3

*

Knowing where Bridey had gotten herself off to at all times, was proving to be a gift from God, Himself. Especially when she wrapped herself up in one of her moods and Liam wanted to avoid her. Although when he approached the old dun at Wee Sean’s elbow, he also felt her fears as she awaited outside an elaborate wrought iron fence in the forest of tree stumps. She never spoke of her confinement here, nor did she spend much time at this end of the island. Liam assumed it was part of her attempt at punishing him for their demise. His connection here was brief, and although unpleasant, most of his memories were elsewhere.

Chickens scattered and Sprite backed off as they approached ghostly and gnarled whips of dormant rose bushes. In season, they grew about the fence and about the larger buildings that made up the Dun. The Brits used he buildings as barracks, an armory, wash houses and the like.

Father Patrick led the way to the building where he said prisoners were kept. The dog snarled as they approached. Sprite’s hair rose along his spine and his ears became pinned against his head. Father paused to examine a larger than normal square rock set into an obvious repair of an exterior wall. “Altar stone?” he asked of Wee Sean and Brendan. He ran his hand along the top edge of the rock, touching a spot along the side that he was more than familiar with.

Brendan nodded, “Aye. Looks like we‘ll find most of the old church here.”

‘Of course,’ Liam thought, none of these men would know of the damage he caused when he tried to set his charge. And it wouldn’t be the first time that repair materials came from unused buildings. Once upon a time this great estate had a formidable wall. It’s stones were used later in the construction of both the village of Fenton, and in the warehouses lining the Frontside. In fact, Dun Fenton had been dismantled and rebuilt several times over its history.

Liam followed the others inside, and deep within the bowels of the building. They paused to examine the exposed and still damaged drain pipe where Liam had tripped up. He and Brendan had planned that excursion together, but had become separated when they were interrupted by troops. Where exactly Brendan wound up, or how he returned to Killelea, Liam wasn’t sure. What he was sure of, was that if he hadn’t tripped over a rat the size of that wee yellow dog, he might have planted his gelignite where he could have caused real damage.

Voices and footfalls echoed fiercely the length of an enormous stone hall. Mice scurried unnoticed between them, their legs, over and under debris, in and out of cells and sewers. A lone cat darted from the darkness as it chased a mouse. Liam stepped lightly. He could appreciate a good mouser. All those days he sat with Bridey before she passed, he wasted most damning the ships that carried the mice in, and wondering how to get rid of them. It seemed as if the cats hid from the Brits and didn’t come out again until were assured the invaders were gone. How much barley would the mice had eaten over the years if not for the cats?

If Liam remembered the stories he heard as a child. This building was begun at least a hundred years before the Brits landed, and maybe even before the Vikings came. An old Celtic warlord tried to protect the sanctity of his island against the lord who ruled Killelea.

The name Fenton belonged to Brian Fenton, the last Earl of Innisfen, and his family. He was a good man in his own right, although he had a serious gambling problem. During his better days, when his winnings were good and his wealth intact, he saw to the construction of the wrought iron fence that now surrounded the property. When the Earl’s luck failed him, he lost his home. It had been bought and sold several times since. 

The last owner used the manor house and the grounds as a private school. British and Scottish children from all over Ireland were educated and boarded on the grounds. Irish children from Innishfen and Killelea attended day school. Tuition from by Irish parents came in the form of labor. They ran a school owned farm, tilled school owned vegetables and sheared school owned sheep.

If nothing else would come of an education, all of Innisfen and Killelea could read their newspapers, and together they could enjoy the words of great Irish orators like Patrick Pearse and the words he spoke from the steps of the General Post Office in Dublin on April 24^th, 1916. He said: “IRISHMAN AND IRISHWOMEN: In the name of God and of the dead generations from which she receives her old tradition of nationhood, Ireland, through us, summons her children to her flag and strikes for her freedom…” Pearse and several others were executed soon after.

Liam read the words on his return from France. He didn’t think much of them at first, but as the peace deteriorated, he came to cherish them.

The Brits controlled the mainland during the day. The IRA controlled the night. When it became insanely dangerous for a British soldier to lay his head down to sleep, the British military took over the island. The children were turned out and sent home. Teachers moved to Killelea and lived with the farmers from Innishfen in deserted cottages throughout the town. 

Wee Sean raised his lantern, and turned, throwing his light out at walls made of cut rock and mortar. Reinforced wooden doors on either side served as cells once. Liam vaguely wondered how many Republican souls still waited release behind those doors. The wind whistled through the hall and rattled doors, making him think he heard the moans of the prisoners.

“You don’t need to be going through every torture chamber in the place,” Father Patrick protested as Brendan rattled a door. The latch mechanism thundered as it gave way, and Brendan challenged the good Father with a look. Then he threw the door open. Wee Sean held up his lantern and Brendan pushed in. A moment passed and a big eyed, skinny ghostie stepped out into the hall. Brendan returned, wearing a sickly expression. Wee Sean stepped out behind Brendan, and quietly closed the door. The bony creature that escaped with their invasion melted back into the door. Father Patrick, Wee Sean and Brendan stepped lightly now keeping their voices down to whispers.

Liam decided he would prefer to be walking with Bridey. If she felt the need, he’d take her abuse.

He found her sharing a seat on a stump with a toad. Sprite sat on the ground next to her. “How is Brendan?” she asked when he joined her.

“Your brother has grown up, Bridey,” he commented.

She nodded. “Brendan is the brave one. I.. I..” She glanced quickly up at him, and then away again. She bit her lips. “I can’t be going in there again.” She rose, and walked away.

He followed her on foot along the dun fence in the direction of the Frontside. Rusty wrought iron leaves, roses and shamrocks caught the last light in a cavernous effect. Wispy stems from the overgrown rose bushes climbed the inner fences and wrapped about the top uprights. Someone in the past had been careful to trim them back or tuck them behind the fence. The red and gold sun slipped down behind the town of Killelea across the harbor, lighting their way, and turning the harbor water to gold. It amazed him still that in this new phase of their lives, they could walk during that time when shadows should be long and large, and not see theirs at all. 

One could see the rocks across the bay, the outline of the lighthouse on top, and a pale yellow light emerging from the top of the lighthouse. It was grand indeed to see that. It meant truly that the British had left, considering the light remained dark during those years the Brits occupied the Island.

“If I could cry,” she told him. “I would be crying for myself, and for that Major at the bottom of the Backside. And I would be crying for that bugger and his jug.” She sniffed and wiped her nose as if she would be shedding the bodily fluids she no longer possessed. “The two of them protected me. The Major wouldn’t allow them to touch me. They wanted to. The whole of them.”

Prickles of ice ran the length of his arms. Time stopped, noises silenced, and the breeze stifled. He leaned into her. “Who, Bridey?”

Brave? She faced him down, standing before him, without a shred of fear. Just as she always had. “The guards. He called them ruffians. He was brave. He faced them down so many times. They threatened him. They plotted against him. And the Brigadier. The Brigadier was frightened. He’d be drinking his Scotch whiskey. Always with a bottle at his side. He stood up to them though.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“The Brigadier. He told me he wanted me. That if I gave you over to them, he would be taking me into his home. He’d be feeding me and dressing me in silks. He’d make me into a fine English lady. He wanted to touch m’red hair, and draw from m’breasts, and he’d give me anything I wanted.”

“Why are you telling me this? Is there something you want from me?”

She stepped back from him, looking soulfully at him through dry eyes. “I told him the only thing I’d be needing on this earth was m’husband.”

“You did, did ya?”

“Aye. He kept at it. He begged. But then after that explosion, he quit talking to me about you. I.. I didn‘t think… I didn‘t want to think that maybe…” She turned away from him again. “He still… begged me to eat.”

He paused himself. “So you knew it down deep then? About me?”

She glanced at him again, and again turned away. “It occurred to me. I honestly didn‘t know if I could survive without you.” Her nasty side reemerged as she twisted his way again, and this time full force. “I’d think you could figure that out on your own. I did starve to death on your account.” She continued to study him. His turn. Knocking his feet out from under him with a click of her tongue, and getting even for that remark about spending bloody eternity with Enid.

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