Blood Ties (Chp 5)

Authors Note: I would suggest you read the previous chapters first if you have not already, or else you will likely be lost. They can be found in my portfolio (Richard T. Clark )



Light had started to bleed through the cloud cover on the horizon, signaling the moon's rise. Though rain had not yet fallen, the smell of it filled the night air. A breeze blew in from the north, riffling Séamus' hair as they advanced through the rows graves, their bearing set on the cathedral eighty yards ahead. Séamus attention was fixed on a spot forty feet in front of them, just to the right of the path. As they walked their tired feet scuffed the path running through the graveyard and reverberated off the tombstones. As they drew closer to the spot he had focused on so intently, Séamus' muscles became more tense, his posture more rigid. He could not pass it by. He had to stop; there would never be another opportunity. Séamus came to a halt beside the grave marker his gaze had been set on.

Kathleen Marie Kelley
23 September 1838 – 6 May 1857

Séamus stood there, his brow furrowed and his head bowed. Treasa had stopped next to him with Connell asleep in her arms. Though only moments passed, for Séamus it could have been hours. There they stood in silence and near total darkness. Séamus did not move, blink, or show any signs of life, save the rising and falling of his chest with each breath. Treasa placed a hand on his shoulder; she was right, they couldn't afford to linger. The trance broke, he raised his head; his lips moved inaudibly for a few seconds. Then he turned his back and returned to the path on course to the cathedral with Treasa following suit. Séamus knew it would not do to dwell on the past and what could not be changed. Not now, there were more pressing matters. He set his sight once more on the tower and cathedral.

The exact year of the tower's erection had been lost over the ages, but it had certainly predated the cathedral itself by at least two hundred years. The site on which it was built had been a place of worship for early Christians since at least the sixth century. Saint Canice's had been completed in 1285, a perfect model of the early Norman Gothic style. The sharply pointed arches complemented the lancet windows and tall narrow piers well. The cathedral had seen its share of necessary renovations over the years however. It had been damaged severely in the raid of 1650 and subsequently used unceremoniously to stable Oliver Cromwell's horses. Some of the scars still remained etched in the walls. The limestone of which it was constructed made Saint Canice's cathedral seem to almost glow in the night's darkness.

Séamus reached for the handle of the cathedral's heavy oak door and wrenched it open far enough to enter. He moved aside allowing Treasa and Connell to go in before he lifted the rifle from his shoulder and concealed it in the bushes to the right of the door. After crossing the threshold himself he closed the door behind. It let off a slight resounding echo through the interior of the cathedral as it came to rest in its frame. A priest sitting near the pulpit scribing something atop a stack of papers looked up from his work at the sound, a curious expression on his face. The bespectacled man with short brown hair and deep set jade eyes, stood up from his chair to achieve a better view of the recently entered congregates.

Séamus leaned close to Treasa and whispered something in her ear inaudible to the priest watching them from forty feet away. He seemed to give her direction of some sort; she turned to her left and walked down a corridor a short distance away with Connell still asleep in her arms. Séamus' eyes made contact with the priest's for a few seconds in which he gave the priest a probative look. Abruptly, Séamus turned to his right and walked to the confessional fifteen feet off, the candle and torch light casting shadows across his face as he moved. He sat his pack down on the nearest pew before opening the compartment's door and slipping inside. He knelt down onto the kneeler and waited.

The priest's confusion at the sudden occurrence of events was evident. His jaw had fallen slack and his eyebrows had risen with mild surprise at their behavior. The man had entered the confessional indicating that the priest should hear confession and give sacrament of penance this late into the evening. It had been odd enough that they had come unannounced, but for her to go wherever it was that she went, and him to enter the confessional instead of coming up to greet him, was indeed queer behavior for them. He shook off his stunned demeanor and approached the confessional himself.

Séamus heard the door to the other compartment open and waited for the priest to take his seat before he spoke. “Bless me father, for I have sinned. It has been thirteen days since my last confession.” He sighed. “I've done a terrible thing.” Séamus could hear the priest shift in his seat.

“Go on, my son. What is the nature of your sin?”

“I have committed a mortal sin against God, and I seek penance.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I've murdered a man.”

There was a long, deafening silence before the priest spoke, when he did it was little more than a whisper. “Wha-, what was your motivation for this sin, Séamus?”

He had some difficulty selecting the proper words to express why he did it before deciding to say quite simply, “The man assaulted and attempted to rape my wife.”

“So you murdered this man out of vengeance?”

“No.” Séamus' words were in quick procession when he spoke again, it was as though he was reliving the event in his mind. “I caught him in his attempt. He was armed, and I reacted. I had to prevent it, but I didn't- I couldn't stop myself after he was down. It happened so fast, and I kept striking him. I couldn't stop.” He took a deep breath. The words had escaped his mouth like poison being drawn from a wound with a similar relief.

"Rage took hold of you. Remember to resist allowing yourself to be driven by the desires of the flesh, and vengeance is the Lord's." He paused. "Christ will forgive you for your transgression."

He proceeded to give Séamus absolution, "Dominus noster Jesus Christus te absolvat; et ego auctoritate ipsius te absolvo ab omni vinculo excommunicationis (suspensionis) et interdicti in quantum possum et tu indiges. Deinde, ego te absolvo a peccatis tuis in nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.”

“Passio Domini nostri Jesu Christi, merita Beatae Mariae Virginis et omnium sanctorum, quidquid boni feceris vel Mali sustinueris sint tibi in remissionem peccatorum, augmentum gratiae et praemium vitae aeternae.”

Séamus felt as though a heavy burden had been lifted from him. "Thank you, father." The priest opened the grate. Séamus could see the concern in every line of his face.

"Now tell me, who was this man?"

Séamus surprised himself by actually smiling. "'S always the same with you, trying to rectify all of my problems."

"I always will, little brother."


The small circular room that Treasa stood in was lined with hundreds of candles set in descending rows, the majority unlit. Centered across the room from the door was a life-sized portrait depicting the Mother Mary muraled onto the wall, starting two feet from the floor and stretching to within a foot of the ceiling. The smell of wax and incense stimulated Treasa’s olfactory glands. She took a match from a container on the table and ignited it from one of the torches bracketed either side of the portrait. She lit four of the candles before moving backward two passes and dropping to her knees. She removed a beautifully crafted necklace from her neck and held it tightly in her hand. The polished amber beads descended to a gilded silver crucifix, her grandmother’s rosary. Tears began to roll down her face, a result of the physical and mental fatigue from the long travel and sudden uprooting as Treasa kept count of her prayers with the beads.


The two men sat side by side on one of the pews near the back of the cathedral. Father Kelley sat on Séamus’ right oriented towards him. Séamus stared directly ahead listening intently to his brother. Thunder clapped in the distance, and the wind could be heard inside the cathedral signaling the coming storm.

Séamus turned to look at him. “So, you’re not going to try and persuade me to turn me self in?”

Gerard took his time to answer as though he were choosing his words carefully. “Sometimes, the ‘right thing’ is the worst possible thing to do. You realize as well as I what would happen if you did that. Asking you to give yourself up to the authorities would be advising you to commit suicide. Besides, you know what kind of life that would be for Treasa and Connell.”

“And the new one.”

He shook his head. “What’d you mean?”

“Treasa’s pregnant.”

Gerard smiled. “Congratulations.” Then he added, “Present circumstances not withstanding of course.”

Séamus decided to change the subject. Discussing his predicament had left ever tightening knots in his stomach. “How’s Matthew?”

His smile faded away instantly. “Worse. He’s reserved, he barley speaks to me anymore and is persistently defiant, and rebellious. He hasn’t been sleeping well; I’ve watched him, he tosses and turns, always mumbling.”

“Does he still visit Kate's grave?”

He cleared his throat. “No. At first he did everyday. Now, even when he attends mass he will deliberately avoid going anywhere near there. I think he believes that if he can manage to forget her, the pain will die along with the memory of his mother.”

Séamus chose not to respond.

Gerard removed his glasses and began cleaning them on his robes. “I fear for his safety. He's mixed himself with the wrong people.” He hesitated. “I should have seen the signs earlier than I did. Two months ago he lost his apprenticeship at the apothecary.”

“How?”

“He spouted off to his Welsh master. He made some- some anti-British remarks and uttered a few choice derogatory words when his master confronted him. Then a few weeks ago I found out who some of his correspondents were, James Stephens was among them discussing some organization called the 'IRB'. I read a bit of the letters, they were treasonous; I burned them.”

Séamus ran his hand through his hair. “'S the same for every generation. The young, driven by their idealism are led by the old, seeking wealth and power, into a cause they cannot possibly win and more often than not it costs many of them their lives.”

“You were not so different around sixteen if I recall. I remember you cheering on the 'The Young Irelanders' and the 'Men of 48'' attempt at a free Éireann state.”

He smiled bitterly. “They didn't succeed, though, did they? Those that weren't caught and imprisoned or executed fled the country like Stephens.”

“If Matthew stays here it's only a matter of time until he ends up with a noose around his neck. After I found the letters I threatened to send him to seminary.” Gerard had a sudden epiphany. “His ship leaves in a week, but I think a better route of getting him out of Ireland has presented its self.” He looked intently at Séamus.

“No.”

“He has no calling. Seminary's not the place for him, it's a lack of a better option. He's always been fond of his uncle Séamus.”

“And what if we're caught?”

“Then the same will happen to him as Treasa and Connell. He'll be released. You're the one they want.” He paused before adding, “He can be a help to you, and you to him.”

Séamus' resolve lessened, though he still resisted. “I don't have the money for his fare; I barely have enough for ours.”

“I can pay. A vow of poverty doesn't earn a priest much, but I was already planning on sending him to seminary. This won't be that much harder for me.”

They heard footsteps and turned in unison to see Treasa approaching.

“What are you two arguing about?” There was no anger in her voice, just exasperation. It seemed to her they could never meet after a long absence from each others company without arguing about something.

Séamus looked back at his brother. “Nothing. We've come to an agreement.”

Gerard turned to Treasa. “It's nice to see you again and congratulations, Séamus tells me your expecting.”

“Likewise, and thank you.” She said.

“I was just about to invite you and Séamus back to my house. We can leave now if you're ready.”

A light rain had finally come when they stepped out of the cathedral turning the night damp and cool. They were mindful of keeping their voices low so as not to draw attention to themselves as they walked. Séamus told Treasa of the additional company they would have on their journey with Gerard reassuring her that the boy would not be in any more danger than he already was; they wouldn't shoot on sight, the British would want to make a public example of Séamus. By the time they reached the small two bedroom house the rain had started to fall harder, beginning to form puddles in the street.

Matthew took the news of his new destination with a simple nod, and returned to his room as though the whole matter was of little consequence to him. Gerard said that he was more pleased than he had let on and that they had had quite a spat when he told Matthew he was sending him to seminary. They hadn't been on speaking terms for the few days since.

When morning came they found Gerard had already gone out, leaving them a note that he would return soon. Treasa set about preparing breakfast in the unfamiliar kitchen while Séamus and Matthew sat at the table making small talk. Séamus had found him to be in a much better mood then he had the night before with Gerard present. His golden hair fell down into his eyes as he spoke, and he brushed it out of the way. They had left out telling him why they were going to America, having decided it was not necessary for him to know. They were most of the way through breakfast when the door burst open.

Gerard closed the door quickly behind him. He looked across the table directly at Séamus. “It's hit the papers! You need to leave now, you were seen last night. Someone saw a man and a women with an infant fitting your description. The streets are rife with soldiers. They are conducting searches of everyone's home.”

Séamus was dumbstruck. “House searches? I'm not that important.”

“He was. That captain was the youngest son of the Earl of Ashburnham.”



Authors Note: Chapter 6 is now available if you would like to read it. It can be found in my portfolio (Richard T. Clark ), or here: http://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1267048