AllFreeNovel
Share Us
But then why is my father not worried about my happiness? Why can’t he see that we’re safe? It stings.
“Roisin,” my father’s voice reminds me to not give into the tears welling up in my eyes. He would only see it as weakness. “You must do this. They’re hiring a waitress at The Irish Rose,” he delivers this information like his plan is a done deal. “You’ll be in a position to hear things that’ll help us.”
“What do you think I’ll hear? You can’t believe Declan is the kind of man to let all his secrets spill at the pub. You can’t believe he’s a stupid man considering his reputation,” I try and keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
The way Father cuts his eyes at me tells me he doesn’t appreciate me pushing back against him and his plan. It makes me feel small.
“He’ll let something slip,” my father sounds so confident, but I’m not so sure. “Anything you find out, we can use.”
I clench my jaw and my lips thin as I press them together. I have a feeling I’m not going to be able to talk my way out of this. His mind is set, something I’ve seen before. He’s always gotten his way.
“You don’t know what it was like,” Father starts, and I know the tirade he’s gearing up for. “Your grandparents were on the front lines of the war. They gave their whole lives to the IRA and that ridiculous fucking Good Friday Agreement didn’t solve anything.”
I know he’s starting to ramp up. He does it every time this comes up, which happens often. Has there been a day where I haven’t heard about the fight for Irish independence?
“When the loyalists would retaliate, they had the weight of the British Army behind them. We were living in a state of constant worry with tanks and armed men everywhere we went. They loved to instill fear in us,” his voice starts to rise like he’s a priest at the altar talking about hellfire and damnation.
If he could, he would damn all the Protestants and the loyalists in Northern Ireland without a second thought. He would plow through them without thinking about their beliefs, their families, their history.
“Those Protestants shouldn’t have even been there,” he’s outraged. “They were planted and sold land that the British never had a right to sell. They stole our history and our culture.”
“Once they were there, they had the power and had no problem using it against Irish Catholics,” Mom chimes in, her voice full of venom. “We were always below them and they never let us forget it. There are still walls in Belfast to this day.”
“Peace walls,” my dad sneers like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. “It’s just another way to show us how far below the loyalists we are. Their neighborhoods are so much better than ours. They don’t care who is inconvenienced by those damn walls.”
It takes everything in me not to roll my eyes. I know it won’t help me and if I try and point out how one sided they’re being then it’ll just end badly for me.
How many generations does it take before those Protestants who bought land become Irish? It might not be as long of a history, but it’s still valid. Even if it was a manipulation borne of colonization, those people are now part of Ireland’s fabric.
I thought my parents were contemplating an exorcism when I pointed out that after multiple generations of Protestants, those people became more Irish than British. It was one of the times when I was a little afraid of my father’s reaction to my words. He looked like he was going to slap me, or yell at me so loudly and for so long his head would explode.
“There is only one way loyalist scum, and the British government, will listen. We make them listen,” there’s a finality in my father’s voice that I’m very much familiar with.
He thinks he’s right. He always has. Mom doesn’t do anything to tell him he’s not. Hell, she’s standing right next to him spewing the same hate filled rhetoric.
I’m not saying they’re necessarily even wrong. Colonization is detrimental and the countries brought in under the rule of others should have their freedom. Too many have already died in the name of freedom and equality. I understand their anger, even though I never lived through the same things they did.
I just think there’s a better way than what they’re proposing.
To them it’s all bombs, guns, and vitriol. I think the talks, the compromise, and the attempts at understanding have yielded better results.
“You will go to The Irish Rose. You will get the job. You will let us know anything you find out.” Father’s eyes are intense and focused to the point I want to squirm in my seat. He’s not going to give up. He’s not going to put me before the cause. He never will. “Cillian will then decide how we use what you find out.”
My stomach clenches and while it might not work out, I have to try.
“If I do this, then I’m done. I’ll walk into The Irish Rose. I’ll relay everything I find out while I’m there. I’ll put myself in danger by betraying the most powerful man in Boston.” I meet my father’s eyes, even though it’s difficult for me to do. “Then you won’t ask me to do anything else in the name of the cause again.”
“Deal,” Father agrees so readily that I’m instantly suspicious and cautious. “You were always too soft to be a soldier for freedom, Roisin.”
“Our revenge will be the laughter of our children.”
His words are like a knife in the gut. I guess he’s right, but what did he expect? My parents and Finn might have been born in Ireland, but I’m American and always have been. I know he doesn’t see it that way, he sees a girl instead of a woman warrior for the righteousness he tried to feed me.
I hesitate before I turn away from my family. The divide between us feels even bigger this time. The part of me which craves acceptance cries out at the distance and the profound feeling of loss. The part of me which wants my own freedom is hopeful and scared.
It’s time to walk into the lion’s den and hope for the best.
CHAPTER 2
