Will was lying beside Nora in the upstairs bedroom of their house, his eyes wide open. She had made love to him to take his mind off the deep sadness of his brothers’ killings, to both acknowledge death and celebrate life. And now she slept. The lanterns and candles were extinguished, though a strong moon illuminated the inside of the room. John was sleeping in the little bedroom below, off the kitchen, with their friend and neighbour Martin Hogan. They had talked well into the night about Michael and James, who the killers were and what to do now. Martin was a blacksmith and he was shoeing one of Will’s geldings in the morning so he stayed over. Will remembered that his parents were supposed to go to London tomorrow. John was going to drive them in the buggy to answer the crazy charges against them by Carroll, but the brothers had agreed, with two sons dead, the courts would forgive them if they didn’t appear. The important thing, Will knew, was to face their enemies in Lucan tomorrow and make peace.
John was as close to Michael as Will and even in his grief, he declared the best course of action for the Donnellys: live and procreate and make peace with their enemies, may they all go to hell. He would be married to Winnifred and have many children and this hopeful endeavour was the right response to what had happened.
But as Will lay there, he heard the sound of horses walking quietly on the frozen road, slowing down just beyond their picket fence. His eyes opened wide. Suddenly alert, he slid out of bed and went to the window. Outside he could see twenty armed members of the Peace Society, some in disguise and some not. He clearly made out Jim Carroll in uniform and he knew they were in trouble.
Will ran downstairs and double-locked the front door and put a chair against it. He found his rifle and a pistol in the closet and returned upstairs. With the guns in his hand, he peeked out the bedroom window again. Nora woke up and rolled out of bed beside him, very sleepy, her belly pushing out her nightgown.
“What is it?” she mumbled.
Will whispered. “Keep your head down.”
“Is someone out there?” Starting to awaken now, she wanted to look out the window but he held her down.
“The Society.”
“What?”
Nora was suddenly alert. Will gestured for her to keep away from the window as he peeked outside. He watched as the Peace Society vigilantes, all armed with guns or clubs, stood outside the fence passing bottles of whiskey. Some of them came onto the property and headed over to the barn and Will heard his stallion start to scream. They were beating him or worse. Two of them called out. “FIRE! FIRE! BARN’S BURNING! BETTER COME OUT, BILLY!”
There was drunken laughter.
Will was shocked to see all these men so boldly presenting themselves. How reckless, he thought, unless they expect no witnesses to be left alive. The thought chilled him. Then he realized they would already have been to his family’s farmhouse, which was on the way from town.
“Nora, they’ve come to kill us,” he whispered to his wife. Better she know the truth.
Out the window, he could see that several of the vigilantes, including John Kennedy, Nora’s brother, had dismounted and were approaching their front door with a shotgun.
“COME ON OUT, BILLY!” one of them yelled.
Will determined they would just wait and not show their presence, but he forgot John was sleeping downstairs. John shuffled, groggy and unaware of the danger, toward the front door. He called to the visitors outside.
“Who is it? What d-d-d-do you want?”
“Will Donnelly,” came the answer and then Will heard John fumble with the chair at the door.
“John! Don’t open it!” Will called down to him. But then he heard the iron bolt slide and realized John was opening the door.
“JOHN! DON’T OPEN THE DOOR!” But it was too late.
“Yes? He’s…”
From above, Will saw John Kennedy fire his shotgun at John. It signalled the others and they all started to fire into the doorway from just outside the picket fence.
The vigilantes kept up their rifle and pistol fire, shooting at the house from a dozen weapons and breaking all the front windows, upstairs and down. When Will fired back twice with the rifle, they all aimed at his broken window and fired. He could only hold himself over Nora down on the floor to protect her from bullets and flying glass as rifle and shotgun fire destroyed the window and frames and ricocheted around the room.
Then Carroll’s voice rang out. “ALL RIGHT! CEASE FIRE! STOP IT!”
The gunfire slowly subsided and the night was suddenly silent and still.
On the floor of their bedroom, Nora and Will were dusted and cut by glass fragments.
“Are you all right?” Will whispered and Nora nodded. Martin Hogan had crept up the stairs behind them and whispered urgently from the landing. “Keep quiet. They’ll think we’re dead.”
Carroll then announced to the vigilantes below, “Good work! That’s done. Now we go on to Keefe’s for the next visit.”
“Keefe’s?” It was the voice of Martin McLaughlin.
“He’s a Donnelly lover,” Thomas Ryder confirmed.
Will noted a lack of momentum in the conversation. Other voices chimed in that he did not recognize.
“I gotta get back to milk the cows.”
“The wife’ll be having some questions.”
“I forgot to feed my pigs.”
McLaughlin’s voice came in again. “Maybe we’ve done enough for one night.”
But then Nora’s brother John Kennedy spoke and through the shattered window, Nora and Will heard him say with satisfaction, “At least brother-in-law rests easy at last.”
Nora gasped.
“What was that?” Jim Carroll asked. The vigilantes below had all heard the sound Nora made in the stillness through the shattered window.
“The woman’s still alive in there.” It was Martin McLaughlin’s voice. John Kennedy spoke next.
“We should go in and finish the job.”
“She’s your sister, John.” McLaughlin again.
“She’s no sister of mine. She’s made her choice.”
Will had his arms around Nora. He could feel her try to stand up into the shattered window and shout at them, but he held her tight and whispered, “We’re alive, my love. Don’t.” And finally her struggling subsided and she lay still in his arms.
“Let’s let it be, John,” Grouchy Ryder said. “Least we got the cripple.” Below was further discussion among the murderers.
“Do we go on to Keefe’s?” Will heard Jim Carroll ask. “We should finish the job at Keefe’s.”
“The Donnellys are done. I think I’ve had enough blood tonight, boys,” James Flanagan answered and several more made noises of agreement. Will carefully peeked over the windowsill. Most had taken their masks off, thrown away their hats or now tore off the women’s dresses.
“All right. We’ve done what was needed,” Carroll told them. “Now listen, all of you. The oath!” All raised their hands. “We of the Peace Society will not speak to anyone about what has happened tonight, including wives, family and friends, and if anyone questions you, you will deny everything. Say it!”
The Peace Society members with their hands raised spoke in unison: “I will deny everything. On this I swear or may the fires of Hell be my future, so help me God.”
“Good!” Carroll told them. “Good work tonight, men. Return to your homes with your mouths shut like good Catholics.”
The Peace Society members mounted up, turned and rode slowly back down the Roman Line, now in twos and threes.
Will raced down the stairs past Martin Hogan with Nora close behind. The front door was open and John’s body had been thrown well back by gunfire and he lay on the kitchen floor in a pool of blood. On his knees, Will folded a towel and put it under his head. There was a sucking chest wound from Kennedy’s shotgun blast and bullet wounds in John’s neck and shoulder. Nora was beside him.
“Is he dying?” Nora asked and Will nodded to her. She hurried away with purpose.
“Will…?” John spoke.
“Oh, Johnny…”
John was spitting out blood, his breathing raspy.
“My God, Will, I’m murdered. May God have m-m-m-mercy on my soul. And I’ve lost my glasses. Will?”
“I’m here.”
Nora came back with the stub of a holy candle and some holy water. She lit the candle with a match and folded John’s weak hand around it. She wiped the blood from John’s face, applied some of the holy water and prayed in a whisper.
“Behold, O Lord, this Thy servant, and in Thy loving mercy deliver him. From darkness and doubt, deliver him. By Thy cross and passion, deliver him. We sinners do beseech Thee, oh Lord, if it please Thee to forgive all his sins.”
“Will? My glasses…”
Will found the glasses on the floor nearby and wiped the lenses clean of blood on his shirt. He put them on John and it seemed to calm him. His brother grabbed Will’s hand tight.
“Will…Will…t-t-t-tell her…”
He stared at the candle light for a moment—eternity was in the bright flame—then his eyes went dull in death.
Oh, God help me, there I were in the back of the Whalens’ wagon making its way down the Roman Line, hid under a couple of musty blankets. Pat Whalen was driving me into London. As I warmed up at the stove, I’d told my story to them and they got more and more upset. And when I tells them about Johannah getting clubbed, they tells me to stop. They did not want to hear it. Since a constable was involved, I should tell it to a judge. It weren’t an easy decision for Whalen to go out on the road that night, but the last thing he and the missus wanted was for the Peace Society men to catch me in their house or they’d a torched it too. So the missus gave me an old coat and boots, and Whalen harnessed up his rig and went to drive me into town. Thing was, when we started down the road, we comes in among the Peace Society men returning back from their exploits! I had a peek out to see who it was, but then Whalen growled at me to keep my head down or we’d all be killed. The horsemen was all riding at a walk spread along over a quarter mile and we felt like young calfs moving quiet through a pack of wolves. I knowed Whalen said not to, but I couldn’t help myself peeking out from under the blanket to see what’s what. Whalen started going fast and we passed several of the mounted vigilantes talking as they ambled their horses down the road. Whalen looked straight ahead and didn’t speak to any of them.
I heared John Purtell call out, “Whalen? Whalen, where you off to this time of the morning?”
Whalen ignored them and was driving on but it was Flanagan who spurred his animal to a trot and took hold of the harness to stop Whalen’s rig.
“The man asked where you were headed, “ Flanagan told Whalen.
“Going in to London to pick up seed and lumber. Getting an early start.”
Flanagan guided his roan close beside the wagon and I thought he might pull the blanket off and I froze still underneath. But just then, Carroll rode up.
“Whalen, you hear about anything?”
“No, not a thing.”
“But you know the Donnelly house was burned last night, didn’t you? Just across the Line from you.”
“Yeah, I guess I saw some flames. Not my business.”
“Arsonists. That’s who we’re looking for now. Terrible thing.”
“Yes, terrible.”
“So keep your eyes peeled, Whalen, and let us know if you see anybody around.”
“I will, I certainly will.”
Flanagan stood aside and Whalen pulled away from them. When Whalen was clear, he drove the horse on toward London like he was a chariot driver in one of them Roman races, and me bouncing on the frozen road so’s I almost lost my teeth.
By dawn that morning, me and Mr. Whalen pulled up outside the judge’s house in London. Even after we left the Peace Society men, Whalen made me stay under the blanket all the way to London. It were the worst ride I ever knew.
At first the old judge were as angry as a wet tomcat, being wakened up and all.
“What is it? What can’t wait?”
“Judge MacPherson, Your Grace, I’m sorry but my name’s Pat Whalen, from out on the Roman Line outside Lucan, and this is Johnny O’Connor.”
“Yes. What’s that to me?”
The judge being gruff didn’t bother him and Pat Whalen were strong to make him listen to his story.
“You’re going to want to hear what this boy has to say, sir.”