Over the coming months, there were days passersby would see a woman working in the Donnelly fields, weeding or harvesting potatoes, and these neighbours would believe and report it was Johannah. Her dresses were tight on Jim but she let them out and he managed to get into them, complete with a frilly bonnet, and work the fields throughout the summer. No Donnelly boy ever smirked at their father’s masquerade, nor did one ever talk to anyone outside the family about Jim’s visits to the house and the barn.
Fitzhenry began to hear of the muscular figure in a dress seen from time to time in the Donnelly fields, but each time he went to investigate, Johannah claimed it had been herself. Twice, in addition to the sentries spending irregular shifts at the house, Fitzhenry set out constables to wait in the bushes on the edge of the north field and once they even surrounded him, but with a fast horse waiting close by, Jim dropped implements and was mounted and gone before they could close the trap. And Johannah’s strategy of feeding the constables had worked, for on the two occasions shots were fired after him by the constables, they flew well over his head.
It was the next spring, almost a year after Farrell’s demise, that Father Connolly came to visit Johannah. He had a new horse that pleased him, paid for by the parish, and which boosted his pride and confidence, if that were necessary or possible. Johannah served him tea, nervous at the questions he might ask, for she was eight months pregnant.
“You told the constable you hadn’t seen your husband in a year.”
The priest pointedly looked down at her ripe stomach, the new child clearly only a month or two away from delivery.
“More or less.”
“I assume the child is Jim’s and it is the lesser sin of lying you’re guilty of, Johannah.”
“There was a visit or two,” Johannah admitted to the priest.
Father Connolly watched, curious, out the window as young Billy Farrell batted rounders in the yard with the Donnelly boys.
“And how has it been with the Farrell boy? Is he all right being here?”
“I think so. He’s a lovely lad. It just felt like the right thing to do to take him in. He’s quite at home.”
After his father’s death, young Billy Farrell lived in the house he and his father had built. Every afternoon, Johannah would prepare a full plate of food for Will to deliver to him. Johannah would see the boy looking through the fence at them like a lost cat and so one day she instructed Will to invite him to come and live with them if he wanted. On the eleventh day, the lad was waiting with a bag of clothes and belongings. He was welcomed into the house by all the Donnelly boys and given his own bed in the north bedroom with Michael, John and Tom.
Father Connolly had considered the boy’s situation with mixed feelings, living in the house of his father’s killer. But after enquiries, no family of Pat Farrell had come forward to take him and the priest had to admit Billy seemed content with the Donnellys.
Johannah waited quietly and Father Connolly finally persevered with the message he had come to deliver.
“Johannah, you know in your heart Jim has to give himself up to God’s justice.”
“It was self-defence.”
“The truth will come out in court. But it won’t be resolved while he’s a fugitive. He can’t continue like this.”
“I know,” Johannah told him, and she did.
The winter had proved hardest for Jim. The Donnelly barn was bitterly cold but to sleep in his own bed was dangerous as Fitzhenry conducted frequent night inspections at their house. Jim would occasionally stay over at the homes of supportive neighbours, the Whalens and the Feehleys, but never more than a single night. One night, through inside information or plain luck, Fitzhenry made a midnight raid at James Keefe’s house when Jim was a guest. The fugitive had to hide face down in bed under the covers, hidden among three sleeping Keefe children, as the police searched the rooms around them and came up empty-handed.
“I think in your heart you’re a good Catholic, Johannah. Let that be your guide in this. You’re the only one that can convince him. Tell him to give himself up. Tell him to have faith, come back to the Church and God will be just.”
She was listening.
Johannah came to Jim in the barn late that night with a candle and stood waiting at their appointed time. Jim left his hiding place when he was convinced she was not followed. Fitzhenry’s men had gone home for the night. They embraced, then sat on a bench in the tack room with a small lantern for light, holding hands. It struck Jim in that thin light how Johannah had aged in the last year and how it was because of him. He had done this to her. She seemed rough and drawn from lack of sleep, a weariness that broke his heart, though it was plain to see her inner strength and beauty remained undiminished.
“Father Connolly is supportive,” she said, getting down to business. “He promised that you’ll get a fair trial. He’s on our side. People think you’ll maybe only spend a couple of years in jail or even be found not guilty. Some even say that Pat Farrell was a troublemaker and land stealer. You ran a fine race, Jim,” she looked at him with pride and affection. “But you can’t go on like this. I can’t go on like this.”
Jim knew this was true. He could not take another winter outside the house.
“I was such a fool, Johannah.”
“Yes, you were. But we’ll make it right.”
He embraced her and they kissed and at her bidding, they moved to the soft hay and with great care around her prominent belly, they made love to seal their decision.
It was late spring when Bob Whalen walked into the Lucan police station accompanied by Jim Donnelly, in the women’s clothing that he had worn to get there without being arrested. Chief Constable Fitzhenry saw him and laughed out loud.
“Donnelly! You crazed bastard. The lady of the fields. You’re under arrest!”
“I know this, Fitzhenry. That’s why I’m here. Just get on with it. And pay the man his money.”
“What money?”
“The reward for Whalen here. Four hundred dollars. He captured me.”
Whalen and Jim had worked out the deal. Bob would keep two hundred dollars for his efforts and Jim would pocket the other two hundred to pay for a defence lawyer. They didn’t like the way Fitzhenry laughed out loud again.
“Now wait a minute, Fitzhenry,” Bob said. “That’s the deal. Four hundred dollars reward.”
Fitzhenry looked at Whalen, a short, ruddy-faced man.
“Or what? You’re going to take him home again?” Any humour left Fitzhenry’s eyes. “There will be no reward, Bob. He gave himself up, sure as a pussy’s a cat. Now fuck off before I arrest you too, for contempt of court!”
Fitzhenry took Jim Donnelly down the hall to the cells and that was that.
Johannah could not be present for the arrest of her husband, as it turned out. His last child, and a demanding one, decided to make an early debut. Dr. Davis had been called away to London so Michael Keefe’s wife, Anne, who was an old hand at the birthing of babies, came by, and Johannah had all she needed in her main bedroom. Will kept the six other boys occupied elsewhere and Johannah hoped she didn’t scare them all with her groans as she delivered their new sibling.
“It’s a girl, Johannah! A goddamn girl!” Anne announced with the appropriate enthusiasm. “You did it.”
“Thank Christ!” Johannah shouted, with a convert’s passion.
Such pure joy filled Johannah to see this child, blessedly without a penis, who was already crying with hearty spirit as Anne wrapped her in a thick towel and gave her to Johannah to nurse. As she tenderly held her daughter, the tiny infant suddenly calmed and took easily to the breast. After a few moments, she opened her shining blue eyes and stared intently up at Johannah.
“Hello, little one,” her mother whispered. “You’ve come into this world outnumbered by boys, but together we’ll be fine.”
Anne had gone out to the barn to find Will and the boys and invite them in to see this wonder—a girl in their midst. They lined up under the direction of Anne and Will to have a look at the babe, now fed and sleeping in Johannah’s arms.
“Keep your dirty paws off her,” were Anne’s initial instructions. “Just look.”
Will was first in line. “There’s not much to her,” he said.
“There will be soon enough. Next!”
The brothers each filed past to get a quick look at her tiny face like a small congregation receiving Mass.
“She’s got no hair.”
“She’ll have it soon enough.”
“She looks like a piglet.”
“All right, that’s enough. Next. “
“What’s her name, Ma?” John Donnelly asked.
Johannah had almost succumbed to sleep herself.
“Jenny is what your father and I want to call her. Her name is Jenny.”
The boys tried out the name and liked it. As their mother joined the newcomer in sleep, Will gathered his brothers to go and left the Donnelly women to their rest.