The Family Way (Molly Murphy, #12)

He looked thinner than when I’d last seen him and he never had had more than an ounce of meat on those bones. And older too. A grown man and not a boy. A man who had seen too much suffering for his years.

“Holy Mother of God, Liam,” I said. “It’s grand to see you. How long have you been in the city?”

“A week or so.”

“Why didn’t you let me know?”

He shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. “It’s a big city, Molly. How would I have found you?”

“I left my address with you, didn’t I?” I felt frustration rising inside me. This was my brother, whom I hadn’t seen for years, and he was treating me like a causal acquaintance, almost like a stranger.

“You might have done so. But I destroyed all the papers I had; everything, just in case we got caught. No sense in involving other people in our struggles. That’s why I didn’t try to seek you out, Molly. It’s better if no one knows I’m here.”

“What are you doing here, for God’s sake?” I demanded.

He looked around warily, although nobody on the street seemed to be paying either of us any attention. “I can’t tell you that, Molly.”

“Look, why don’t you come back to my place for a meal?” I said. “Then we can have a grand old chat.”

Again that guarded look. “I’d rather not, if you don’t mind. Better for both of us that way.”

I touched his arm lightly. “Liam, are you in trouble?”

At this he laughed. “Trouble? Me? Oh, no, only a price on my head from the English and me in this country with false papers. Otherwise everything’s just grand.” He shifted uneasily again. “I shouldn’t be standing out here, for anyone to see.”

“Then come and have a cup of tea. There are plenty of little cafés on the Bowery.”

He shook his head again. “I’d rather not, if you don’t mind.” He must have seen my face fall. “Look, I don’t want to involve you in anything, Molly. Far better if you’ve not seen me and don’t know that I’m here.”

“But I’d like to help if I can,” I said. “Is it on Brotherhood business that you’re here?”

“Of course, but I can’t tell you about it so don’t ask me.” He glanced past me up the street. “I should be going. It was lovely to see you. I just wish I could stay and have a ‘grand old chat.’”

“Liam, don’t go yet.” I grabbed his sleeve this time. “You’re the only family I’ve got, apart from young Malachy and I don’t even know where he is anymore.”

“He’s doing just fine from what I hear,” Liam said. “He’s still being looked after by Mr. O’Brien of the Irish League up in the north. I get reports on him from time to time. He’s a big strapping lad now, they say, as tall as me. Maybe I’ll see him again if decides to come and fight for the cause.”

“But surely you can never go back to Ireland, can you?” I asked. “You said yourself there was a price on your head.”

“There’s a price on the heads of all those who fight for our freedom, Molly. But we’re not just going to sit by and do nothing. We’ve a right to govern ourselves and we have to do what it takes to claim back what’s rightfully ours.”

My mind went back to the events in Dublin, the bomb and the chaos and the dead bodies at that jail and our other brother Joseph sprawled dead in the street. It all seemed as remote as something I’d read about in a book. And yet Liam was still living it, clearly still planning to go on fighting.

“God be with you then, Liam,” I said. “I’m at ten Patchin Place if you need me. Can you remember that? It’s in Greenwich Village, just north of Washington Square.”

He looked at me, long and hard, as if trying to memorize my face. “I’ll not be involving you in this, Molly. Better if you forget you’ve ever seen me, all right?” He patted my shoulder and attempted a jaunty smile. “Good luck to you, and to your captain and the little one. You can always name him Liam after me. Someone needs to carry on the name.”

Then he pushed past me and crossed the street to the other side. I stood and watched him go until he turned the corner into Elizabeth Street.

After he’d gone all I wanted was to retreat to the safety and security of my own little home. I hurried to the Broadway trolley and back to Patchin Place. The wind had really picked up now, buffeting me full in the face as I crossed the north side of Washington Square and sending scraps of paper twirling. And those white fluffy clouds were now heavier. It would rain before the day was out.