The Crimes of Colleen O'Byrnes

By Jennie L. Morris

In the fog-laden hills of 19th century Ireland, secrets whisper on the wind, and the line between salvation and damnation blurs with each passing hour.

Colleen O'Byrnes, a woman bound by duty and driven by desperation, embarks on a harrowing journey under the shadow of Samhain's eve. With a shovel in hand and the weight of her family's legacy heavy on her shoulders, she dares to disturb the sanctity of the dead to reclaim what was stolen.

But in the darkness of that fateful night, truths unravel and betrayals surface, plunging Colleen into a maelstrom of deceit and violence. Accused of crimes she did not commit, she finds herself shackled by the chains of injustice, with only one ally: Reardon McGiffin, a man whose loyalty knows no bounds.

Fleeing to the distant shores of America, Colleen seeks solace in anonymity, yet fate has other plans. Ten years of penance at The Sisters of the Eternal Flame Sanatorium cannot erase the past's sins, and when shadows from yesteryears come knocking, Colleen is forced to confront the ghosts she thought she buried long ago.

• Language: English
• Publisher: By Quill and Lantern Publishing
• Release date: Jun 18, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224657513

Book preview

The Crimes of Colleen O’Byrnes

The Crimes of Colleen O’Byrnes

JENNIE L. MORRIS

By Quill and Lantern Publishing

For those whose enjoy the spirit of halloween all year long. We are kindred souls.

The longest way round is the shortest way home

IRISH PROVERB

Contents

Secrets

The Fall

Exodus

For Love

Renewal

About the Author

Secrets

County Wicklow, Ireland, 1880

Colleen O’Byrnes strode along the hedge-lined lane with a purpose. The rain, having filled the autumnal day with torrents and mist alike, had chilled the air. Thick, viscous mud caked her well-worn boots, and the flooded ruts slowed her pace. In the distance, the church’s cylindrical tower pierced the inky night sky. She inhaled, and the earthy scent of decay coated her tongue and nose with its tang.

As the harvest season neared completion for winter, she felt the chronic ache in her hands, and she was thankful for it. The toil made her body hard, her skin thick and calloused, and the task ahead should be easy.

For fear of meeting ghouls, or worse, the wee hours of Samhain kept the old believers locked inside, the doors bolted shut; the candles left unlit. Colleen left the others to their preternatural worries. The living caused harm. No spirit had ever struck her with the switch or pulled her hair or pushed her onto the cobble. The day’s superstitions made no difference; she had to travel the darkened road.

Instead of the customary Sunday Mass, they’d buried Father Kinnard Dunleavy in the graveyard. The man, though quite old, had kept a rigorous routine. But death comes to all men, so the good book said. On Thursday morning, Mary Corbin, the old priest’s maid, had found him in his bed.

As peaceful as an angel brought into the everlasting warmth of the Lord’s arms, she had said.

His death had caused near catastrophic heartache throughout the parish. Women and men alike had wept in the open.

No, not Father Kinnard. Not our beloved saint on earth!

Their grief, however, was short-lived. Bury the man on Samhain! A travesty! A blasphemy!

Peter Murphy, the undertaker, had insisted. Three days provided adequate time to build the casket, dig the grave, and carve the stone. Outrage had drowned Peter’s common sense, until, having reached his limited, he’d shouted, The man will putrefy! For the love of all that is holy and sacred, into the ground he must go!

A gust of cold wing caressed Colleen’s face, as if summoned by her ruminations. She adjusted her patched coat, pulling it closer, and shifted the heavy shovel from one shoulder to the other. Already, her breath misted in the air. Soon, very soon, the world would sleep, covered in snow and ice, for a long season.

Ahead, the lane made a gentle Y. The right led to the heart of Droicheaddoire Village, while the left went to the Church of Saint Columbanus. Eyes straining in the dark, she veered left, and within minutes, the stone church loomed above her.

A tall wrought-iron fence enclosed the graveyard. The spiked tops prohibited unwelcome guests from climbing inside and kept