Ashton Park (35 page)

“They will come. They are coming.”

“—my commanding officer will soon pick up on it. If he decides it puts our men at too much risk they’ll reassign me. Send me to India or Palestine or Wales.”

“We’d get married and go together.”

“I haven’t finished my conversion—”

Shannon gripped his arms. “For heaven’s sakes, I don’t care whether we’re married by a priest. It can be a Methodist or a Baptist or a captain on the high seas. If we’re not going to live in Ireland under my parents’ blessing it doesn’t matter about St. Patrick’s and the Holy Catholic Church. All that matters is that it’s you who swears to be my man.” She placed her hands on his face and lowered her voice. “I’ve seen the nationalists go in and out of my parents’ home all my life. Some are good men. Most are good men. But there are a few that would kill and destroy anyone and anything that tried to stop them from having a free Ireland. Those will be the ones they send after you.”

“Look.” He reached up and held one of her hands and smiled. “We’ll get through this. Once our lads find out there’s a price on my head, I’m gone. And you with me.”

“I pray to God you’re right.”

Robbie made his way back to headquarters by his own circuitous route. The cemetery was only three blocks from Shannon’s home, but she used side streets and alleys before emerging a few hundred yards from her front door. She dropped the hood that covered her head and walked under the streetlamps past handsome houses, a few with columns, some with walls covered in ivy. A man and a woman were talking and laughing and coming toward her. Otherwise the sidewalk and road were empty.

“Good evening,” she greeted them.

The bearded man tipped his hat. “God bless.”

Then the woman threw her cloak up and over Shannon’s head and smothered her cry. They seized her and pushed her into a car that had been parked a few feet away. With the man and woman on either side of her the car drove off. The driver did not speed. When he reached the main street he merged with traffic smoothly and carefully.

Shannon began to fight and the man and woman pinned her arms and legs. The man smacked her head and gripped her tightly where he knew her throat was. Squeezing until he heard her choke he leaned in close.

“You behave and you’ll live. You don’t and you’ll die. Maybe you’d rather be dead by the time we’re through with you.” He squeezed on her throat harder through the folds of the woman’s cloak. “An Irishwoman putting her lips to the mouth of a British soldier! And you a Dungarvan! You’re a disgrace to your mother and father! A traitor to your country!”

“Are you ready, Father?”

Kipp walked over from the plane in his jacket and helmet. Sir William had all his flying gear on but was reading the morning paper as he stood at the edge of the field with Libby and Michael. Libby patted his arm.

“Papa? Kipp is talking to you.”

“Hmm? Yes, yes, I’m quite ready.” He folded the paper up and slapped it against his leg. “Sometimes I am ashamed of our race.”

“Why—what in the paper has upset you now?” asked Libby.

“The IRA took an Irishwoman who was the girlfriend of a British soldier. Beat her. Sheared off all her hair. Put a sign around her neck and tied her to a lamppost by the British barracks in Dublin. She was barely alive when the guards found her.”

Libby put her hand to her mouth. “Father! That’s terrible!”

“I wish that were the worst of it.” He looked across the field at the airplanes and slapped the newspaper against his leg again. “Her parents would not come to her because she was in a British military hospital. So they transferred the poor girl to a Catholic one. But they still would not come because she had been consorting with a British officer. They say they will not have her back in the home. Ever.”

“That is hard to understand,” said Michael, his face dark.

“Wars for freedom are often the most brutal the human race wages,” Sir William murmured. “Perhaps it is because people are so desperate. Still that does not excuse such cruelty. So many say their cause is noble, yet they pursue it in the most ignoble of fashions.”

Kipp waited a moment as his father continued to stare into the distance. “Any news of Robbie?”

“Robbie?” Sir William turned his head to meet his son’s gaze. “We haven’t heard from him all week. But I’m sure he’s all right. I imagine he’s well clear of all this.”

July 1920

“I’d rather be taking on Baron von Richthofen and his whole crew.”

“Stand still.” Ben adjusted Kipp’s tie. “I saved your life once. But I can’t do it this time. All that French girl has to do is smile and you turn into a puddle.”

Kipp sighed. “It was easier in Amiens when there was a war on.”

“And harder in England now that we have the peace. You’ll just have to make the best of it. Jeremiah will be along to fetch us to the chapel in a few minutes, I expect. How are you holding up, Michael?”

Michael Woodhaven IV sat in a chair wringing his hands. “I can’t stand the waiting. I want it over and done with.”

Ben laughed. “I have two nervous wrecks. And I’m best man to you both. Am I going have to call for reinforcements to keep you lads steady at the altar?”

“Do you think the chapel is crowded?” asked Michael.

“Crowded? It’s absolutely heaving. A double wedding—why, I don’t think a soul turned down the invitation. They’re spilling over into the hallway. The thing is, do you chaps remember your lines?”

“Lines?” Kipp looked at Ben in horror. “Jeremiah will just say, ‘Repeat after me,’ won’t he?”

“Not always. There are things you have to do on your own.”

Michael groaned and put his head in his hands. “I’m a dead man.”

Holly let a smile Harrison saw all too rarely open her face as Jeremiah Sweet looked from Kipp and Christelle to Michael and Libby and began the long Anglican wedding ceremony. “This is wonderful. I get flashes of another wedding ceremony in Ashton Park’s chapel. Whose was that?”

Harrison whispered. “Emma’s. The one with the three boys. The minister’s wife.”

Holly whispered back. “Are you sure it was hers?”

“Yes.”

They were seated at the back of the chapel in a corner. The closest people to them were Todd Turpin and Skitt, who ignored their whispering back and forth.

“There was an outdoor one with airplanes—” Holly murmured.

“That was Ben and Victoria. Mr. and Mrs. Whitecross. I pointed them out to you a few minutes ago.”

“He was the pilot.”

“Ben and Kipp and Michael are all pilots. They all flew in the war. Now they have their own flying business.”

“Do they? How are they doing?”

“They’re beginning to make money, I’ve been told.”

Holly gestured with her head. “Who is that couple?”

“Libby is marrying an American—”

“I remember
that
. You told me only ten minutes ago.”

“Those are his parents from New York. Mr. and Mrs. Woodhaven.”

Holly lifted her finger as Jeremiah continued to speak. “And that couple? They are certainly not English.”

“The Cevennes. From France. Their daughter is marrying Kipp.”

“Ah. That very, very striking young lady. Silver hair.”

“Christelle. Yes.”

“They do not look very comfortable. I think I need to take them under my wing after the ceremony.”

Holly picked up a small stack of photographs that had been sitting on the pew between them. “And these are the family members who are not with us.” She selected one. “Edward. Am I right?”

“He is in Scotland.”

“And he couldn’t make it down?”

“Evidently not.”

“This young man in uniform?”

“Robbie. He’s a captain in the British army stationed in Dublin.”

“All right. You’ve told me about him. He’s caught up in that awful fighting there.”

“Let us hope not. Our understanding is he’s based in the rear echelon. Far and away from any of the street battles.”

Holly tapped Robbie’s portrait with her finger. “I like his looks. He has a boyish innocence about him. Does he have a girlfriend?”

“No. He was always quite shy with the ladies.”

“They wouldn’t give him leave to attend the wedding?”

Harrison shook his head. “The war in Ireland has intensified.”

Holly displayed two photographs. “Albert and Catherine. Living in Belfast. Why aren’t they here?”

“There have been sporadic shootings in Northern Ireland as well. They didn’t feel safe moving about.”

She glanced at him. “Is that what they said?”

“Albert has rather strong political opinions when it comes to Ireland. He does not want it independent. He wants it to remain part of Great Britain. The IRA have targeted him.”

“What?” Holly almost spoke out loud. Todd flicked an eye toward her then looked back to the front. “Has anything happened? Are the two of them all right?”

“Sir William was just on a business visit there. Overnight. He told us they were safe and sound and still keeping a pleasant home.”

“Was it wise for him to go over if there’s so much unrest?”

Harrison shrugged. “Your brother is not easily intimidated.”

Holly sat back and turned her attention to the ceremony once again. “You’re a good friend, Harrison. You have helped me a great deal these past many months. But I feel you are not telling me everything. I’m not an invalid, you know. More comes back to me every day. You needn’t withhold information.”

“I’m doing my best to tell you what I can of the family, Miss Holly.”

“I shall get to it all eventually, you know. It will come back to me, Harrison. With your help or without it.”

The nun escorted Robbie to a garden surrounded by high walls at the back of the hospital. He immediately saw Shannon standing alone by a yellow rosebush, fingering the leaves of one of the stalks. He examined the tops of the walls. The nun followed his eyes.

“No one will come in here, Captain. The IRA have guaranteed the safety of the Catholic hospitals. Of all hospitals.”

“Thank you, Sister.”

“Please try not to stay longer than fifteen or twenty minutes. She is still very weak.”

Shannon turned and smiled as he approached her over a flagstone path. One eye was still purplish but the other was a mix of bright green and sunlight. He saw that the fear was gone from it. A white cotton scarf covered her head. She folded herself into his arms.

“I almost didn’t recognize you in your uniform.”

He pressed his lips against the scarf. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better. The nuns are very pleasant to be around.”

He cupped a hand under her chin and gently lifted her head. There were still two large scabs on her lips and another at the corner of her mouth.

“Not very kissable, am I?” she asked.

“That’s not true.” He touched his lips carefully to hers. “There are no finer lips in all of Ireland.”

“What about England?”

“England’s not even in the running.”

She laughed and winced, putting a hand to her mouth, then laughed again. “It hurts. But I can’t help myself. You always make me smile.”