DANCING AT THE CROSSROADS                                                          Chapter Eight

                                                                                Scene One

 

There were no dramatic changes following Michael and Connie's long talk, save one. Though it had not been said irrefutably Michael now believed that there was a tactic understanding between them, if not yet an admission, that he was indeed the father of Matthew.

          Otherwise not much happened during the next few days and Michael knew that there was still much to do. He was glad however that now there was another person on what he called his 'contrition list' who was at least prepared to talk to him.   Connie had agreed if somewhat reluctantly to try to arrange a meeting between him and her son Matthew. There was however that proviso, about which she was adamant - that there was no room to negotiate - a strict understanding that Michael would not raise the question of Matthew's parentage. Connie had made it  clear to Michael that even the slightest suggestion or any ambiguity would be enough for her to walk away and never speak to him again.

        Michael understood that Connie was deadly serious, and agreed to her demand. "But there will have to be some reason why Matt would wish to meet me." he said, "Something convincing." he added.

        "Yes I know." Connie replied. "I can understand why you would want to meet him, but why would he want to meet you. I don't want him to be suspicious."       

        Eventually it was Michael who solved the problem. "Until we both fell in love with you Co'lin and I were best friends." he argued. "There'll be no need to tell him all the gory details of the fight and everything; just that we were very good friends."

        Connie agreed to that, and said she would introduce Michael as a friend just back from Australia, who has just heard about Co'lin's death, and wished to pay his respects to all his family.

        "Forgetting the last few months in London, it's not far from the truth." Michael said.

        "There something else." Connie said. She was uncertain and seemed to hesitate, as though she was betraying a confidence.

        "Don't forget that Matthew has twin sons, teenagers now; my grandsons." Connie could not bring herself to make the positive gesture, to accept Michael as the father, but Michael had had no difficulty coming to terms with it when Connie  had broken that unexpected news.

        "My grandsons?" His eyes twinkled.

        "That remains to be seen." she answered, her reluctance to concede to Michael's claim was always at the front of her mind. Connie's reticence was not only through fear of Matthew finding out; for she feared that sooner or later he would surely do that anyway. It was also to do with the slight deception she had agreed with Michael, for she did not want to deceive her son, and did not entirely trust this man who come back, so unexpectedly, into her life.  But now, even in that small way she was in collusion with him.

        Though she felt his remorse following his confession had been genuine, it was too soon to agree to his claim. The fact that she herself had always felt that Michael was the father, was the 'joker in the pack'; a card that for the time being she did not want to acknowledge, let alone play. After all, had he not let her down all those years ago when she was depending on him, leaving her stranded - or as good as - at the alter? And had he not let down his best friend, when he left him for dead in a ditch?

        Connie had no illusions about Michael, and she was in no doubt that he had a lot to do before she could completely trust him again. The thought of loving him once more just did not enter into her head. As a young man in a crisis, he had clearly demonstrated his self interest. Nevertheless, her feelings of animosity had been tempered to some degree by his willingness to face up to his crimes and to confess his guilt.

        In addition to that was the knowledge that, unwittingly, she too had played a part in the tragic events that occurred all those years ago, when, in a moment of weakness, she had succumbed to Co'lin's irresistible but lustful advances. And later, after Michael had fled, she had allowed Co'lin to believe that the baby she had conceived was his. His enthusiasm for that fact was no doubt a major factor, as was her fear of being castigated as the unmarried mother of an illegitimate child. Nevertheless she knew that as well as allowing Co'lin to believe that her baby was his, she had allowed herself to believe it too.

 

Chapter Eight

Scene Two

       

Michael's long talk with Connie had left him ill at ease and tired. He had never had any illusions that his task would be an easy one, but he had not anticipated the emotional strain he was now facing, nor the added strain from the other battle he was fighting. He had no further plans for the day and was looking forward to quiet evening with Molly, but it was not to be.

        Later that evening when plates and cups were washed and put away; and cutlery carefully placed back into their places in the drawer Molly and Michael were settling down with no plans other than to see the day out in quiet contemplation. She had just taken up her knitting, while he was reading the back page of the previous days paper. Both were stopped by a loud knocking at the door.

        "Goodness, and who on earth can by calling at this late hour. Michael looked at the clock, noting that it was five minutes to eight. Hardly 'late', he thought but even in the short time he had been in Ballymay, he had adjusted to the different pace; a different time scale.

        "Shall I get it?" he said, moving his chair from the table.

        "Would you dear." Molly answered, indicating the wool and needles on her lap.

        "Seamous." Michael announced as he returned to the little lounge, followed by the young man.

        "My word," Molly said, looking up "It's not often I see you of an evening."

        "It's me Da; wants uncle Michael to call."  No unnecessary words wasted in greetings, or social niceties. "When you can." and with that he turned to go.

        "Hang on." and "just a minute." Michael and Molly spoke at once, but it was Michael who continued. "What's the hurry?" Seamous stopped by the door. "When do they want me to call, and where?"

        "Da's house, tonight." and this time he was off before he could be stopped again.

        "Don't know what's wrong with that lad. But you've seen his dad; he's just the same - and your other  brothers aren't much better."

        "Hold on there." Michael called after the disappearing boy. "My but you're in a divil of a hurry. Just wait and I'll come with you now."

        "Will I come with you?' Molly asked, suspecting that there would likely be trouble, and that she might be able to keep the boys from falling out.

        "I don't know sis." he answered, "Seems I've got to face up to my brothers one way or another. I might as well start now." He kissed her on the cheek. "I think it's best I go on my own; I'm sure it will be alright."

        "But what if...?" Michael stopped her.

        "I promise to behave. I'll turn the other cheek." he said as, with the back of his finger he lightly touched hers.  "It will be alright I promise."

        Neither Michael or Molly seemed to have noticed, or at least had not spoken of it, how their original suspicion of each other had largely evaporated. A feeling of warmth for each other had slowly developed and it was a feeling they both sensed, but not yet in a way that they could express. It was something intangible, but something that was just a step away from love.

        So far however, nothing like that feeling had filtered through to his brothers.

        Michael had to walk hard to keep up with the younger man, and talking had little effect. "Saemus!" he called after a while, and from ten paces behind, "why are you in such a darned hurry? You’re a quarter of my age, and if you keep this up I'll not have a breath left in my body. For God's sake slow down."

        "Sorry uncle Michael; but me Da said not to be long."

        "Not to be long is it? At this pace you'll be back home before you left."

        "Sorry Uncle Michael; It'll not be long now." the young man replied, completely missing the humour, albeit unintended, in his uncle's words.

        Despite Michael's entreaty, Saemus did not slow down appreciably, but the boy was not wrong. Two more minutes at that brisk pace brought them to his youngest brother’s house. Situated at the very edge of the village, it was a building that Michael remembered as being one of a number of outhouses from old Mr Murphy's farm. In the dark he could not see the other buildings, but this one was lit by two bright lights from the garden and he could see that it was well renovated. Without doubt it was a nice dwelling. Once inside he could see that his first impression was near to the mark. His thoughts on the matter were however brought to an abrupt end, when a voice; familiar in that it reminded him somewhat of his own voice; but lacking the warmth he might have hoped for, spoke up.

        "Michael Cassidy as I live and breath. Never thought I would see you cross my doorstep, and now that I’ve seen it I'm not sure that I'm glad of it."

        It was a crushing blow to Michael. Molly had warned him. He had come to expect that kind of greeting from the oldest of his brothers, but she had not given him reason to suspect it from the youngest.

        "Hello Brian," Michael answered quietly, uncertain how to proceed. "thank you for inviting me to your home."

        "Aye, it seemed only right, now that you're here, but why, that's what I'm wondering."

        "Perhaps you will give me the chance to tell you one day, and to get to know you."

        Michael was still standing just inside the room, uncertain, awkward, and praying for a kind word.

        "Sit yourself down then." Brian pointed at a chair, a hard upright chair normally found at the table. Clearly it was not an invitation to make himself comfortable. But it was a start and Michael was grateful. There was a long silence, broken only by an occasional gust of wind, and a slight squeak when Saemus moved his foot on the linoleum covered floor.

         Michael was desperate to break the silence, afraid that this might be his only chance. "It's been a strange life you know, not at all glamorous; well at least not at first."

        "Why?"

        "Why was it strange?" Michael lifted his head, surprised at the question.

        "Why did you run away?"

        This was the crunch, make or break, the point of no return. The first hurdle, and one at which he must not fall. Looking directly at his young brother, he answered quietly, "Because I was afraid, because I was a coward."

        Brian seemed to be in no hurry. Despite being flung prematurely into marriage and fatherhood much sooner than he would have chosen, and with all the difficulties that must have brought to a young life, he seemed to have acquired a maturity which surprised Michael.

        "And why did you came back?" he asked finally.

        "To say sorry."

        "Ha." Brian raised his gaze to the ceiling, then back at Michael. "So it takes over forty years to say sorry?"

        "No; the next day, and every day since, but I was on the run, I didn't know how."

        "But why were you on the run? Because you had a fight?"

        "Because I killed a man; my best friend. At least I thought I had killed him."

        "Your best friend," Brian dragged out the words, "married the girl you deserted."

        "I know." Michael's head was bowed but then he looked up again. "But  I thought I had killed - murdered - him. Until just a few days ago I still thought I had."

        "So why did you came back." Brian asked again, somehow implying a lack of conviction."

        "To ask for the forgiveness of my family, and from anyone else I hurt, and if necessary to give myself up to the police."

        "But forty four years. Surely you could have made contact before now."

        "If I had known that Co'lin wasn’t dead I would have been back years ago, but I thought I was a wanted man; that I'd be up for murder; afraid of being arrested. Every time I saw a copper I would freeze. For more than a few years I became accustomed to living in the shadows; I got used to the life I was leading and it did get easier, and as time went by as it got less uncomfortable hiding myself amongst the masses, it got harder to think of going back."

        Michael stopped talking, aware that he was rushing his words, afraid of saying the wrong things, yet not knowing for sure what were the right things.

        "But why now?" Brian seemed to be fixed on this point.

        Michael took a deep breath. "My wife died last year, unexpectedly, and it brought it home that none of us know how long we have got and I want to make peace with my family," he paused, "before I have to face the almighty and make peace with him."

        He felt the beginning of a smile, quickly repressed before Brian could see it, at the thought that he at least did have some idea how long he had got.

        "What are your plans now?" Brian asked, removing that embryonic smile from Michael's face

        "Well, I hope to meet every member of the family, including your sons," He gestured toward Saemus, who, true to form had not said a word since he came into the house. "and then make my peace with Connie, and then, find a place to live out my life."

        "And what about the farm?"

        "The farm?" Michael was puzzled. "What farm, what about the farm?"

        "The family farm."

        I didn't know there was a family farm." Michael answered, wondering where this was leading.

        "You've no ambitions there then?" Brian paused. "I'm talking about what should have been yours. You were the eldest son, but you buggered off. It wasn't much more than a run down market garden when you left. Da hadn't much idea how to run a business, and was content to get enough out of it to keep his kids and have a bob or two in his pocket."

        "I've hardly ever thought of it," Michael replied,

        "I, well your brother Donny has made it much more than when you last saw it. It'll be worth good money now."

        "I am very pleased to hear it." Michael answered, "but I have no interest in the farm; certainly never as a birthright."

        "Just see that you keep it that way then."

        "But I thought the farm was Richard's."

        "I, so it is, and I have a part share in it. He has another farm as well; outside the village. You'll find him there if you want to see him, but I doubt you'll get much of a reception. He doesn't want to speak to you, so I thought I'd better do it for him."

        "I'm grateful to you for that, and I hope you will tell Richard that I have no wish to take the farm from him.  Whatever it is like now it and whatever might have been, it is now rightfully his."

        Michael was very uneasy. He had not been able to guess how his first confrontation would go, and even now he didn't know how he had fared. Brian, his youngest brother, who he had seen only briefly that day he arrived at Molly's cottage, and about whom he knew so little had totally dominated this meeting. Nothing like the quiet man of few words that Molly had led him to believe. Now, much sooner that Michael would have wished, he brought it to and end.

        "I expect you'll be wanting to get back to Molly." he said, though Michael was pleased to note that some of the harshness had gone from his voice. "She's been a good sister to us all, and I'll tell you for nothing; she was the one who felt the greatest loss when you disappeared."

        Michael's parting words as he prepared to leave his brothers house came from the heart. "She has been a good sister to me too. She welcomed me into her home, when God knows she could just as easily have slammed the door into my face." He paused just a few seconds, "I only hope I have the time to earn her forgiveness, and....", he looked directly at his young brother. "Dare I say it.… and yours too."

        "It's a lot to ask for after all this time." Brian answered quietly.

        "I know; but I pray to god that you will find it in your heart to see me as I am."

        "And what would that be?"

        "Sorry, remorseful, and desperate to be part of the family again."

        "Aye, and maybe one day you will; but there's a way to go."       

        With that Michael left the house, this time without the company of Saemus, who, in all that time had uttered not a single word. But Michael returned to the cottage with a lighter step. He had endured his first major grilling, and felt good about the outcome. Brian's softer 'tone' as he left had been in distinct contrast to the harsher one which could not possibly have gone unnoticed when he arrived. Despite his having been stripped naked, forced to express his deepest emotions, and confess sins that only a priest should hear, Michael felt a curious sense of peace. Indeed it was just the same feeling he remembered from his youth as he left the confessional.

 

Chapter Eight

Scene Three

 

Molly was quiet at breakfast the next morning, hovering with an uncharacteristic nervousness as she saw to the table. Michael too seemed to have nothing to say.

        Plucking up courage, she finally managed to ask the question that was on her mind. "Are you not going to tell me then?"

        "About what."

        "About last night of course. I waited for you to come home, and when you did you went straight to your room."

        "There's was not much to tell really."

        Molly sat down at the little table opposite her brother and looked directly at him. "At the moment I am the only friend you have in Ballymay. You upset a lot of people all those years ago, and some of them have not forgotten. I know it is hard for you, but without someone on your side it will be a lot harder."

        There was only a few feet between them, but it could have been miles. At last Michael spoke. "Perhaps it was a mistake coming home."

        "I', well maybe you're right, and only time will tell, but you're here now, and surely that means you've passed the first hurdle. What have you to lose now?"

        "I've everything to lose, or nothing at all; and I'm beginning to feel that there is no difference."

        Molly stood up and gestured with her hands as though shooing her brother away. "Ah, away with you. I've no time for talk like that. When you can tell me in plain English what you are talking about, then maybe I'll listen. But if you want to wallow in self pity you can do it on your own."

        Michael was astonished by his sister’s outburst. So far, after she got over the shock of his return, she had been both supportive and encouraging. Now she seemed to have turned, her attitude rather like that of his brother Brian. Had her outstretched arms now changed from those of welcome to a barrier to keep herself distant and defensive?

        "Sorry Sis." It was all he could think of to say.

        "Sorry is it? Did you expect everyone to fall over themselves for you?"

        "I hoped that they might be pleased to see me."

        Molly fairly sputtered. "Tell me now; what is it that they should be so pleased about. You run off in the dead of night. Not a word to anyone, not your parents or your sister and brothers, not even the woman you were supposed to be marrying. Not a word then, and not a word since. Nobody knew what had happened to you, or where you were. After a while you were given up for dead. Worse still; eventually you were just given up, as though you had never existed. And you thought that people would be pleased to see you?"

        Michael was dismayed to see the tears start to well up in Molly's eyes, and in a moment she sank back to the table, dropped her head and buried her face in her arms, her whole body shaking as she sobbed. He stretched out his hand to touch her, but held back. It wasn't lack of feeling that prevented him from crying with her. He felt the emotion acutely, but years in the wilderness, long periods of rough living, of living hand to mouth, scavenging like an animal, suffering traumas of every kind had left him bereft of tears.  The relief of their shedding was a luxury he had learned to do without. His recent outburst with Connie seemed to have used up what little reserve he had, but even though he could not cry his tears, he could feel them.

        He could feel them now. Slowly carefully, he let his hand fall on his sister's arm, lightly, softly. "Please don't cry Molly. I'm not worth crying over."

        After a few moments Molly lifted her head. Her sobbing had stopped as had her tears, but her eyes showed the strain. "Oh Michael," she said, "If only you knew how many tears I shed for you back then; but eventually when everyone else had stopped crying even I stopped. Worse than that not only did I stop crying; I even stopped caring. Don't you see that it's me I am crying for not you, because I didn't think I would ever see you again."

        Molly stood up again, then moved towards the kitchen. The kettle, the tap, the teapot, the cups, the tea, the eternal curer at times of crisis. Ten minutes later they were both drinking from well used beakers, but neither of them had taken even the smallest bite of their breakfasts.