Chapter 8

The train was so crowded they couldn’t see out the windows. They were left to look at each other in silence, each thinking his own solemn thoughts. Liam studied Maeve’s dear face as if to commit it to memory…the fair skin, the blue eyes that reflected her every mood, and the scattering of freckles that were gold, he told her, sprinkled by a playful leprechaun. We are about to start a new life. That thought would have to carry him through the danger he faced.

The monotony of the ride made it endless. Liam longed for action. Whatever the outcome, let him control his fate. The din of the crowd grew, and people surged to the windows. Though they could not see, Liam and Maeve knew they were arriving in Queenstown.

“Here’s your ticket,” Liam said, passing it to Maeve in the crush. As she looked at him in surprise, he whispered, “I’ll meet you on the ship. I’m taking a different route.”

As the train pulled into the station, they craned to get a glimpse out the window. At several breaks in the crowd, they saw snatches of red, the hated Redcoats. Liam took no chances. He kissed Maeve and little Dermot on the forehead and pushed his way to the opposite side of the train, away from the station. It was almost impossible because of the crush of people. If the Redcoats were waiting, they’d expect him to alight from the train with the rest of the crowd. He was not about to do that. He heaved his shoulder against the window, but it would not budge. He prepared to break it, but before he had the chance, the train, full of humanity, surged ahead. The added pressure on Liam gave him the force he needed to push open the window. So focused were they on the door that no one in the train noticed a man throw his suitcase out the opposite side, then follow it, head first, out the window.

He tumbled to the ground, ignoring the impact on his shoulder. In a moment, Liam was up and heading toward the waterfront. He hid among the crowds, hurrying along with them, trying to walk as straight as he could, but the wound and the pain had done their damage.

Five hours to wait before he could board the ship, all of it in broad daylight. He walked with a group of men, some carrying bags, and he maneuvered himself into the center. He had just begun to think he could do this when he spotted two Redcoats crossing to his side of the street. They were talking and appeared not to notice the group, but Liam began to sweat. Stay calm, he told himself, and stay with the group. They’re not looking for a group. The Redcoats, burly, swaggering men, now walked just behind them.

“Here we are,” one of the men called out, and the group stopped in front of a cottage. A woman in the window waved to the men. They laughed and gestured to one another through the window until the woman reappeared at the door, opening it wide.

The Redcoats stopped to watch the scene, the woman and the men exchanging noisy greetings. One by one, the men entered the home until all were inside but himself and one other. Liam felt his pulse in his throat. He couldn’t enter the house, and he couldn’t limp away in front of the Redcoats. In desperation, he turned and pumped the last man’s hand.

“Good luck on your trip,” he said, hoping the man would take it as a friendly gesture. Surprised, the man looked down at Liam’s hand, then at his face. Liam forced a grin. He could feel the Redcoats watching. He felt as though the man held his fate in his hands. Any kind of rebuff might bring them over, and he’d be forced to draw his gun. Come on, man, Liam pleaded silently, return the friendly handshake.

“Have a good trip yourself, man,” the man said heartily, pumping Liam’s hand, before he turned and entered the house.

“I’ll wait here a spell,” Liam said as the man disappeared inside, and he casually sat down on his baggage. The Redcoats hesitated a moment, possibly wondering why only one of the friends stayed outside, then continued down the street.

Liam waited a few minutes more, until his heart stopped galloping and he could gather his thoughts. His nerves finally abating, he decided to stay off the streets. He had saved enough money that he could spend his few remaining hours in a pub. With his bag in hand, he made his way through side streets that sometimes wound away from the water, making his journey longer but safer. He stopped about a quarter mile from the dock, as close as he dared get until he could board along with the final rush of passengers.

He stood in front of a pub and peered in through the small-paned window. It was dark inside, and that was good. A dozen or so men stood at the bar, a few sat at tables, and none looked like the authorities. He stepped inside.

“I’ll have a pint, lad,” Liam ordered at the bar, then took his seat at a table in the front, alone. He didn’t want to talk to anyone, nor be trapped in the back in case he had to escape. Ordinarily he would have ordered whiskey, but he knew he needed a clear head, so he nursed a pint of ale. Half the men in the pub were headed for America, either single men or married men who were traveling first to their new country to find work and raise money to bring their families over.

Liam was fortunate that his cousins could afford to send him the fare and wait until he earned enough to pay them back. Life must be good for them in America. He let himself dream, imagining what America looked like, Boston and New York, Philadelphia, Chicago and St. Louis—grand cities, he knew, ready and waiting. Wealth and freedom, within his grasp. By God, he vowed, I am not going to lose my future.

A woman walked by holding a baby, and his thoughts were wrenched back to Maeve and Dermot. How were they getting on without him? It won’t be long, he tried to reassure himself, before they would be together, safe, or else… He refused to think of that. He wouldn’t leave his wife alone and his son fatherless.

Although he sipped his ale slowly, the time dragged, and he found himself ordering another, and another. He started to relax, looking out the window at the passing crowds, almost enjoying himself. Then he noticed the pace quickening, and people scattered to the sides of the road, chattering and pointing. He stretched to look down the street, and caught a glimpse of them, marching two by two. In a moment, they passed in front of the window, a contingent of thirty Redcoats, heading for the dock. They looked strong and impressive, made to strike fear as their boots hit the road in unison, a crunch, crunch, crunch of unquestioned authority.

Liam put his hand over his heart to quell the pounding. From his limbs to his brain, fear numbed him. Snatches of his life raced before him, as he had heard happened when dying. As if in a well, he was falling, swallowed up by inky darkness.

Think. Liam shook himself. There has to be a way. He covered his eyes with his hand, willing himself to stay calm and rational. Their numbers are so great, my gun will be of no use, unless I turn it on myself. A bold plan is the only way, and I have less than two hours to devise one.