind him. He hardly felt the knife at his throat so swiftly did it take place, but he was conscious of life draining from him. Having done what they had committed themselves to do, the men silently left the bathroom. Moments later, without Eoin having a chance to see what had happened, the teenaged boys and Eoin walked out into the station. Only when they were outside the restroom did the young man release his hands from Eoin’s head.

  “Take your clothes,” the teenager said as he handed Eoin a paper bag with his school uniformed rolled up inside. “Walk until the count of twenty, and then throw the tunic in the trash and put on your blazer and cap. Continue until you come upon a policeman. Tell him your name, and he will do the rest to get you home.”

  “Harry hasn’t come out yet. I must wait for Harry.”

  “Harry is in good hands and he wants you to follow our instructions,” one of the young men said while the other removed the ‘out of order’ sign from the door of the men’s room.

  The boy did as he was told. After taking a few steps, however, he turned around, but the teenagers were nowhere to be seen.

  Harry Browne was dead on arrival at the hospital.

  Francis Egan had given notice at his place of employment when the kidnapping first made
the headlines. He went to the police station when Eoin was found and requested they release the child to him. He gave assurances he would return Eoin to his mother in Ireland. They consented.

  Francis, on a cold autumn day in mid-November, sailed from Wales to Dublin. At this their first meeting, Francis introduced himself to Eoin; whereby, Eoin told Francis he already knew him.

  “You do? I don’t believe we’ve met before.”

  Eoin told Francis of the wedding picture his mother had once kept in the top drawer in the kitchen of the cottage. She had told him he could take it out and look at it at any time, and it was now on the desk in their living room in Dalkey.

  Francis smiled. His world was complete. Yes, they had a few hurdles to clear, but he was going home after a long self-imposed exile, and he was given the honor of escorting young Eoin, a delightful boy, home. Francis felt happier at this moment than he felt since he left Ireland.

  “I want to see my Mom.”

  “So do I.”

  In the course of their conversation, Eoin said, “Harry wasn’t nice to Maude.”

  “Who is Maude?”

  “She’s the woman who was with us in the flat. She went out to buy the fish and chips. She was nice, but Harry was always mean to her. She called me ‘ducks’ and ‘duckie.’ She bought chocolate for me and cigarettes for herself with the change she received when Harry sent her out for food.”

  “It sounds like you had a friend in Maude.”

  “Where will Maude go now that Harry’s dead?”

  “I don’t know, Eoin. Back to her family, I suppose.”

  “Maybe we should go back and bring her with us to Ireland!”

  “I believe your mother has a house full of people as it is. Besides, England is Maude’s country. She probably wouldn’t want to leave it. We all want to be home in our own countries.”

  “I want to be home with my own mom.”

  “That’s understandable. Home is where those we love live.”