Page 83 of The Missing Sister

‘Does it have a double bed?’ she nudged her sister.

‘Only a single, but ’twill do for now. We’re looking for another place, as I’d like my own kitchen and facilities. With my wages and Ryan’s, we can afford it, so, but there’s nothing to be had in town just now.’

To while away the afternoon hours she would otherwise have spent with Philip, Nuala had embarked on making a patchwork quilt as a wedding present, using various bits of material she’d collected over the years. Never a seamstress like her sister, she was struggling, but wasn’t it the thought that counted? she told herself, as she unstitched a patch for the umpteenth time. At least it took her mind off worrying if Philip was keeping up his walking practice and Finn was safe. Retribution for the burning of the barracks and castle was still taking place, and gruesome images of the kinds of torture other volunteers had suffered at the hands of the British haunted her.

If any bit of suffering was down to me being found out...She shuddered, then, telling herself that worrying helped nobody, she gritted her teeth and concentrated on sewing her quilt.

More bad news came a few days later when martial law was declared on County Cork. This meant that any man could be stopped and searched, and if he was found to have ammunition or weapons on him, he was immediately arrested and subject to a court martial. If found guilty, he could be shot. A curfew was also introduced across the county, with no resident allowed out between the hours of eight p.m. and six a.m.

‘But what would happen if a family member was dying in the next village, or even in the next street?’ said Nuala, showing Finn theCork Examinernewspaper, in which the new laws had been printed.

‘The patrols would arrest you on sight,’ shrugged Finn.

‘It says you can also be arrested for harbouring a suspected volunteer, for “loitering”, or for simply having your hands in your pockets...’ Nuala shook her head in disgust.

‘The good news is that all the residents of the towns and villages are hating the British even more for the new ruling. Charlie told me he’d had forty new volunteers approach him, wanting to sign up. We’ll win this war, Nuala, I swear to you, we will.’

Finn continued to disappear regularly after dark, despite the curfew, as the Tans and the Essexes marched down the streets of local villages to intimidate the residents. Insisting to Finn she was going to stay at the cottage, Nuala spent most evenings alone working on Hannah’s quilt. At least she knew she could always call on Christy, who was having to stay the nights up above the pub because of the curfew. She cycled up to seek solace with her family whenever the curfew allowed.

‘Jaysus! Have you seen this?’ Daniel slapped a newspaper down on the table and pointed with his calloused finger to the headline. ‘How could he do it to us all when we’re fighting to free his flock from the tyranny of the British?’

The family gathered round to read in the newspaper that the Bishop of Cork had issued a decree, saying that any Catholic taking part in an ambush would be guilty of murder, and immediately excommunicated.

‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph!’ Eileen muttered, as she crossed herself and sat down heavily on the stool. ‘Almost every volunteer is Catholic! They’re needing to feel that God is on their side as they fight, not that he’ll be throwing them out of heaven and placing them in hell if they do!’

‘This is what he has to say,’ spat Daniel, ‘after the Black and Tans have set fire to half of Cork City!’

‘Do you think he’d a British rifle pointing to his back when he did this?’ said Fergus.

‘You might be right, but I couldn’t be more sure that ’twill be him refused from entering the Pearly Gates and not our brave men and women.’

‘But will they fight on?’ asked Nuala.

‘Will it stop you from doing what you do?’ Daniel looked at her. ‘Would it stop either of you?’

Brother and sister looked at each other. ‘’Twill not stop me,’ said Fergus.

‘Or me,’ muttered Nuala, reaching for the comfort of her mother’s hand.

Needing the security of her family after such news, Nuala opted to stay the night. Hannah arrived from the dressmaker’s shop, and after tea, the two of them went upstairs to talk.

‘How’s the husband-to-be?’ Nuala said as they lay on their bed.

‘He was off to Mass when I left him earlier,’ Hannah sighed. ‘He said he wanted time to think about the bishop’s proclamation. I’ve told you before that Ryan’s faith puts us all to shame.’

‘Does he think the decree is right?’

‘He said that at least ’twould deter some volunteers from carrying on with their violent activities, and that had to be a good thing. He wants peace, Nuala, that’s all.’

‘Does Ryan know that most of those attending his wedding are volunteers?’

‘I haven’t told him, and neither has anyone else. He’s entitled to his views, fair enough.’ Hannah shot her sister a look. ‘He still wants freedom for the Irish, but has a different way of thinking how to get that.’

‘So now, let’s just sit here and wait until the military kill us all, shall we? I’d like to be showing him some dispatches signed by his hero Michael Collins. ’Twas his idea originally to form the Flying Column and—’

‘D’you think I don’t know that?! But what can I do? I’m marrying the man in a few days’ time! And that’s all there is to it.’

The morning before Hannah’s wedding, there was a knock on the cottage door. Nuala opened it to see her friend Lucy, down from the Big House.