Categories > Original > Historical > My Irish Rogue

May 17, 1921

by ladyrose 0 reviews

The day after excution, and the introduction of Patrick's family.

Category: Historical - Rating: G - Genres: Fantasy,Romance - Published: 2008-12-28 - Updated: 2008-12-28 - 2862 words - Complete

May 17th 1921

It was early morning when my childhood friend walked into the small kitchen of our home. She had always been a heavy sleeper and by yesterdays activities she most likely didn’t sleep well. Katlynn had moved from England with my father, brother, and I because of her own older brother. All the man were apart of the Royal army that was deployed to Dublin almost two months ago. She entered with a light colored dress and her hair pulled back tightly.
“Good morning.”
I spoke quietly; she looked up slightly puzzled then nodded as a reply.
While I was cooking our breakfast, being the true woman of the house, I wasn’t able to answer the door when a knock sounded.
Caitlyn murmured something about her getting the door. I heard the voices, unable to understand who from the other room, while I continued to cook. After several minutes Caitlyn returned, her once plain face now showed astonishment then glee as she read the paper in her hands.
“Who was that?”
I asked, she looked up at me with a smile I didn’t think she would ever show again.

“Mrs. Brown, she gave me the paper, you won’t believe the front page.”
I paused in my cooking to go over to the table, leaning over her shoulder I saw the front page.
A black and white photo of the officer from yesterday while he was taking his bows. My stomach clenched, my mind already knowing what the article would speak of.

“Mrs. Brown came all the way over here to tell me about my brother’s murder...”

Yes, this too I knew all about. How would it be possible that I know nothing when my own friend’s brother was allegedly coldly murdered by Patrick’s older brother?

As I stood at the window looking at the crowd below, my eyes didn’t want to travel to the far corner of the plaza of people. A familiar face would have torn me in two if I saw her, Caitlyn and I had argued about her going to the execution. But she had stubbornly refused, now if I was to look down to her, her face showing anger and rage but also contentment, I would have been torn to see so much.

She held so much hatred to a man she never met before. So my eyes never saw her, and I was heartbreakingly entranced by the sight below.

“Mrs. Brown came to show me this, the police have found that…that evil, man from yesterday wasn’t alone in my brother’s killing”

She paused in her statement to look at the paper again. My pulse raced as she continued, her index finger pointed to the announcement in the article. “The oldest O’Shanahan son that was executed yesterday, May 16th, may not have acted alone in the killing of the young Royal Army officer, Matthew Stokes, days before. New information has linked the second oldest O’Shanahan to be an accomplice to the murder. He and his family are now considered wanted by the British forces, along with the Black and Tans. They are known to have connections to the IRA and their leader Michael Collins.”

She looked up from the article her face still holding the smile.

“This is great, you know? Soon my brother will lay in peace with this second brother executed and his family. That god damn IRA, thinking they can just kill any man they please. You know what I hope, Friend. I hope they make this second O’Shan-”

I screamed, her features paled at my stern cry,


I couldn’t be in that tiny room any longer, the walls seemed to be crawling in toward me. I raced out of the house; tears once again pledged my vision. I ran as hard as I could to the farm lands to the west of Dublin. My breath became broken as I sprinted past the last home of the large city. Along the narrow dirt road were trees apart of a large orchard, I cut through the trees in hopes of arriving at Patrick’s home sooner.

My feet pounded the dirt floor as the brown trucks blocked much sight through the dense orchard as though creating walls around me again, then suddenly a hand reached out covering my mouth. The grip was strong as the arms pulled me closer. My heart was beating from the running but this sudden figure sent adrenaline through my veins. My eyes darting around to see the face of my attacker only to find Patrick’s face above my own. He own features covered in sweat as he strained his ears to hear any sound. After a few moments, his tension faded from his body, he pulled me into a real embrace that instantly gave relief to all the worries that were in my mind.

We stayed in that comfort until he gently pulled away, breaking the embrace. He laced his fingers with mine, his other hand traced my cheek, his voice was soft but underlining the urgency.
“We must leave here.”

We lightly ran from that hidden place, he still griped my hand, leading me through the forest he knew by heart.

When we finally stopped running we were a few kilometers from Dublin. We stopped at an abandoned home between two large oak trees. Its once strong walls were now broken stones barely standing on their own. Through the slanted doorway was a small area with an olive rug and a broken wooden rocker in the far corner. We sat against the tallest wall to watch for any surprise attacks, slowly gaining our breath before a question formed in my mind.

“Where is Nora?”

I asked, he glanced at me and softly smiled.

“She’s with my uncle and aunt, they came to town last night to speak with my father. They’ll take good care of her until I get back.”

I sighed in relief, at his response. I was mostly glad that Nora wasn’t with their father as he tried to escape from the police. Carrying his youngest child while being pursued didn’t allow for much mercy from the British on account of a young child being present.

“I glad that she is alright.”

We sat in silence for a few moments before he suddenly stood.

“What? What is it?”
I asked suddenly scared. He swung his head slowly.

“Nothing, but we are going back.”
“What, Patrick you can be serious! All the British in Dublin want you and your father for murder.”
“I already know that, I know. But I can’t just sit here. You don’t know what is going to happen tonight.”
I was puzzled for a moment. Patrick paced the small room, his hands running through his fiery red hair. His body was tense as he paced.

“What is going to happen tonight Patrick? What is so important that you would risk your life to go back for?”

I pleaded with him, tears formed in my eyes. He paused, and then briskly walked over to me.
“You can’t go back!”
He knelt in front grasping my hands forcing me to look at him.
“I have to go back. My uncle wasn’t in Dublin for nothing; he came to command a large guerilla attack on the Brits in the city. It’ll be mass murder… and I can’t let that happen.”

His deep green eyes were fierce and determined, my heart hurt to think of going back to the city but Patrick needed this or he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. I stiffly nodded then tightly wrapped my arms around him. This could be our last moment together-no I wasn’t going to let myself think about the worst outcome.

We stayed in that embrace for minutes but it was life times to our souls. Then we left the home to be abandoned once again as we ran. The dense trees and bushes created walls around us as our feet pounded harshly into the earth. I ran slightly behind him, my breath came out in puffs as I watched him. Patrick was a strong man in both mind and body; he didn’t seem to lose any precious air as we sprinted. I don’t want to lose this man, I thought but I had no say in any matter of death, I had learned that harsh lesson of life yesterday.

We arrive back at the city limits around the afternoon as the cathedral bells rang announcing another hour. We keep away from people, stocking along the stone walls to our destination. Although not many officers were roaming the streets we had too many close encounters but we were saved by our caution. Patrick led me to an older home; it stood high on two stories. With the homes many windows, none allowed a glimpse through to the interior. We walked briskly to the front door; His fist gently pounded the door asking for permission to enter. I felt suddenly cold as I turned to watch the people passing behind us. Soon the large wooden door open, an average man opened the door. His hair was parted to the side but his features demanded the most attention, his eyes shined with an inner fire I had only seen in one other man, it made him appear handsome in a mysterious way. His tone was deep as he spoke to Patrick in the native Irish tongue. His face had remind like stone until he recognized Patrick then a faint smile appeared on his lips.

“ Dia Duit!” { Hello, god to you!}

I had been living in Dublin for some time but had not caught the Irish language as quickly as I hoped even in greetings I had trouble understanding.

“Dia's Muire duit” {God and Mary to you}

They both shook the others hand before the man turned his attention to me.

“Cé hí sin?” {Who is she?}

Patrick looked back to me, he gave me a kind smile to reassure me the situation was fine besides the man’s rough tone to my existence outside his home.

“Sin í Elizabeth!” Patrick replied.

His tone was steady as the man looked back at me, his face changed to deep concentration but then he stepped aside allowing us to enter. The first room was warm compared to the soft chill of the open air. Another woman sat along the tan sofa, next to the small child playing with her tiny doll. The little girl immediately looked up to her brother,

“Brother, your back!”

She slide off the large sofa running to Patrick as he quickly swooped her into his arms. It was hard to tell the relation between the two. While Patrick and Michael both had bright red hair, Nora had light blonde that stopped at her shoulders. Both the boys had deep intense green eyes that hadn’t been passed to Nora with her own light blues. She was still just as skinny as the boys though, but the only other trait they shared was their smiles. It felt like many years since I had last seen Patrick truly smile, this one was nothing like the earlier smile at the door. When he finally sat her down, she led her taller brother to the sofa,

“Come met Catherine.”

She said as she led him to sit with her. Then a soft knock over my shoulder showed Patrick’s father standing in the door way of what I thought would lead to the kitchen. Patrick stood from the sofa to be level with his father.

“So you came back, em…” Patrick nodded,

Both men’s relationship weren’t strong considering they were father and son. With his father’s increase involvement with the IRA, they had fought about the war when ever in the same room together. I stepped away from the man knowing well what he thought of my nationality.


Patrick’s father stepped away from the door into the room. His red hair was short compared to his sons; he only clothes he wore was a white cotton shirt with black pants. He shoved his hands into his pockets as he studied his only son.

“Well, Patrick you’re here either to work with us or you’ll be getting your arse out of here real soon.”
Patrick paused before responding.

“No, I not here to help you I’m here to ask that you stop this before it gets out of our hands.”

The room sat in silence as the father and son stared each other down. The man from the door moved to the corner of the room to watch.

“Patrick, I want you leave. Leave this town, this area. Hell you could leave this side of the country. But ya have to leave.”

Nora shuffled on the couch as she moved closer to where Patrick stood.

“I can’t just let you go and kill hundreds of innocent people for a fight we can win another way. “

Patrick pleaded. His father shook his head sadly at the naive way his son was thinking.
“You never understood our fight, Patrick! You’re a little boy that heard the wrong side of the tale. I’m fighting for our country to be free. I want our independence, I don’t want Nora to grow with the British have rule over her lands and home.”

“Don’t bring her into this, she is still young and innocent!”
Patrick snapped back as he shields Nora.

“She is not innocent, and your not innocent either Patrick. If only you saw what you brother knew about the real world.”
He paused in his speech to watch Patrick’s reaction to the sudden topic of his older brother. But nothing was shown or I wasn’t able to understand, Patrick had a great talent at hiding his feelings until he was ready to voice them. This was one of the countless times that he used it. His father shifted from one foot to the other hoping to gain some reaction from Patrick in the silence. Then his feelings showed as he spoke, his accent thick.

“Do not bring Michael into this. He wanted nothing that you were putting him through. We were the same. We had no need to fight in this war. Violence will only lead to violence and then to more violence. You are a stubborn fool at not seeing this sooner. Michael died because you have connections that the British wanted to destroy. You were the true killer of you own son…”

His breathing became harder as he finished, it escaped his month in pants.

“Your the one wrong Patrick, Michael died for our cause. You’re the only one in this damn family that wants to lay down for the British, allow them to rule over us, how soon till they decide to push us further to total submission, Patrick! You’re just a little boy that doesn’t understand this war. You have no courage to fight for our independence, while we fight for it everyday with our own blood!”

His father shouted back to Patrick. I looked between the two men, their anger shining through their eyes ready to strike each other down. A small sob sounded behind Patrick, I looked to see the woman from earlier, Catherine, reaching to pick up Nora that was crying freely behind her brother. The loud voices scaring her.

“Will I guess we’re all a bit mistaken today.”
Patrick’s voice was calm now,

“You claim I won’t fight for my countries independence or freedom. I will fight…with courage, words, and morals. And that will win this war, I will not take another’s life or cut down another man’s and have blood in my pursuit of my own freedom. And I will not allow my country to for fight independence on the blood of others any longer.”

“You are a fool…”
His father replied softly at the end of the speech. I felt the tears sting my eyes, then his father shout for him to leave. His own father was refusing to hear him. We stood in the room for only a few seconds more before Patrick started for the door. As I turned to leave with him, I locked eyes with his father; they sent resentment toward me in waves as though I was the one that had rebelled against him and not his son. I didn’t look any longer then a second before walking out. We left the home together still stocking the wall as we traveled through the city to my own home. With my father and brother in Northern Ireland on duty it was one of the only safe and warm places available to us. We entered the home silently as the remaining light escaped behind the hills allowing day to become night.

Elizabeth Newman
May 17th, 1921
Sign up to rate and review this story