In the Shadow of Faith

By Shara Russell

An Irish immigrant familys heartbreaking involvement with the Irish Revolution was a distant event to its third generation children who turned its lingering secret operation into summertime games at their grandfathers riverside cottage. While their attention in the 1950s was centered about education and church, the three siblings were unknowingly drawn into the persistent Troubles conflict as it stretched from an American city to the bucolic Adirondack mountains and onto Ireland. In the calm of the post-World War II era, their turbulent lives were woven by the threads of their familys political and religious manipulation under which they unwittingly became pawns for hierarchal political power, personal lust and cultural/religious-sanctioned bigotry and betrayal.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 13, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499031331

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Copyright © 2014 by Shara Russell.

ISBN:      Softcover      978-1-4990-3423-3

                eBook           978-1-4990-3133-1

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 06/04/2014

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CONTENTS

Chapter 1 The Cabin In The Sky

Chapter 2 The Stone House

Chapter 3 The One Family Brick House

Chapter 4 The Adirondack Camp

Chapter 5 Under The Basketball Hoop

Chapter 6 The Recreation Room

Chapter 7 James Park

Chapter 8 Wilson College

Chapter 9 Mccracken’s Funeral Parlor

Chapter 10 The Alpha Mu House

Chapter 11 The Tavern

Chapter 12 Kate Begins Work In City Hall

Chapter 13 Billy Meets Evan

Chapter 14 The Fbi Inspects

Chapter 15 Hillside Avenue Apartment

Chapter 16 The Sister’s Bedroom

Chapter 17 A Camp Weekend

Chapter 18 In The Kitchen

Chapter 19 Borden’s Cafeteria

Chapter 20 The China Bowl

Chapter 21 The Doctor’s Office

Chapter 22 The Derry Cottage

Chapter 23 Sunday Dinner

Chapter 24 Off To Paris

Chapter 25 The Derry Connection

Chapter 26 Trouble For Billy

Chapter 27 Finding Billy

Chapter 28 Broken Hearts

Chapter 29 The Adirondacks

Chapter 30 The Baby Arrives

Chapter 31 Kate Leaves The Hospital

Chapter 32 Kate Gets Her Baby

Chapter 33 Claire Meets Annie Claire

Chapter 34 The Blowup

Chapter 35 Hennessey’s Steak House

Chapter 36 The Reagan Meeting

Chapter 37 Word From The Altar

Chapter 38 All’s Well

1

THE CABIN IN THE SKY

Dolly seethed with anger. She propelled the tire tube back on course, crossing the swollen river’s waves until it rolled in the calm of settled waters.

You weren’t doing it right, she screamed to her companion squirming from her vigorous paddling and sharp tongue. You had us circling around so much I’m dizzy. What’s the matter with you, don’t you kids in Ireland know anything? Her partner deserved the hurtful words.

Why did she have to paddle around with a scrawny kid who couldn’t swim, but insisted on rafting through stormy swells so he could brag about it forever? He was ruining her first summer visit to the cottage. He talked too much and so fast his words cackled from his crooked mouth like an old crow.

Resting, Dolly sighed, breathed deeply, then leaned forward cupping both hands into the water again, and with all the strength her twelve-year-old body could muster, powered them back to river’s edge. As they approached a dangling oak tree, she jumped high, grabbed a rope tied around its sturdiest branch, and swung to shore like a star acrobat. The performance was one of her best, and surely did not go unnoticed.

Hold on, hold on, I’ll tow you, she ordered.

Standing up in the murky foam, she stretched her adolescent limbs until she reached the tube, sending a stern warning to her mate, Watch the stones; don’t know if delicate Irish feet can handle them without slipping.

She giggled, pleased with her verbal dominance. So what’s your name, Ian, she asked watching him jump the rocks.

It’s Ean, he said, reaching for her hand. His fingers were long and skinny too, but his strong grip stunned Dolly into silence.

He growled back, Me Da says no one e’er taught ye Americans to speak correctly.

Ian snatched off the sailor hat he had pulled down over his head, shook a crop of thick dark hair, and with matched venom, snapped, An Irish lass would never act in such a mean way.

Dolly shrugged with guilt over her unfitting behavior, adjusted the bathing suit straps over her Hershey kisses-shaped breasts, and walked toward the blanket where her mother sat with Aunt Lilly, and the kid’s ‘greenhorn’ mother. She shook the water from her bushel of sienna curls and smirked with delight as diamond droplets landed on her mother’s legs.

Stop that, Dolly you’re getting me wet, Mama moaned, squinting mascara eyelashes at the hot noon sun. Go get me the nail polish in my pocketbook, she said, adding p.l.e.a.s.e. when Dolly did not move.

P.l.e.a.s.e., Dolly mimicked. Tossing her towel on the blanket, she leaned over and whispered, Only if you promise not to sic that Irish kid on me again.

Mama grimaced and silenced Dolly with a pointed finger.

Skipping across the brown scruffy lawn, Dolly waved to her Daddy as he and Uncle Ray dragged tubes onto the shore.

Good sailing mate, he called to her. She never tired of his compliments. Only her Daddy could turn a patched-up tire tube into a sailboat, and her tube maneuvers into a sailing art. Everything in their life was good, according to Daddy, even this God-forsaken cabin that her Grandpa Haggerty built on stilts so it wouldn’t be carried down the river in the stormy spring. Daddy loved it as much as Mama’s family, fondly naming it Haggerty’s on the Water, as if it were a classy summer place down the shore.

Dolly brushed off her brother Billy’s call from the dark sanctuary under the cabin. Gotta go get Mama her nail polish, be right back, she said, racing up the narrow staircase leading to the cabin’s one-room living area cluttered with scattered clothes. Mama’s pocketbook, a new beige linen one embroidered with bright summer flowers, sat atop the Luongo’s family’s pile.

The room, its wide windows still bound tight with winter tape, was sweltering.

Dolly searched the purse for the new bottle of Woolworth’s Vermillion Red, and when she did not feel its smooth glass and silver case, she emptied the contents on a corner table. Scanning the rubble, her eyes fell on a crumpled envelope. Mama’s name, Katherine Luongo, was barely legible on a grease-streaked surface.

Eek! she cried, holding the envelope with two fingers as far from her body as she could. How could Mama put a piece of trash in her new pocketbook? Before she let it slip away, Dolly noticed the sender’s name in the corner. Drawing it close, she blinked perspiration from her eyelids, reciting the words, Eddie McCormick. She blinked again, noticed no postmark and realized someone had delivered her mother a letter from a dead man. Was someone playing a joke on Mama or did her sister Claire’s Daddy suddenly come back to life?

With a trembling hand, Dolly pulled out a piece of stained paper from the envelope. The words were barely legible. "I’m back here fer good now. It’s been a long time, and I know you’re married and have kids. I hope you will send me a picture of Claire. Maybe you can send it with one of the guys, and maybe someday we can do volunteering together. Yours, Eddie

She stared at the date—May 4, 1958. That was only last month! Ye Gads, how did this guy come back from the dead, and what did he mean that he was back for good? While the thought pulsed in her head, Dolly heard a yelp from outdoors, her mother’s screechy voice singing discovery, and in a flash, felt her presence next to her. Panting with exhaustion, Mama reached for the letter, her breath mixed with lingering cigarette smoke coated with the dense aroma of gardenia toilet water. Give me that, Mama hissed. Her words bubbled through clenched teeth, tight strawberry lips. Her eyes stormed in a sea of blue.

Not till you tell me the truth. You told us Claire’s Daddy was dead. And you lied! Dolly’s belly hurt as she screamed. There was little room in her tummy for harsh words, but even less for the frightening thought that life in the happiest home in Jersey City, New Jersey was not what it seemed.

The wheezing ceased. Mama whispered, Shh, everyone will hear you. I never said Eddie McCormick was dead. I said he was gone and that was true. So watch the way you talk to me.

Dolly ignored the command. Where was he all these years? In some kind of jail that he couldn’t come an’ see Claire, so she could have a real Daddy too. And you kept promising Claire that our Daddy will adopt her, so her name would be Luongo like Billy and me.

The letter ruffled in the wind of their seething breath, but Dolly would not let it go.

You’ve got to give it to me now, Dol, Mama groaned, the sweat of midday heat glistening on her silky shoulders. I’ll explain it all at another time, but not now. I don’t want Claire or your Daddy to hear us.

What’s my Daddy got to do with it? Dolly wondered if her adoring father, the lover Mama praised for rescuing her and her five year old daughter from the tangle of Eddie McCormick’s uncertain existence, would just up and walk away. And where would that put her and her younger brother Billy?

Well nothing, that’s why I don’t want him to see the letter. Mama’s twitching eyes gave Dolly reason to believe she may have had the same thought.

O what’d gonna’ do, huh? Go tell everyone that Eddie McCormick popped out of the woodwork?

Don’t be ridiculous, and don’t question me like I’m on trial. I don’t have to tell you a thing, you know. It’s not your business. Mama’s harsh words pierced Dolly’s aching head.

Oh yes it is, since you lied to us, now it is our business. Does Claire know her Daddy has been alive all these years? She placed her almost perfect nose close to her mother’s perfect face, wondering how this charade was being played out.

Mama swerved, pulled the letter from Dolly’s loosened grip. You don’t have to know everything that goes on around here.

You mean she knows? Dolly shook her head, waved her outstretched arms. I don’t believe this! she chanted, watching her mother flee down the stairs.

Needing air, Dolly moved out to the deck, stood on the makeshift risers her Daddy built as her lookout post, and leaned over the railing. She needed to figure out what was going on. Why if he was alive all these years did Eddie McCormick want a picture of Claire? He said he was back for good, but where? Most of all, she wondered if he was coming to take Claire away. Her eyes filled with tears as she looked over the landscape beneath her, spotted her sister, all skin and bones, playing in the water with Billy. He should give her some of his fat, Dolly thought. She became exasperated at her brother who was adding more blubber to his already chubby self, despite Claire’s efforts to trim him down. Ye Gods, what would Billy do if Claire’s Daddy came and scooped her away? Dolly’s head began to spin. What would she do without her Claire? What would the family do if Claire weren’t there anymore? Who would care for them if Mama came down with another one of her spells? Who’d clean the house, wash the clothes, and do the cooking?

Dolly could not contain the butterflies in her stomach or the tears rolling down her face. What would she do if her boney forehead was not there to accept Dolly’s good night kiss, and what would happen to the secrets of her young girl’s life that she shared with her older sister.

Hey Dol! Billy called from the water, abruptly scrambled from Claire onto the rough path that would lead him to her side. Look what I found, he said as he shoved a coin in her hand. It’s a funny looking penny. I seen it in Fr. Reagan’s rectory.

I’ve seen it in Fr. Reagan’s rectory, she corrected sternly.

Yea, yea, I know.

Dolly read the word ‘halfpenny’. I don’t know, it’s got a pig and three baby ones on it—maybe it’s Canadian.

She took it from him, a remnant of their summer scavenger hunt from the unknown winter boarders whose identity she had never been able to determine. Her search intensified each year, in spite of Mama and Uncle Ray’s insistence the visitors did not exist. But she knew they did. Billy’s sanctuary was filled with cigarette butts when they arrived this morning, and there were dirty dishes in the sink. Everyone ignored her questions: who would come in the winter when there was no heat in the place?

From the kitchen she heard the ice box door slam. She called, Hey Uncle Ray, what’s this coin? And where’d it come from? Uncle Ray slid through the half-hinged screen door, looking forever like Tyrone Power, his wet dark hair sleeked back. He took the coin, tossed it in the air. His long lashes fluttered against the bright sun. Looks like one of those penny arcade coins, he said.

Dolly grabbed it from him as he was about to slip it into his pocket. By the way he shrugged his shoulders she knew there was a story behind it, but she would let Billy ask Fr. Reagan.

Now she had a more important question to ask her Uncle. What do you know about the letter Mama got from Eddie McCormick? she asked, and in the same breath, You brought it to Mama, didn’t you? And how’d you get it if it wasn’t mailed?

Slow down a minute young lady. Don’t be so belligerent. Tain’t nothing of your concern.

What’d you mean it isn’t of my concern? Did you know Claire’s Daddy was alive all these years? And does Claire?

His voice softened, Well I can’t say for sure whether Claire knows or not, but yes honey I knew he was alive, taking care of business in Ireland. When he smiled Dolly could see why he had such an important job in City Hall. He could charm the world!

In Ireland? He left Mama and Claire to go to Ireland and never came back? And Mama went ahead and married Daddy knowing he was alive? Isn’t that against the law? Dolly was bewildered by the way adults acted.

Well yes, if you’re married, he said, putting the bottle up to his mouth, tilting his head back for another drink.

Mama and this guy Eddie were never married? That’s even worse, Claire is il— She couldn’t finish the sentence. So where is he living? In the Adirondacks? Dolly plucked the idea from the conversations she overheard about the upstate New York camp where patriots of the homeland rested before seeking citizenship. Before he could answer, Dolly asked, What does he want with Claire? Is he going to stop our Daddy from adopting her?

The puzzle was now taking shape; Mama’s excuses on why Daddy couldn’t adopt Claire—Claire’s seeming lack of interest in becoming a Luongo, in spite of Dolly’s determined cajoling. She would speak to her father. I’ll go to Daddy, she told her Uncle. He’ll give me a straight answer.

She flew down the stairs to where her father was sitting on a tree stump by the river. Dolly snuggled next to him, and blurt out a question, Now that Claire’s Daddy is alive, are you still going to adopt her? Daddy did not answer; he was staring into the water.

Dolly recognized the symptoms. Are you sick again? she asked. Taking the towel from his hand, she mopped his brow. She obeyed his signal to be silent, to wait out the time for the symptoms to disappear.

Maybe it’s time, he said a few minutes later. She nodded, took his large hairy hand into hers, and rubbed it. She knew what he meant.

Uncle Ray said you’d make more money working for him then in that horrible chemical plant, she said without looking up. You won’t be breathing that awful air that Mama says is causing your spells.

He chuckled, I’m feeling better, but don’t tell your mother. I don’t want to spoil the day.

I promise if you promise me you’ll take the job.

He squeezed her hand. It’s a deal.

Dolly pushed her father about Eddie. Did you know Claire’s Daddy was alive all these years? He nodded. And you married Mama anyway?

I love your Mama like nothing else in the world, he said, his eyes brimming.

Dolly felt his hands shaking; she would not ask if he knew Claire’s Daddy was in the United States. Instead, she rubbed his hand and said, Everything’s gonna stay the way it is, right? You, me, Mama, Claire and Billy are going to be together?

He smiled and nodded, then drew her to him. They sat a long time, Dolly drawing comfort in the soft folds of his contented chest. Their lives, however, wrapped up in the craziness of a war in Ireland Joe could never comprehend, were governed by his constrained devotion to the woman who plucked him from the torments of inferiority.

As unsettling as his wife’s erratic behavior became, he incessantly thanked God for allowing him the privilege of caring for her. Dolly would smile at him at the end of his public prayer, believing that all men were as devoted to their wives. He was the perfect husband and father! How could she ever live up to his expectations of her to become a career woman first, a wife and mother later.

Times are changing Dol, he would say, and there’s going to be lots of careers for women, so you have to be prepared to be all you can. You are the smartest kid I know, adding, and the most beautiful like your Ma. She hoped he was right.

2

THE STONE HOUSE

Billy Luongo hated hopscotch, the silly game for girls, but he practiced it now, side stepping along the wide boulevard leading to St. Brigit’s rectory. He did it every Thursday night on his way to the altar boy meeting with Fr. Reagan because Claire said it would make the trip go faster.

Billy would do anything Claire asked, even while he mimicked her claim that hopscotch improved his balance. Boys need it to play basketball, he sang to himself. Claire would graduate from high school in a few weeks, so she knew a lot more than he and Dolly, but she was wrong about him playing sports, especially tough games like basketball and football. He hated being knocked around, had to force back tears when he got hurt, but his ears still stung from the mocking calls, Sissy Billy, sissy Billy.

Billy stood at the corner waiting for the streetlight to change. Across the spacious boulevard the grey stone rectory was overshadowed by the towering Gothic church next to it. But this rectory claimed sovereignty over God’s special altar boys, and Billy was proud to be one of them.

Hey Bill how’s it going? asked Joey MacManus, the tall and unsmiling master of Fr. Reagan’s circle who appeared by his side. He looked down at Billy, his delicate elegance belying his family’s lingering poverty that few people were aware of beyond the residents of the apartment building his father supervised. Billy admired Joey, neat and clean, even though he lived in three small rooms with his parents and two brothers. Even now, his white shirt was tucked in his pants, his tie gracefully swaying in the wind.

The pair rushed across the boulevard to the rectory where Billy pushed his own shirt into crumpled pants, spit on his hands, before rubbing them through his hair to pat down his signature cowlick. A budding halo, claimed Fr. Reagan. He sure knew how to make Billy feel good.

Your night to clean up, eh, Joey declared. Joey was Fr. Reagan’s favorite and kept record of the altar boys’ schedules and duties. If he had his way with God, Billy would have wanted to look and act like Joey, and most of all have his brains. But in no way would he ever want to change families.

The heavy door opened, and Mrs. Cafferty, the housekeeper, stood before them. She was leaving, Here ye be, the last of the scalawags. Come on in, she laughed. I’ll be on my way now and expect to find everything in its place in the morning. ’Nite to all, there’s me bus," she said, and then rushed to the corner where the driver had already stopped, waiting with an open door.

Billy loved it here. Even though it was old and dark like a priest’s house should be, there was always light coming through the stained glass window, and whenever Billy had to wait to see Fr. Reagan, he made funny forms with his fingers to see how they danced on the wall. Most of the time he made howling animals, but once in a while he came up with something he couldn’t explain, or know how he did it, like the angel’s wings in the March twilight or a pretty dancing doll when he came to do his chores.

He ran ahead of Joey to open the door leading into the parlor. You needed to be strong to slide it along the track, but Billy was proud that he could finally do it without effort. He bowed with mock servitude to his friend, After you, good man, he laughed. The room was old-fashioned, like those in scary movies, with lots of heavy furniture, and lamps with glowing red glass lampshades and some even had dangling crystals that Billy called ice sticks. The best part though was the pictures Fr. Reagan had on the credenza. He counted twenty-two of them once, all with his altar boys and acolytes. Billy was in three of them and was pleased because he didn’t look goofy.

Fr. Reagan stood in the middle of room. In the corner, a new fan, contributed by the altar boys’ families whined as it circulated the hot air. The priest was rearranging the furniture.

We have a full house tonight, boys. Without looking, he said, Good evening Joseph, good evening William.

He always called Billy by his given name, said the name deserved special respect because it belonged to Billy’s dead Uncle who died a hero in Ireland during The Troubles.

Billy blushed, wished he didn’t have to be reminded about this guy, his mother’s brother who was killed long before he was born in some dumb war that he wished everybody would forget.

Hey Father, I got some questions to ask you, okay? he started to ask, but the priest did not acknowledge Billy. Instead Gerry Fielding whispered in his ear, Is your Pa going to the meeting? Billy shook his head, bowed to hide his embarrassment. He had forgotten to tell his father about Fr. Reagan’s plans to discuss vocations.

The word vocation meant studying to be a priest. No way would Billy be a priest, even though he’d like to wear those long robes and do that stuff on the altar, ringing bells, and fogging the church with incense, touching the Holy Ghost. But he would never be able to learn all those mysteries about God and Jesus and Mary and then preach about it every Sunday. No way, could he do that.

Fr. Reagan was looking at him. He had just settled in his seat, felt red heat in his cheeks as the priest repeated, Well William, will your father be coming?

Oh sure, you know my Dad, he’ll be here.

Billy fixed his eyes on the priest to avoid Gerry’s look of disbelief. When Gerry asked him why he lied, he’d tell him the truth; his father would come to the meeting out of respect for the priest and, of course, the church. He took the note with the date and time from Fr. Reagan.

Don’t we still have a few more years before we go to seminary? Joey asked. I mean I don’t know yet whether I want to be a priest, so can’t we wait? Smart kid. Joey could speak like a grown-up, say what everyone else wanted to say. Billy envied him as he saw the priest shrink into his big wing chair. He crossed his fingers, waiting to see how Fr. Reagan would take to Joey’s irreverence.

A smile crossed the priest’s lips, tight as if his mouth were pulled back with an elastic band. His cat-green eyes scanned the room. In a voice pitched with holiness, the priest said, allowing his eyes to meet Joey’s, There is a long waiting list for seminary, and for those who may need assistance, we have to begin the scholarship applications soon.

Billy felt sorry for Joey, whose face flushed to deep purple. Everyone knew Mr. MacManus was a drunk, and Joey was expected to help the family by becoming a priest.

Fr. Reagan stood up. He wasn’t a tall man. His pure white skin, freckled with honey spots, turned baby pink when he smiled again, the way Billy liked him to be all the time. Okay now, let’s get on with our weekly lessons. Who’s going to read first? he asked, looking over the scalps of the bent heads. Come Joseph, show them how well prepared you are.

Billy relaxed and looked up as the priest handed Joey the missal. A collective sigh whined with the fan. I’m warning you all, next week will be different, the priest said, winking at Joey.

Billy’s heart thumps slowed down. Once again he was saved, but he vowed to practice during the week so he could volunteer next Thursday. He leaned against the wall and tried to listen to God. The best thing about being a priest was that God really talked to you, and maybe he should give it a try. He wondered if God’s voice was deep like Uncle Ray’s, or like his father’s smooth croon. Closing his eyes, he hoped he’d hear the voice of God the Almighty.

Before he knew it the kids were chomping on Mrs. Cafferty’s cookies and Billy knew it was time for him to clean up. As Fr. Reagan ushered the boys to the door, Billy washed and dried the glasses until they sparkled the way Claire taught him and would surely please the fussy Fr. Reagan.

While he waited for the priest to return from his nightly closing chores, Billy settled comfortably in the visitor’s gold chair. His mind raced back to his first rectory visit when Fr. Reagan anointed him a special one.

It was the Sunday Sister Margaret Mary embarrassed him by pulling his ear after mass when she heard Billy call Colleen Maguire a prissy. He couldn’t understand her fury. No one got mad in his house when he called his sisters prissy, but this nun flew off the handle, ready to lasso him with the big rosary beads that dangled from her waist.

God will treat your actions very severely young man! Sister Margaret Mary didn’t know his name because Billy was in her eyes, an irreverent ‘public’ who was tolerated only because he was one of the few non-Catholic school kids chosen to be an altar boy, and she didn’t like publics. She motioned to Fr. Reagan, who was with parishioners, a signal Billy feared would end his days as an altar boy.

Come William, the priest said, placing his short arm around Billy’s sagging shoulder. "Let’s go into the rectory. You need a Hail Mary cure; a few hugs and some milk and cookies. Bully didn’t mind the Hail Mary cure; he could whiz through the five decades of the rosary in no time and he could almost taste the homemade cookies, but hugs were for girls, not boys.

Sitting in this room, he now recalled the events of that day. The squeamish feeling he had at the thought of being hugged turned to surprise that a delicate man could squeeze his